After leaving the Addus border, Vania and her relief delegation officially stepped into their destination—Busalet—and began their long-planned journey of salvation. Traveling by cal caravan, they moved slowly across the vast desert. Because of the number of personnel and amount of supplies, their line stretched for over a kiloter.
Along the way, they encountered many tribal villages and settlents, nearly all of which were suffering from the plague. In many cases, one-quarter of the population had contracted the Withering Plague, gradually losing mobility due to worsening pain, fatigue, and lethargy. Another quarter had fled in panic. After the plague hit, most villages were reduced to only half their population.
Those who remained and were still healthy often isolated the infected, confining them to one location. At first, they shared food and water—but once supplies ran low, the sick were abandoned to their fate. In so cases, patients were left to die from starvation and weakness. In more extre settlents, the infected were even executed outright to "reduce managent costs." Villages that failed to control the spread were entirely wiped out, leaving behind only silence and rotting corpses when the delegation arrived.
Fearing the infamous bandits that road Busalet, the delegation was heavily ard. But to their surprise, they encountered no real bandit threat—the plague had spread so widely that even the bandit gangs had gone quiet.
Once known as a “hell” in North Ufiga due to inter-tribal warfare and rampant outlaws, Busalet had now beco a literal hell under the devastation of the plague.
Though Vania was filled with sorrow and compassion as she passed through one tragic village after another, she didn’t stop to treat them all. Instead, she left behind food, dicine, and supplies to ease their hardship as best she could. She understood that if they tried to treat everyone, they’d be able to save only a few hundred lives at most. To truly end this plague—a creation of mystical power—they would have to strike at the source.
Thus, Vania ordered the delegation to hasten their journey toward their true destination: Bastis.
…
The blazing sun scorched the clear sky. A lone eagle circled high above the cloudless heavens. Yellow sand swirled on every side. In the midst of this desolation, a massive caravan pressed onward—long lines of cals hauling heavy supplies, stretching in a winding formation more than a kiloter across the dunes. Footprints were quickly erased by wind.
After over half a month of travel on foot, the delegation continued their exhausting march. Sweat and sand soaked their long robes. Dayti temperatures in the desert soared, and the dry air made breathing difficult. Everyone wrapped themselves in turbans and covered their bodies tightly to shield against wind and sand. Clergy and dics rode cals near the front to conserve strength. Ard Church soldiers marched on either side, providing protection, while local North Ufigan porters at the rear handled logistics and transported supplies.
By late morning, lips were chapped and tongues parched. Though they had sufficient stores, water rationing was strict. Each person received only a minimal daily allowance, used sparingly.
“Haaah… this damned weather is unbearable. We’ve been going for days—how much longer is this going to take…” muttered Nephthys, wrapped in robe and turban atop a tall cal.
She wiped the sweat from her brow, clearly uncomfortable.
Although she’d spent the last year on many extended travels, she was used to trains and ships—comfortable cities, decent lodging. This ti in Busalet was nothing like that. She had to march with the caravan every day. Though she could ride a cal, sparing her from the worst of the effort, the blazing sun, harsh wind, and the pain of long hours in the saddle were taking their toll.
“Ugh… how much farther… And I’m almost out of sunscreen. This heat and wind are killing my skin…” she grumbled.
Then a familiar voice spoke up beside her.
“If our pace holds, we should arrive today. Bastis is one of the most prosperous cities in Busalet, said to be built around the largest oasis in the region. Supposedly the environnt there is quite good. Once we get there, we can finally rest properly.”
The voice ca from Dorothy, riding not far away on her own cal, dressed in desert robes with a turban and face cover. Though she spoke calmly, her eyes remained focused forward, showing no discomfort.
“We’re really almost there? Thank goodness…”
Nephthys sighed in relief, then glanced over at Dorothy. Over the past few weeks, Dorothy had shown almost no sign of struggle during the entire desert journey. It impressed Nephthys—she had expected soone as posh-looking as Dorothy, clearly a privileged young lady, to be the least suited to desert hardship. But here she was, never once complaining.
“As expected of a senior mber of the Rose Cross Order… She’s far more capable than she looks.”
Nephthys admired silently. She reached for her waterskin, took a sip, and resud her ride.
In truth, Dorothy’s ability to endure the desert march had little to do with willpower or adaptability. It was because she carried two divine artifacts on her: Deep Blue Heart and the Goblet of Nether Guidance. When infused with a bit of spirituality, the Goblet released a cooling aura, and Deep Blue Heart slightly humidified the air. Hidden using her upgraded Concealnt Ring, she essentially had a portable air conditioner and humidifier on her body, making the harsh desert far more bearable.
While many divine artifacts lacked strong active abilities like the Dreamscale Censer, they held imnse value as ritual cores. This trip to North Ufiga had, surprisingly, given those two artifacts so very practical use.
“Even with an AC and humidifier, it’s still boring and exhausting… Let’s just get this over with already…”
Dorothy thought, rocking on the saddle. She knew their journey was nearing its end.
“There’s an oasis up ahead! We’ve arrived!”
Soone shouted from the front, breaking the monotony. Heads imdiately lifted, and murmurs of excitent spread. The whole caravan livened up.
Nephthys straightened at once and looked to Dorothy.
“Miss Dorothy! I think we’ve made it!”
“Yes. Let’s go—let’s see for ourselves,” Dorothy replied, tugging her cal’s reins to pick up speed.
Nephthys did the sa, breaking from the main caravan to ride ahead with her.
