Exiled Prince: I'm the Unexpected Extra in the Novel-Chapter 113: The War for the North[1] The Withering Duchy
The north winds were howling like a lament over the frozen lands of Frosthelm.
But cold was not the only thing this wind brought it also carried the acrid scent of decay despair and approaching death.
Those villages and towns that once hosted the proud and resilient people of the north were now no different from ghost towns.
Most of the houses were abandoned their roofs collapsed under the weight of the snow and their windows turned into dark holes staring into the void just like the eyes of their inhabitants.
The few people visible in the village square resembled walking corpses more than the living.
Their cheeks were sunken from hunger and their skin clung to their bones. But it wasn’t just hunger that reduced them to this state.
Under the gloomy sky a terrifying detail stood out when one looked closely at these people’s faces.
Pitch black poisonous veins crawling beneath their skin stretching from their necks to their temples and from there into their eyes. Their movements were slow jerky and full of pain.
The pupils of those in the final stages of the disease turned completely purple and their consciousness seemed to have long departed.
Prince of Curses Umbrelion’s epidemic had spread across these lands like a plague.
A jet black crow perched on the roof of a ruined house with a collapsed chimney tilted its head and watched this theater of misery displayed below.
Its feathers were as black as night but its eyes... Those eyes possessed a deep blood red glint too intelligent to belong to an animal.
A wave of icy anger passed through Cassian as he scanned the village with the sharp vision of his crow form.
The state of Frosthelm... is even worse than I thought he thought to himself.
Dozens of towns and villages he passed along the way every stop he made shared the same fate.
Hunger disease and the desperation of a Duchess sworn to protect them.
People were afraid to leave their homes because outside not only the cold but also that damned contagious disease was roaming.
The markets were empty the stalls overturned. A large portion of the population had either perished from the disease been slaughtered in the brutal attacks of the Obsidian Dawn or left everything behind and embarked on a desperate migration journey south into the Empire.
Some areas had become completely restricted zones.
The Duchy of Frosthelm had long lost control of its borders.
The Obsidian Dawn cult taking advantage of this void had seized villages established outposts and turned these lands into a part of their own dark kingdom.
The North was dying slowly and painfully.
As the twilight of the evening began to fall Cassian spread his wings and glided towards the center of the village.
He needed to rest and gather information.
This was one of the last stops before reaching the capital of the Duchy Duchess Cecilia’s castle.
He landed among the shadows in one of the back alleys of the village.
The black feathers dispersed like mist giving way to a young man disguised as an ordinary traveler with black hair and black eyes.
The thick fur cloak he wore protected him from the cold while also concealing his face.
He started walking on the main street of the village. Every step he took on the road covered with mud and ice made a crunching sound.
The few villagers around stopped and looked at him when they noticed this stranger. There was no curiosity or hospitality in their gazes.
There was only fear suspicion and deep intolerance. Stranger meant danger. It meant disease carrier or Obsidian Dawn spy.
A woman quickly scooped up her child ran into her house and bolted the door. A man gripped the rusty axe in his hand tighter.
Cassian continued walking with his head down ignoring these hostile glares.
His goal was not to conflict with anyone. He was just looking for a roof over his head and maybe some silence.
He stopped in front of the village’s only inn an old building with a sign hanging by a single nail swinging in the wind. The Broken Shield Inn. The name tragically fitted the village’s situation.
He pushed the wooden door. The hinges opened with a bitter groan of not having been oiled for a long time. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞
Inside was... completely empty.
This place where laughter music and the smell of beer once rose now resembled a tomb.
Most of the tables were overturned and the chairs had been smashed probably to be used as firewood.
The floors were covered in dust and dried mud. The fireplace was cold containing only gray ashes.
Cassian walked towards the empty counter with the thudding sound of his boots.
There seemed to be not a single customer nor even a living being inside other than him. Even the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen.
He stopped in front of the counter and tapped the dusty wooden surface with his fingers.
"Is anyone there" he called out. His voice echoed in the empty and cold hall bouncing off the walls and returning. There was no answer.
He waited. There was no sound other than the howling of the wind outside.
"Hey" he shouted again in a louder voice. "We have a customer! I want a room and some information!"
When there was no answer again Cassian sighed deeply. "Great" he muttered. "Abandoned. Just like the others."
He turned around and headed towards the door swinging his cloak to leave the inn.
He would have to find another shelter. Maybe he would spend the night in a forest outside the village.
Just as he reached for the doorknob... a sound came from above from the second floor.
CRACK!
The sound of porcelain or glass falling and breaking. Followed by a slight dragging noise.
Cassian froze where he stood. His hand remained suspended on the doorknob. He slowly turned his head and fixed his gaze on the top of the stairs swallowed by darkness.
"A cat" he thought at first. Then he immediately dismissed this thought.
Considering the hunger and misery these people were living through it was impossible for a cat or dog to survive in these conditions or even roam the streets without being eaten. They must have even eaten the rats.
He narrowed his eyes. Someone was upstairs.
He silenced his steps. Like a shadow he climbed the creaking stairs skillfully as if he knew which step would make a sound.
The second corridor was like a dark and dusty tunnel. There were six room doors. Cassian opened each one cautiously one by one.
First room: Empty. Just the remains of a broken bed. Second room: Abandoned clothes messy as if fled in a hurry. Third room: Covered in dust window broken. Fourth room: A dead rat and empty wine bottles.
Cassian stopped when he reached the fifth room at the end of the corridor. A very faint almost inaudible breathing sound and a heavy smell of rotting flesh were coming from under the door.
He slowly pushed the door.
And a knot formed in his stomach at the sight he saw.
The room was ice cold. The window was covered with a piece of cloth but it was not enough to block the cold.
An old man was lying under a pile of quilts on the bed in the corner. Or what used to be a man...
His body was completely unrecognizable due to the disease.
His skin had blackened his face misshapen like melted wax. Black veins had climbed up his neck and covered his entire face.
Only the weak movement of his chest showed that he was still alive by some miracle.
But that wasn’t the most heartbreaking thing.
A tiny girl about 8 or 9 years old stood in front of the bed as if to protect her grandfather.
The girl’s condition was not promising either. The dress she wore had turned into rags. She was so weak from hunger that her skin stuck to her bones and her eyes remained huge inside her skull.
And the first traces of those damned black veins had appeared on her neck. She was in the early stages of the disease.
The girl had grasped a rusty kitchen knife that was too big for her with both trembling hands which looked like toothpicks and pointed it at Cassian at the door.
Tears were streaming down her eyes but there was pure primal fear and desperate courage in her gaze.
"Stay back" she squealed her voice hoarse. "Stay away from my grandpa!"
Cassian stood at the threshold of the door. He looked at the child and then at the old man dying in the bed.
This single frame described the hell Frosthelm was in better than thousands of reports.
An empire a duchy had reduced its own people to this state.
His mind calculated the possibilities.
He could heal them. His Holy Mana could heal that old man as if he had never caught the disease.
He could completely save the girl. In fact he could purify all those villages he passed on his way here all those sick people with a single snap of his fingers.
But...
