"Hey, Ralph, good to see you again."
Gideon waved casually.
Ralph imdiately felt a twinge of danger.
He edged closer to Sadie, almost as if shielding her, before muttering:
"What's he doing here?"
"I asked Father Gideon to co," Sadie admitted, unconsciously shifting half a step away.
That tiny movent was enough to chill Ralph's heart.
"I thought… you only invited ." He tightened his grip on the Blackwater Heart, convincing himself he was overthinking it.
But then ca the final blow:
"Actually, I only invited Father Gideon."
Ralph froze.
"But the Father insisted I bring you along," Sadie quickly added. "He said we'd need a seasoned hunter at our side."
Her words sounded awkward. The truth was Gideon had said, We need soone to carry the bags. But she couldn't bring herself to phrase it that way.
Gideon caught the look and smiled faintly. She had softened the truth well enough.
Indeed, one reason he wanted Ralph along was simple—supplies.
Every expedition into the Plague Zone required provisions for days of survival. Gideon might manage fine, but Sadie was only human. What kind of man would let a young woman bear all the weight?
Of course, he had no intention of doing it himself either. That's what a "worthy companion" was for.
Still, logistics weren't the only reason.
Ralph's presence gave them sothing invaluable: plausible cover.
A foreigner like Gideon stood out too much. If Sadie entered with only him, others would suspect hidden tricks. But with Ralph—a competent, experienced hunter with an obvious crush on Sadie—the team looked perfectly ordinary.
A man in love would shoulder any burden. Loyal to a fault, even if dood to be discarded later.
And sure enough, at Sadie's explanation, Ralph's eyes lit up.
"Father Gideon, that's very wise of you!" he said, extending his hand with newfound warmth.
"Glad to have you with us," Gideon replied smoothly.
Ralph adjusted his hat, hefted the heavy packs onto his back, and asked:
"So—what's the plan?"
"By now, the order of entry should already be set," Sadie murmured.
"Then let's get moving," Gideon said, brushing off his robe.
"If no one sees the Allards appear, all our preparations will have been for nothing."
---
At the entrance, the three arrived just as the other factions lined up to enter. Being late placed them at the end of the queue.
Whispers spread the mont people spotted them.
The Allards are finally here.
So thought the Father hadn't recovered fully from the poisoning. Others assud the Allards were simply conserving resources.
Hunters entered the Plague Zone for two reasons—either to fight for a Trait, or to gather rare materials. The first required strict rationing of Blackwater Hearts and Marsh Leaves to extend one's stay.
It was the sa reason the Coopers always entered last—let others scout first while keeping their hellhounds fresh.
"So the Allards are going for a Trait this ti."
That suspicion spread quickly—exactly the impression Gideon wanted.
The truth? The Allards had already sent a squad of young hunters ahead, ard with holy relics, to prepare the ground. Gideon and Sadie had deliberately lingered to craft an alibi.
After all, self-serving tricks worked best in the shadows.
---
Deep inside the Plague Zone, a hunter brushed aside a thicket with his shotgun. His eyes widened.
There, in a clearing, stood an abandoned wagon surrounded by wooden crates.
"It's real!"
Mickey ck's voice cracked with excitent as he waved his companions forward.
They were from the rising ck family, a small but ambitious force. Barely an hour into the Plague Zone, and they had already stumbled across a supply station.
Caches like these, left behind by earlier expeditions, often contained ammunition, traps, or food. Hunters who escaped the Plague Zone alive would sotis leave extras behind—for the next team, or for themselves should they return.
So even deposited their last belongings when too wounded to leave, ensuring nothing went to waste.
It was more than resupply.
It was tradition.
It was inheritance.
A way to keep the hunter's craft alive.
A way to give one's final strength against the monsters.
No wonder the cks were so thrilled.
Their goal this trip had been simple—gather materials. If the wagon held enough, they could leave early, before the entrance sealed.
After all, survival here was a matter of sheer luck. Most parties needed a day or two just to gather enough resources.
The cks' good fortune ca from a single scrap of guidance.
Mickey pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, found shortly after entering. It bore a rough map with arrows pointing the way—and a single line scrawled across it:
For those who co after.
Clearly, left behind by another hunter.
The cks had planned to head for a recorded oasis. But with the map in hand, they changed course.
And it seed to have paid off.
"Look at this!" Mickey cried, wiping mud off a shotgun pulled from a crate.
"A Crown semi-auto—five rounds, perfect for close-range against fusion beasts!"
He raised it, mimicking the recoil and sound of fire.
The weapon, designed by legendary gunsmith John Moses Crown, was a prized rarity in the South—too expensive for most but the great families.
"Adrenaline shots, wire mines, corpse-needle mushrooms, fla blossoms…" another companion rattled off, wide-eyed at the haul.
Every item was rare or costly, each hard to acquire.
"We… we've struck gold," Mickey gasped, pinching his arm to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
This haul would surely earn him recognition, maybe even promotion within the family.
"Hey, Mickey! Over here!" one of his comrades shouted suddenly, crouched beside another crate.
"What is it?" Mickey hurried over.
On the surface of the crate, words were carved:
To the traveler passing by.
Mickey's eyes widened. Could this be the legacy of so powerful hunter?
He glanced at his companions. They looked just as eager.
Swallowing hard, Mickey reached out and lifted the latch.
The next second—
"Bang!"
A sharp sound cracked from inside.
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