GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation

Vol 2 - Chapter 27: Remote Occurrence

He closed his eyes briefly, the effort of speaking clearly taxing him. When he opened them again, despair clouded his gaze.

"The healers' poultices do nothing. Even Father Kael's prayers..."

Landre listened intently as the withered man continued his fragmented explanation.

"I had night duty," he said, his voice cracking. "I wasn't at the village last night. I only came here near dawn."

Landre's brow furrowed slightly, the only break in her otherwise serene expression. She glanced around the empty hall, trying to picture what the man had encountered.

"Came into this hall, hoping to catch some sleep,"he continued, his withered hand trembling as he gestured weakly. "When I woke up... already like this. Could barely move."

His eyes clouded with fear as he looked down at his aged body. "I waited... called for help. But only silence. That's when I knew... everyone was gone."

Landre's breath caught. Whatever affliction had struck this village didn't simply make people vanish—it aged them unnaturally, stealing decades of life in mere hours. She glanced at Sarvin, who remained vigilant by the windows, scanning the village exterior for any movement or threat.

Beside her, Imelda's quill scratched against parchment, documenting every word the man spoke. The woman's hand moved swiftly, recording details that might later prove vital to the Church's understanding of this mysterious affliction.

Landre turned her attention back to the man, gently placing her hand on his withered arm. The contrast between her youthful skin and his aged flesh was jarring and disturbing. Through her touch, she channeled a small, continuous flow of healing light—not enough to drain her reserves completely, but sufficient to ease his discomfort.

"Did you see anyone else?" she asked softly. "Anyone who might have escaped this... condition?"

The man shook his head weakly, his withered fingers curling against the rough wool blanket beneath him.

"No one," he whispered. "No one left..."

He paused, his brow furrowing as if struggling to recall something important. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, unfocused.

"But lying here, I keep... I could almost imagine a strange noise." His voice dropped even lower. "If it wasn't for the silence, one wouldn't be able to hear it."

Landre leaned closer, her heart quickening. "What noise? Where was it coming from?"

The man's eyes shifted toward the north end of the village. "It came from the mine."

Imelda stepped forward, her quill pausing above her parchment. "The crystal mine? The one that depleted half a decade ago?"

He nodded feebly. "But I wasn't sure if I imagined it because of this illness or if I actually heard it."

"What did it sound like?" Landre pressed gently, maintaining the healing light around her palm.

The man's expression grew uncertain. "Not... not sure. But there's a rhythm..." He paused to gather breath. "Like... breathing."

Landre found her gaze meeting Sarvin's across the room. The crusader had become more alert, his posture stiffening at the mention of the mine. Possibilities flashed through her mind—none of them comforting.