The next morning, when the sun is as fresh as it could possibly be allowed through the increasing density of the grey mist, the group departs Checkpoint Tenumbur, and proceeds northward. Several things weight heavy on their minds as they leave, including the fact that the thicker miasma continues to shorten their visibility and length of day, and that the next checkpoint is the last on their journey. The second half of their quest to reach Armasstadt – which will be significantly more dangerous than the first half if rumors are to be believed – will be without any assistance or shelter offered by the Legion. The sensation of impending doom will become stronger from here on out, and their mental fortitude will be pushed to their absolute limits.

Though the company anticipates no real obstacles on the day's trip, the impenetrable colorless fog still succeeds at forcing a palpably oppressive atmosphere as it has been since they crossed the barrier. As always, they travel in silence, with their eyes peeled and senses alert, with only the sound of the horses' feet crushing the dirt beneath them at a regular beat. It is a grim contrast to mildly jovial attitudes they possessed mere hours ago, as they've quickly grown accustomed to the daily procedures of checking into the Legion checkpoints, but still have yet to feel secure in the time between them. The walls of Armasstadt grow closer by the second, and a tiny voice in each of them questions what's within them.

Before long, the team comes across the first large plot of farmland on the day's route. As expected, the crops have rotted beyond recognition, and the soil is now dry and nutritionless after months of abandonment. It begs the question whether it would even be possible to utilize this land for farming again even after the mist disappears – if the mist disappears. A tinge of the accompanying foul smell still hanging in the air for the group to disdainfully inhale. Kellar's face twists with disgust at the mild fumes, and Royd's only bares a strong expression of a disappointment at the state of the land.

“What a stench.” Kellar is the first break the silence that's been present for some time now. “We've passed some farms before, but none this huge. The smell is definitely noticeable now.”

“A terrible waste to see such a prosperous farm be turned into... this.” Royd adds on. “Hopefully this area won't stay barren forever.”

At the pace the group is going, they eventually grow accustomed to the odor before they escape it. Off the side of the road, the farmer's home can be spotted at the very edge of visibility, and it's as every bit as dilapidated as any of the buildings seen before. Kellar examines it for an extended moment, considering veering off from the group to search for valuables, but memories of yesterday's failures ultimately convince him to turn away. He still thinks they're too far south to find anything worthwhile. He still wants to venture further north, where it's less likely average riff-raff have made it far enough to loot.

After passing many acres of lifeless farmland, Veros, who is at the front of the party like always, suddenly holds his hand up to signal the group to come to a stop. Atticus, who is following immediately behind, approaches him.

“What's wrong?” The knight asks.

“Up ahead.” Veros repsonds, with his eyes narrowed suspiciously towards the northward road. “I think an undead is coming.”

Atticus looks ahead, and squints his eyes as he examines the nigh-impenetrable wall of grey that veils anything beyond it. Soon, he makes out a dark silhouette, vaguely human-shaped. It draws nearer very, very slowly, but its figure soon becomes more clear. It seems to be a limping undead, and it appears to be alone.

“Just one, it looks like.” The black-clad knight comments.

“I'll take care of it.” Veros responds with confidence, then urges his horse forward, ready to terminate the wandering corpse without even dismounting.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Is someone there?” A faint, weak voice suddenly calls out, forcing Veros to stop his horse after only a few steps.

“Did you hear that?” Kellar speaks up.

“They're not undead.” Veros responds, wide-eyed and realizing that the silhouette belongs to someone who is still among the living. “Let's see if we can offer some assistance.” He beckons the rest of the group to follow as he rushes his horse to approach the survivor.

“Please, help me!” The voice becomes clearer as the team draws closer. Finally, the fog clears completely and they can see a man with an injured right leg. He's clearly suffered a beating, as multiple bruises and scrapes cover his body and his leather armor is stained with blood, sourced from both exterior and interior places. His thinly bearded face is also dirtied with a mix of soil and grime, and his eyes are reddened and glossy. His expression bares a look of strong desperation.

“What's wrong?” Veros immediately inquires.

“My band was attacked – ambushed – down the road.” The unknown survivor points northward. “I've been dragging myself and this limp leg for about three miles trying to find someone to help me.”

Veros dismounts and retrieves a large, red apple from his bag that be took from Checkpoint Tenumbur, and offers it to the unknown Mistwalker.

“Here, eat this and take a load off.” Veros insists. The injured survivor is deeply relieved by the gesture, and eagerly accepts the food.

“Thank the Gods for you, sir. You're a kind soul.” The man wastes no time in sitting on the dirt to rest and take a massive bite into the fruit. Veros kneels next to him.

“So, what exactly happened?” He asks softly, with patience. “And what's your name?”

“My name's Egart, sir.” The man catches a breath between his large bites to answer. “Egart Moorley. I came into the mist with a group of others I met back at Zenith Gate.”

“They're the ones who were attacked?”

“Yes, sir.” Egart nods multiple times. “We left Checkpoint Rosemont earlier today to make our way back to the barrier, and some... massive thing attacked us out of nowhere.” The survivor's voice cracks slightly as he recalls the incident.

“What was it, friend? The thing that attacked you?” Veros gently presses for more details.

“Some... giant warrior in white and gold armor. He stood at least eight feet tall.” The panicked Mistwalker begins to describe his team's assailant. “He wielded a large halberd with a long, thick blade.”

“Was he undead?” Veros asks for more details, unsure of what to make of the things he's heard thus far.

“Aye, I'm quite sure he was.” Egart nods several times again. “His skin was a greenish grey, and his eyes were yellow. But he was so much bigger than any of the undead we've seen. He had the strength of ten men!”

“I see.” Veros utters. “Here, continue eating.” He offers the scared survivor another apple. Uncertain of how seriously to take these claims, the team leader looks around at the rest of the group, still perched on their horses. They all wear expressions of mixed confusion and reluctance. A giant warrior undead? With the strength of ten men? In white and gold armor? They've made it so far into the misty region, and they've never heard any tales such as this. Is it possible for the mist to create such a horrific being?

“What the hell kind of monster is he speakin' of?” Kellar asks in bewilderment.

“I think I might have an idea.” Veros replies. “The detail that got my attention was the white and gold armor, and the halberd.”

“Who owns such equipment?” Atticus inquires.

“Oh, shit...” Kellar interjects after being struck with a realization. “The monastery knights.”

“Yes, precisely.” Veros confirms with a nod. “Remember when we found the dead monks? I mentioned that they usually travel with an entourage of squires and knights, too. It must be one of them.”

“Are monastery knights usually over eight feet tall, though?” Royd asks, half jokingly, half seriously.

“No, definitely not.” Veros becomes visibly less confident in his hypothesis. “But we can't put it past the mist to transform them in some way, considering how little we know of it.”

“Perhaps.” Kellar responds. “But aren't undead usually just mindless, limpin' corpses? Why's the mist makin' this random knight all huge, then?”

“I couldn't even begin to guess.” The unsure captain shakes his head. “Either way, there's no reason for Egart here to lie to us.”

“Then what are we goin' to do about it? Fight it?”

“Wait!” Egart frantically speaks up. “You can't! That thing... It decimated my crew! You won't last, even if you do have a mage!"