The two ascended a low sand dune. From its peak, they saw it: a shimring patch of green wavering on the sun-drenched horizon.
In the midst of the wasteland, a jewel-like lake glistened under the sun, its surface reflecting light in dazzling waves. Around it sprawled lush forest and grassland. On its outer edge stood blurred gray-yellow city walls, and beyond them, one could glimpse tall, proud buildings rising above.
Nephthys let out a long exhale and exclaid.
“We’re finally here… That must be the heart of Busalet—Bastis! Finally! Finally, we get to sleep in a real city tonight! With a lake that big, there has to be water for a proper bath—I need a bath!”
She looked genuinely thrilled. But beside her, Dorothy didn’t share her excitent. She frowned slightly, eyes fixed on the distant city, and murmured softly.
“…I’m afraid it might not be that simple.”
…
At the foremost end of the delegation, atop a sand dune separated from the main caravan, Vania, dressed in her church-style long robes, stood with her escort, gazing out at the oasis city in the distance. After the long, arduous journey, they had finally arrived at their destination—yet none of them wore a look of joy. On the contrary, each face was more serious than the last.
With the far-sight abilities granted to the Lantern Beyonder, Vania and her companions could clearly see the distant city in full detail. And it was precisely that clarity which explained the lack of excitent compared to the joyful commotion in the caravan behind them.
Through Lantern-empowered vision, Vania saw the scene in front of the oasis city’s gates—one completely different from what they had expected. There was no silence born of plague-ravaged desolation. Instead, a massive crowd had gathered there.
Before the city gates of the ancient oasis city stood thousands of people, dressed in traditional North Ufigan robes and turbans. They were likely local residents, but they had organized themselves into ranks and held various weapons—farm tools, wooden sticks, even real blades. Each person looked ready to fight.
These ard townspeople had gathered for unknown reasons, their eyes fixed warily on the approaching delegation. Their faces were marked with unmistakable hostility, as if they were watching an invading army.
And above them, atop the sand-blasted city gates, was a far bloodier sight: countless bodies were nailed to the wall, suspended by massive iron spikes driven through their limbs in grueso fashion.
They wore long robes of white and yellow, though now soaked in blood and filth. Even so, the fine stitching and luxurious material were still visible—clothing clearly ant for people of high status. Their style was reminiscent of Church vestnts, though adapted for the desert with certain modifications.
Vania recognized them imdiately. She had seen robes like these during her first visit to Addus, in Yadith.
These were the ceremonial garnts of the Savior’s Advent Sect.
The people nailed to the walls were the Savior’s Advent clergy.
“Sister Vania… Sothing’s definitely wrong here,” said one nun beside her nervously.
“These people from Bastis—they look like they’re hostile toward us. But that doesn’t make sense… Based on all our intel, Bastis is supposed to be a thriving trade city. It was never described as this xenophobic…”
On the other side, Gaspard, clad in armor beneath his outer robe, also frowned deeply.
“Those nailed on the walls… they’re the heretics from the Advent Sect. I heard they had quite the influence here in Busalet—especially in Bastis. Why would sothing like this happen to them?”
His tone was low and grim. After another long look toward the distant city, Vania replied solemnly.
“It seems the situation here is different from what we were led to believe. Phil, go back and have everyone stop and set up defensive rest positions. Gaspard—you’ll co with . We’ll approach first and see what’s going on.”
“Yes, Sister.”
The nun nad Phil and Gaspard both quickly turned to carry out her orders. Vania remained behind for a mont, her expression heavy as she stared at the oasis city of Bastis in the distance.
…
After ordering the caravan to stop and remain on standby, Vania, accompanied by an elite unit of guards, departed to make first contact with Bastis. To show goodwill, they sheathed their weapons and dismounted from their cals well in advance, approaching the gates on foot.
As they neared, the large group of ard civilians grew increasingly agitated. The crowd beca uneasy and disordered. Then, a burly man with a curved sword and thick beard shouted at the approaching group.
“Stop right there, foreigners! Stay where you are! Not another step closer!”
Vania slowed her pace. In fluent North Ufigan dialect, she called out in response.
“You are citizens of Bastis, yes? Please do not be afraid. I am a healer from the north. I ca upon hearing of the plague that troubles your city—here to offer help. Please put down your weapons. We an no harm.”
She raised her empty hands in plain sight, showing she carried no weapon, her voice calm and sincere. But her words had little effect—almost no one in the crowd lowered their guard.
“Don’t listen to that girl!”
A sudden cry rang out from the crowd. At the sound of that voice, the townsfolk parted to open a path, and a figure erged.
It was a dark-skinned, bald, overweight man with mysterious face paint. He wore a brightly colored robe adorned with countless wooden charms. In his hand, he held a long wooden staff, topped with leafy branches and dangling strange, fleshy, round fruit-like lumps that looked disturbingly like atballs.
As this man appeared, everyone in the crowd bowed deeply, displaying absolute reverence.
“Don’t believe a word she says! She’s no healer! She’s the sa as those traitors nailed to our walls—a servant of the Evil Radiance! The Evil Radiance cannot tolerate that our city has been liberated from its clutches—so it sent a new hound to reclaim us!”
He pointed at Vania and shouted with fervor.
“Children of the Eternal Lord! Do not believe her wicked lies! She cos bearing the Evil Radiance’s will—to drag us back into tornt and suffering! She wants to destroy the blessings our Lord of Longevity has granted us! She would make us all kneel before the Evil Radiance’s tyranny again! We must not let her succeed!”
He waved his staff as he shouted. Watching the scene, Vania’s face darkened.
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