The Blue Sickness and a Bowl of Stew

"Come here while we're still asking nicely. Just get over here!"

"Witness the ecstasy and become one with us! Become one with us!"

A pack of madmen charged toward him, their eyes flaring with violent, eerie blue light.

Even for a veteran mercenary like Bennett, who had weathered a decade of blood and iron, this was entirely unprecedented. Yet even as shock rippled through him, his instincts took over without missing a beat.

Through the mechanical aperture of his crossbow, the contorted features of the assailants came into sharp relief. Stripped of sanity, their faces bore only the grotesque masks of blind zealotry, wild euphoria, and frantic pleasure. It was utterly abhorrent.

Thwack.

A steel bolt planted itself squarely between the eyebrows of the lead runner. The impact snapped the man's head back, throwing his gait into a violent lurch, but only for a second. Righting his balance as if nothing had happened, the lunatic bared his teeth in a hideous grin.

Bennett, who had expected him to drop like a stone, felt a cold spike of disbelief.

"Let me show you!" the zealot howled.

A bolt through the skull, straight into the brain, and he was still on his feet?

Forcing his mind to clear, Bennett swung the sights back onto the target. Does he have a specific weak point? If destroying the head doesn't kill him, then where...

His gaze caught on a distinct detail, and his aim shifted by inches.

Thump!

The bolt punched straight through the man's right eye socket. The unnatural blue glare died out like an extinguished flame, and his limbs went completely limp, sending him crashing to the floor. The falling corpse clipped a nearby display counter, toppling it and momentarily tripping up the fiends behind him.

"Found it."

Backpedaling with measured, rhythmic strides, Bennett squeezed the release again.

Thump. Crack.

Not a single bolt went wide. Each shot drilled unerringly into the glowing eyes. The scavengers, who had been sprinting toward him with outstretched arms, collapsed into lifeless heaps sprawled across the linoleum tiles.

An achievement? An anomaly?

Checking his remaining bolts out of pure muscle memory, Bennett cast a wary glance toward the other scavengers farther down the floor. They were frozen in place, staring back at him with expressions of sheer bewilderment. Naturally, none of them could have missed what had just transpired. The glaring blue glow had lit up the gloom, and the lunatics' screeching had been loud enough to reach the ground floor.

At least no one will mistake me for the aggressor. Not that it particularly mattered whether they misunderstood him or not.

Keeping half his attention pinned on the movements of the surrounding parties, Bennett knelt and searched the corpses. Unfortunately, the pickings were lean. There was none of the jewelry or high-value modern artifacts he had privately hoped to find. Perhaps because countless parties had already picked this floor clean, the bodies yielded little more than mundane trinkets, despite hailing from another world.

The weapons and armor they carried, however, were another story. Those were worth decent coin back in Dungeon City. Bennett methodically stripped off anything serviceable, tossing quality cloaks and tunics into his pack alongside their weapons. By the time he finished, a couple of the bodies were stripped down to their smallclothes, but their modesty was the least of his concerns.

Once his bag was sufficiently stuffed, Bennett melted into the surrounding gloom. Several scavengers made hesitant, restless movements after belatedly noticing his sudden disappearance, but he was already long gone.

Above a set of heavy fire doors hung a glowing green exit sign: [Emergency Stairwell].

Unlike the sweeping escalators and grand central staircase, this was a utilitarian concrete passage, cast in deep shadows and thick with stagnant air. Here, too, were the shattered remnants of an improvised barricade, though some previous party had already smashed a path through the debris.

Arriving before the heavy door leading to the third floor, Bennett paused to catch his breath. He had lost track of time, but his stomach had begun to rumble, and a faint tide of exhaustion pulled at his limbs. Pulling a piece of dry hardtack from his pouch, he chewed slowly as he summoned his interface.

Seeing the counter incremented confirmed his suspicion: those infected scavengers weren't ordinary zombies.

It definitely looked like moonlight. Could a blue moon actually exist in this world? Or was it moonlight at all? It carried an entirely different sensation from the azure hue of the dimensional portal. Perhaps if he saw it one more time, he might understand what it—

Smack!

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Bennett struck his own cheek with an open palm, his eyes snapping wide. As if shaking off an infectious mental plague, he banished every lingering thought of that alluring blue glow, unhooked his canteen, and dumped a generous splash of clean water over his head. It was a waste of precious drinking supplies, but right now, a shock to the senses was precisely what he needed.

"Phoo..."

Wiping the moisture from his face, Bennett pulled on the door handle, only to freeze. Just as he prepared to push through, the door swung inward, revealing several figures emerging from the other side. Both parties halted in their tracks, locked in mutual surprise.

Neither side moved. The stifling silence was broken by the man across from him.

"Huh?" The man pointed a finger in recognition. "You're the guy from the guild, right?"

Bennett recognized him as well. It was the same scavenger who had approached him at the Dungeon City Mercenary Guild proposing an alliance, flanked by the very same companions he had seen before. But the man's welcoming expression lasted only a fraction of a second before he glanced anxiously over his shoulder.

"Let's get out of here first," the man urged in a hurried whisper.

"Excuse me?"

Before Bennett could get a straight answer, the trio slipped past him into the stairwell. Only after the heavy fire door slammed shut behind them did they exhale ragged sighs of relief, though their eyes kept darting nervously back toward the metal frame.

Noticing Bennett keeping his distance with a hand resting near his coat, the lead man offered an apologetic, bitter grimace.

