Punish Them in My Place (4)
"Just as the rumors say, it looks like Aterugar has returned."
Hildeva whispered in a grim tone, like the fog enveloping us.
"Any solid proof?"
She glanced around once more to ensure no one was listening, then leaned in closer to me.
"Myanfeld evaporated."
"Evaporated?"
"The city was reduced to ashes by some unknown disaster. This comes straight from the royal palace—they confirmed it themselves. Even the acting administrator of Myanfeld mentioned it."
People covered in soot, the stench of charred flesh wafting from the lines of refugees, patients riddled with burns. And that man rambling about a sea of flames... That massive city, gone...
"Assuming it's a dragon's doing for now... What does that have to do with the palace wanting to hold these refugees here?"
"They say a dragon's vengeance lasts at least a century." She fixed her gaze on me as she said it. Hildeva's words carried heavy implications.
"Mayor, don't tell me... You're saying the dragon might track these refugees all the way here?"
"If that's not the reason, there's no other explanation for why Bue and the palace would tie these people down in Rosens."
I caught on to the palace's intentions that Hildeva had pieced together.
"So, to stop the dragon from heading south into the kingdom... they're using these people as bait or a shield."
"The palace probably figures that if the refugees head south, the pursuing dragon will ravage every city in the area. So they'll keep them pinned here, send in legions or mages to block the dragon, or ship them back north."
"Drawing a defensive line at Rosens, using the narrow terrain to your advantage."
"A defensive line... or a firebreak."
A firebreak... Fitting name. It's a strip cleared of anything flammable in advance to stop fires from spreading. With nothing left to burn, the flames die out.
For whatever reason, the red dragon would follow the refugees south from Myanfeld—and they'd make sure it didn't go any further at Rosens. Of course, it was just Hildeva's speculation, but if not for that, there'd be no reason to seal off the southern roads without explanation.
So, if Aterugar actually showed up in Rosens, what would they use to stop her? Legions? Mages? Those wouldn't scratch a dragon.
Suddenly, a strange feeling washed over me. The palace knows I'm running a business here... Don't tell me...
They expect me to deal with Aterugar?
Fuck... They're dumping this on me?!
Unaware of my thoughts, Hildeva spoke with concern.
"We can't keep the refugees here forever, though. The weather's getting cold, and there are so many patients."
"Better if the dragon shows up soon and gets it over with."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't. No dragon means endless refugee care; dragon shows up, and it's a whole new mess."
After a moment's thought, I asked Hildeva, "Where's that acting administrator now?"
"At the temple. Helping Saintess Celereja treat the patients."
"I need to meet him."
Heading straight west from the guard post takes you to the temple, just outside the main city streets. Usually quiet, with only Celereja handling duties or a few devotees praying, the temple was now absolute chaos.
The caskets in the chapel had been shoved into a corner, replaced by burn victims packed wall-to-wall. From those with massive blisters on their skin to the critically injured, charred black from head to toe. People dashed about with water and bandages. The air reeked of sweat and pus, filled with groans, screams, and the wails of families clutching bodies being carried out. Hell on earth.
At the center of it all, Celereja knelt, sweat pouring down her face as she cast holy healing. Her patient was a horrific case—skin peeled off over his entire body. Golden holy power gathered in her hands, bathing him in sacred light. The oozing red wounds were drying bit by bit, skin regenerating... but agonizingly slowly. The holy power flickered unstably, winking out several times.
Up close, Celereja's face was ghostly pale, her lips cracked and dry.
"Saintess, you okay?"
"Ah... Bertrand... What brings you here...?"
"Heard you were tending patients—thought you might need a hand. You look awful."
"Treating them all night... Hoo..."
Holy power borrows from the Goddess, but humans wield it—and it's exhausting. Even a saintess can't keep it up all night. Besides, newly ordained Celereja didn't have wide-area heals like Healing Rain that the old saintess with me could pull off.
"Rest. You'll collapse first."
"But there are still so many patients..."
I glanced at the blackened burn victims. Injuries so severe it was a miracle they were alive. They'd probably been dead on arrival, but brought here on the off chance.
"The ones here are doctors and herbalists, right? Leave the minor cases to them and rest. If you go down, even the ones you could save will die."
The saintess shook her head and tried to stand—but dizziness hit, and she staggered. I caught her and led her to the priest's quarters.
"Rest. I'll tell the others."
She collapsed onto the sofa. Looking up at me with half-closed eyes, she rasped, "Please... make sure you do..."
With that, she shut her eyes and passed out.
I went outside, gathered the conscripted medical staff, and relayed her orders. Knowing how hard she'd worked all night sleeves rolled up, everyone was relieved she was finally resting.
There, I met Jeffrey, Myanfeld's acting administrator. His shirt was soaked with sweat, hands clutching a bloodied bundle of bandages.
"I'm Bertrand, owner of the inn in Rosens. If you're up for it, I'd like a quick word."
Exhausted as he looked, my earnest request got through. He nodded and followed me outside the temple.
I asked him what the hell happened in Myanfeld.
Puzzled why an innkeeper cared, he answered anyway.
"It was a peaceful day like any other. Clear skies, not a cloud, hot weather. Then it happened."
"What happened?"
"Something huge flew over the city, casting a shadow. Then lightning started striking from the dry sky."
His face paled, reliving it vividly.
"Thick bolts swept straight through the city. Anyone hit died instantly; buildings crumbled and caught fire."
"Thick lightning... Must've spread like wildfire."
"Exactly. It struck diagonally across the city on purpose, over and over. After that... well, you see the results. The city went up in flames in an instant, and the survivors fled here."
"Anyone get a good look at what flew overhead?"
Jeffrey shook his head regretfully.
"How often do people stare at the sky? And when the lightning hit, no one could think straight... But everyone knows. It was definitely Aterugar. The red dragon that appeared out of nowhere in Myanfeld ten years ago and vanished like smoke. Come back for revenge."
"Did Myanfeld do something to piss off that dragon?"
"No one knows. Dragons are arrogant, prideful monsters—they rage over things no one can comprehend."
He shared a bit more related info. Bottom line: lightning destroyed the city; no one knows exactly what, but circumstances point to a dragon.
I'd heard enough. Heading back to the refugee camp, I mulled over Jeffrey's account. It matched a typical dragon breath. But lightning instead of fire? The panic must've warped his memory.
By the time I returned, a long line snaked in front of the outdoor kitchen at the refugee camp. There was Francois, sleeves rolled up, directing the conscripted cooks from station to station.
Under her command, they divided tasks efficiently, serving food to the refugees. It looked like the royal head chef prepping a state banquet—busy but orderly.
I grabbed a ladle at the bakery owner's station to help with serving. Breakfast was hearty red stew loaded with chorizo. Nothing beats stew in a pinch.
"Dig in."
As I scooped for the refugee in front, he suddenly dropped his bowl. Stew splashed everywhere, including on the ground.
"Oh, sorry. I'll get you more."
Apologizing, I looked at the refugee—and froze solid.
"Uh...?"
The moment I opened my mouth, he shoved through the crowd and bolted.