Chapter 59 The Curse Of Rotting

Inside Roselake Manor, the Lord was getting ready to sleep after a rigorous night with some of his maids. He was ready to shut his eyes on his bed while patting his bulging tummy as he lay to rest.

It was such a beautiful day, he thought. His town is prospering. Roselake attracted a lot of merchants and tourists alike to explore its scenic views. His table and coffers were full, and he had not a day that he wasn't surrounded by beautiful women.

And by tomorrow, he would have Tokens to add to his power. Nothing beats killing noobs for their items and Tokens.

But the tournament was real, though. The Kingdom is in need of able fighters to add to its army. But the Lord thought that noobs weren't one of them. He was doing the Kingdom a favor by eliminating useless candidates.

The Lord's eyelids slowly closed as he stared at the ceiling of his bed. Tomorrow would be another great day, he thought.

But a loud crash of his glass startled him awake. He tumbled over his bed to check what had happened.

Lord Roselake first looked at the hole in the glass window, and when he saw nothing unusual there but the twin moons staring back at him, he shifted his attention to the scattered glass on the floor.

"What is this?" Lord Roselake squinted his eyes.

On the floor lay what seemed to be a dark, irregularly shaped rock. It looked so black that its shadow pale in comparison. There were tiny holes scattered across its surface like that of a beehive which caused him to step back in disgust.

"Who would dare throw this disgusting, vile thing inside my room? Do you have a death wish?!" The Lord stomped his foot against the floor and yelled his anger.

At that exact moment, the guards came barging in, and all went to their Lord to check up him.

"I'm fine. Go search for the culprit who did this! I want him by tomorrow morning, or I'll have your heads!"

The guards hadn't spoken their words of reply when the stone broke, and a hissing sound echoed in the still night. It sounded like the taunts of serpents stalking their prey.

"What's in God's name–!"

The Lord hadn't finished his words when the room was engulfed by a hazy dark smog that overshadowed even the night itself.

The last thing they heard inside the Lord's room was his ear-shattering scream before all fell back to silent. The stillness that followed was the start of an even greater calamity to come, and everyone wasn't even aware of what would happen next.

----

Came the next morning, all resumed their lives like nothing had happened. It was a typical day. Stores were opened. Servants were out and fetching ingredients for today's meal. Ladies were festering at the latest gossip. The newsboy was running around and selling the daily jinx to the people.

However, there were rumors of stolen eggs, chickens, and pigs in the nearby villages that supplied the town with fresh meat and ingredients. Some also said that the Vegetable shop was robbed.

In the Inns, patrons have reportedly gone missing, mostly players staying for the night to participate in the tournament.

Speaking of the tournament. It was a wonderful day and the start of another round of the competition where everyone cheered, be merry, and doubled their income. Events like this attract tourists to Roselake Town, spending their gil and making the town richer than ever.

But as the townsfolk were excited and eager for the tournament, no one knew what had happened in Roselake Manor.

Those who delivered the daily jinx and passed by the Lord's house said that the house was . . . eerily quiet. Usually, the servants were amongst those who woke up while the roasters were still asleep. They could already be seen cleaning the surroundings and watering the garden.

The ladies in the public market whispered that the servants in the manor hadn't bought their usual.

"What would Lord Roselake eat for breakfast?" they often asked. For only the freshest of ingredients went inside the Lord's belly. Newly caught from the sea and plucked raw from the nearby farms.

No one knew that, at this moment, the Lord was suffering from an incurable disease.

Inside the Lord's bed chamber, the Lord was seen and heard wrenching in pain. Overnight he turned into a stick barely recognizable as the one-plump Lord of Roselake. His skin was so gaunt, clinging to what was left of his bones. His eyes were sunken, and his voice only a gurgle, unable to scream his pain.

The soldiers who brought him to bed said that he was burning and that they could even feel his hot skin beneath their armor. Smoke rose from all of the Lord's orifices, and the skin from his face and other parts of his body was already melting.

It was like he was boiling from the inside.

"Do something!" the Lady said. "Do something about my husband, or I'll have your heads." She didn't have any love for her husband, but it would be a problem if he died.

The healers and maesters of the town could do nothing but put their eyes on the floor. "We have tried our best, my Lady. But perhaps . . ."

"What? Perhaps what?!"

"Perhaps the Lord is suffering from a curse."

"A curse?" the Lady's eyes rounded. "Then call the Pope! Call the high Septas!"

"The Pope is too busy to head our call, my Lady. But we already dispatch word to the church to send their nearest Septon."

Everyone knew that the Pope was the highest authority in the Kingdom of Rustin and that the King was only a figurehead. Calling the Pope to a mere town like this was laughable. Or at least they wanted to be executed for wasting the Pope's time.

Heeding the call, three Septons arrived. But even the divine users couldn't heal the Lord of his sickness. In fact, it was not only the Lord. The guards with the Lord that night were suffering from the same disease.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. It looks like the Lord is suffering from an unknown disease."

The Lady of Roselake's face went dark. "What really is it?! Is it a disease or a curse?!"

The maesters, healers, and clergy looked at each other, and none could really provide an answer.

"Useless things. Do I have to do everything myself?!" The Lady then marched to her room and drafted a letter to her father, asking for his aid.

Many ravens flew that day. A sheer sight so early in the morning. But none of them had yet to reach their destination when the Lady suddenly felt . . . burning.