"That floor is crawled through with zombies right now. When we first went in, there were barely any, but then a whole horde came pouring out of nowhere. Looked like every other party on the third floor was wiped out clean. We barely managed to shake them off and slip through the fire door..."

"Is that so?"

Bennett gave a slow nod. If multiple parties had been slaughtered, it meant hundreds of undead were prowling the corridors. He had no intention of marching into a slaughterhouse alone either. And so, by unspoken agreement, Bennett fell in alongside them.

"I'm Ron," the man introduced himself, gesturing to his companions. "This mountain of a fellow is Milo, and our blonde archer here is Elina."

"Bennett."

"By the way..." Ron glanced up and down the stairwell. "Didn't you say at the guild that you already had a party?"

It was the sort of discrepancy that could easily breed suspicion among scavengers. Bennett kept his explanation simple and candid, stating he had been solo all along and had merely used the excuse to deflect strangers. After a quick once-over from the others, Ron accepted the explanation with an easygoing grin.

"Makes total sense. Still, you've got guts. Even on [Easy] difficulty, coming through the portal alone is rare."

"Do people rarely come in alone?"

"Almost never. Most folks find at least one person to watch their back before setting foot inside."

Ascending together, the group bypassed the third floor and pushed through the door to the fourth. Unlike the sprawling, open concourse of the second floor, the fourth floor was partitioned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into dozens of enclosed retail outlets and service corridors, creating a maze of blind corners and narrow choke points. A thorough sweep here would take considerable time.

In this cluttered terrain, Elina immediately proved her worth. True to her role as a ranger, she possessed sharp eyes and light footwork, taking the point to guide the group through the shadowed aisles.

Ghh... groooh...

The moment an undead silhouette shambled into view, Elina moved with lethal economy. Nocking, drawing, and loosing an arrow unfolded in one seamless, fluid motion. Having spent ten years in the trade, Bennett could recognize a seasoned ranger's handiwork at a glance.

Watching the prompt refresh, Bennett made a new discovery: so long as he was grouped with a party, kills made by his companions counted toward his quest tally.

"Oh, by the way," Ron said, glancing back as he trailed behind Elina. "What's your specialty, Bennett? Vanguard? Scout?"

"Nothing set in stone. I adapt to whatever the situation calls for." Leaving the rapid-fire repeating crossbow concealed under his duster, Bennett casually unhooked a stout steel baton from his belt. "If I had to pick, I handle close quarters."

Ron looked over the weapon and gave a hearty nod of approval. Even with a passing glance, the notches and scuffs on the steel bore testament to extensive use in real combat.

"Haha, reliable as they come."

"Watch it."

A rotten corpse lched from behind a retail partition, reaching for Ron's blind spot. Grabbing Ron's collar with one hand, Bennett yanked him back while whipping the baton around with his other. The weighted metal struck the monster's skull with a sickening crack like a smashed gourd, dropping it instantly.

"Much obliged!" Ron called out, quickly lunging forward to run his short sword through another shambling corpse that lunged from the adjacent aisle.

A sudden, electric surge of pleasure coursed through Bennett's veins. He dug his heels in, working to suppress the subtle tremble in his fingertips. It was harmless when resting, but a tingling rush like that mid-combat was a dangerous distraction.

"Looks like that's the last of them," Ron said, wiping his blade on a tattered curtain.

"Elina?"

"...Perimeter seems clear for now," she called back, lowering her bow.

Ron turned to Bennett with an exhausted sigh. "Want to take a quick breather? Running for our lives on the third floor took a lot out of us, and my stomach is eating itself."

"Sounds good."

"I'll string up the perimeter," Elina said, pulling small copper bells and lengths of thin twine from her pack. They were simple tripwire alarms, designed to ring out if anything approached in the dark.

"We'll save some for you, so take your time," Ron replied.

Milo, the burly warrior, set his heavy pack down with a dull thud and rummaged through his supplies for cooking gear. Striking a fire-starter, he brought a compact burner to life and balanced an iron pot atop the frame. The pot already held a base stock, into which he dumped a pre-chopped handful of preserved vegetables and salted scraps.

The heat was surprisingly fierce, and the broth began to bubble within minutes. Watching Milo work, Bennett reached into his pack, produced a thick slab of cured beef jerky, and tossed it into the boiling liquid.

"Hm? Well now, where'd that rich aroma come from?" Ron sniffed the air, licking his lips eagerly.

"It's the dried meat," Milo rumbled softly. "Good stuff. High grade."

"Nearly chipped a tooth on it earlier," Bennett remarked dryly.

"Ha! Well, you just made tonight's meal a lot richer. Much appreciated, Bennett."

They let the pot simmer for another ten minutes until the broth thickened into a hearty, fragrant stew. It bore an unmistakable resemblance to the Eternal Soup simmered endlessly in low-end roadside taverns, but neither Bennett nor Ron's crew minded in the slightest. There wasn't a mercenary alive who wasn't intimately familiar with the taste of perpetual camp stew.

"Bowls," Milo grunted tersely.

Ron quickly pulled several wooden trenchers from his pack and set them down in a row. Milo ladled generous, steaming portions into each. Passing a full bowl to Bennett, Ron immediately grabbed his own and dug in.

"Oh man, this is ten times ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠better than usual!" Ron let out a shuddering sigh of pure bliss after his first spoonful, color returning to his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cheeks. Even the taciturn Milo gave a firm, approving nod as he chewed. "Definitely hits the spot."

The two devoured their portions with competitive zeal. Watching them eat, Bennett raised his own spoon—

Twang.

A razor-sharp gust split the air, and Bennett threw his body sideways into the dark.