2.3 This 'it'...

"An? Do I pay you to loiter around? Get over here this instant!"

"Apologies, your grace… the captain…" Just like that, the little beauty slipped Kim Jihun's grasp, running down the port after sergeant Kruger.

"…" Kim Jihun couldn't decide whether he should feel offended or laugh as he looked after the little vixen. Did the white lotus just brush off the CEO Kim himself to chase after a sergeant?

Oh, Kim Jihun's gaze darkened. Ruan An was going to be sorry about that.

***

Thanh Van scrambled after the sergeant, sighing. He would have loved to toy with that pompous little CEO a while longer. What type of fool must one be to think money had any meaning in this infinite flow of death?

Thanh Van chuckled before he cooled his expression. The crew had not gotten far ahead, still trotting along the dirt road, having not even reached the peeling black gates to the village yet.

The NPC priest ahead might reveal important information to Kruger - but Kim Jihun was the bishop, after all. The bastard probably already knew more of this scenario than anybody else. If only Thanh Van could have clung to the man a little longer - he might have slipped up some clue!

Ah, this hot and rustic Kruger did butt in at the worst of times.

As if having read his mind, the sergeant shot him a questioning look but said nothing.

Thanh Van blinked at him innocently before lowering his gaze. He hoped they would get the rules soon, he was practically climbing out of his skin at this point.

Grey stone buildings scattered along their path, each as debilitated and covered in green moss and dirt as the previous one. Two-story houses leaned against each other for support, the stained windows too grimy to see through. The damp air tainted with the suffocatingly sour scent of manure, yet there wasn't a horse or a cow in sight.

Empty carts stood abandoned along the roadside, wheels dislocated, wood rotting. The players dropped their cargo in front of the village manor. Nobody was there to accept the goods that were to be distributed to the villagers later.

According to father Pierre, the mayor and his wife had moved back to their parent's house among the other village houses, not wanting to stay in a house that reminded them of their son.

A low wind brushed by their exposed skin, cold and harsh like knives slicing at their flesh. The players dredged between narrow alleys between the houses, so small and tilted, they could only walk in a single line.

Soft chatter came from all around them, distant and distorted, signs of life that only existed in this scenario slowly revealing themselves.

Somewhere among these many houses, a man coughed miserably, retching behind a stone wall. The sound muffled as quickly as it had started, like a cloth had been pressed against his mouth. A trembling voice of a woman whispered soothing mumbles that the players couldn't make out.

The painful groaning ceased, snubbed like a candle by the wind.

The players hurried their steps, slipping and sliding as they pushed and shoved, wanting to leave these roads that closed upon them. But there was nowhere to run.

As they turned their gazes back, darkness loomed, the talons made of shadows cast long and malevolent.

The hair on their arms spiked and the players in the back rushed forward as fast as they could, an inch at a time, so desperately slow. They no longer dared to look back, only face forward, cold sweat pouring down their backs as they prayed that the bull-sized Kruger could walk faster!

Up ahead, Vincent Kruger seemed unnaturally big against the scenery, his shoulders brushing against the walls as he made his way through at the top of the line. Thanh Van trailed right behind him, ears clued on the chattering priest ahead, trying to listen to every breadcrumb the NPC might leave behind.

"… Such terrible months, but God has shown us mercy and shielded us from the devil until now. We didn't want to leave you stranded out there, but in these challenging times, we cannot risk it arriving in our humble village…"

"Understandable, father." Captain Kruger offered dryly, his brows crinkling in thought. "And this 'it', is it what has affected the mayor-"

"Oh, no, no!" Father Pierre shivered, his thin, red tongue flicking out to lick at his chapped lips. "No, nothing of that sort. A cradle death, the mayor does not wish us to talk about it. He didn't want us to see or bury the child in the holy ground. Burn it, and so they did, out there by the port, just the father and mother, sending their son to God."

Father Pierre's lips trembled, voice growing choked. "Little Tom was their only child. Youngest in our village. Very unfortunate. May that child rest in God's embrace now…"

The other players trailing after him had been extending their ears, trying to catch everything the NPC was mumbling about, but none of it made sense.

Until now, they still couldn't figure out why it took them 10 days of being stranded out in the ocean before they were allowed in.

As they pondered this, the crew stumbled into a clearing.

A copper statue of an angel on one knee rose before them, wings spread out, tips near touching the stone pavement. In the angel's hand was a clay vase, from where the water trickled into the clouded fountain pool below.

People scuttled about with their small carts filled with a few pitiful root vegetables and some dry rye bread. The people were no better looking than the food they ate.

Cotton clothes hung from their wasted, crouching bodies. Jutting collarbones and ribs peeked from beneath their clothes, skin pulled taut over the skeleton.

When they noticed the players, a smile carved into their visage, haunting against the pale canvas and dark eyes.

A shiver ran down the players spines as they scrambled after the looming sergeant.