The next morning, after loading themselves with a serviceable breakfast, the band once again prepares to depart for another day's journey. As they tie up their bedrolls, take down their tents, and re-equip themselves, Roderick Bellum emerges from Rosemont's headquarters to greet them in the new morning.

“Good morning, Mistwalkers.” The captain announces in his commanding voice and rigid posture. “Wasting no time in continuing your journey, I see.”

“Daylight becomes more and more precious the further north you go.” Veros responds as he tightens his thick leather armor around him. “We can't afford to waste it.”

“True.” Roderick nods, his expression growing a bit more dejected. “Once you're back on the road and continue on, you'll be beyond the Rosemont line. Undead activity tends to rise dramatically there.”

“Sounds like a party.” Kellar sardonically utters while re-saddling his horse.

“And do keep in mind the fact that after Terrance, you'll no longer have the luxury of sleeping inside a fortified area at night.” Roderick bluntly reminds the team of hardships to come. “Nor will you have any more dining halls that offer generous amounts of food.”

“Probably won't have any baths, either.” Royd groans under his breath, with sincere sadness in his eyes.

“It'll be tough.” Veros replies, now fully equipped. “But I think we've all realized by now that it wouldn't get any easier.”

“Fair enough.” The captain says with a small nod. “I'll keep your trophy secure in the chance that you do make it back.” He points towards the entrance of the outpost, where the unmoving corpse of the undead brute lies, tied up and secured firmly to the ground; its head, still in a sack, placed next to its shoulders.

“Thank you. But if we're not back in two weeks, feel free to get rid of it.”

“Two weeks? That's all?” Roderick asks, surprised at the short deadline Veros has given himself and the team.

“Yes.” The group leader nods with confidence in his choice. “We're not wasting any time on trivialities on this journey. We plan to reach Armasstadt, find the source of the mist, fix or destroy it, then come back. Considering that it should only take four days to get there and four days to come back, we would have a window of ten days to accomplish our goal or to use as extra traveling time. So if we're not back in two weeks, then we're very likely not coming back at all.”

“I see.” The captain says with a small sigh. “You've had some time to think about this.”

“It's hard not to when you're beyond the barrier.” Veros adopts a somber tone. “One must be conscious of dangers, but also not dwell on defeatism.”

“Too right.” Roderick is quick to agree with the sentiment, especially as a commanding officer who considers high morale to be paramount on the road to success.

“Is everyone ready?” Veros announces to the other Mistwalkers, who all look prepared for the day's quest.

“Aye!” Royd answers with unabashed enthusiasm, the effectiveness of the hot bath from the previous night still holding a positive influence over his attitude. The others confirm their readiness with nods and affirmative grunts, and proceed to mount their horses.

“Thank you for the food, advice, and especially the hot baths.” Veros gives one last comment of gratitude to Roderick before departing.

“You're welcome to indulge again if you can make it back.” The captain offers an encouraging invitation in return.

After the exchange, the band leaves Rosemont, reentering to road and continuing northward. Crossing the arcane dome of the mist-free outpost into the usual dangers of the infected land boasts a daunting change not just in atmosphere, but also in the sensation of the air itself. The therapeutic embrace of the hot baths seemed to have practically washed away their bodies' developed endurance to the heavier air, as well. A small price to pay for the experience of a peaceful cleansing.

The initial stretch of road after the checkpoint is still seemingly void of any undead presence, but with the mist growing denser and visibility shrinking by the day, it's harder to predict what lies beyond the grey veil ahead. However, with nothing to keep alert of at the moment, Kellar, riding at the front of the group with Veros, takes the opportunity to discuss plans going forward.

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“So, after Terrance, how are we gonna handle sleepin'?” Kellar inquires.

“Hopefully we come across shelter reasonably close to sundown. Otherwise, I'd imagine we'll have to set up camp and take turns staying awake to keep watch.” Veros answers with the most obvious, but also only truly available option. “There's really no other way to establish any real security or set up a perimeter.”

“We'd also have to start rationin' food, too.” The rogue gripes with clear depression in his tone. “I don't have an appetite like Royd, but I'm not lookin' forward to being limited to a nibble an hour.”

“Hopefully these Mistwalkers at Terrance have enough supplies to offer something of use.” The veteran ponders, showing reluctance in depending on non-Legion individuals he's yet to meet. “Though they probably have enough problems as is, staying beyond the Rosemont line.”

“Why are Mistwalkers the ones to set up an outpost beyond the halfway point of the misted area?” Kellar asks aloud. “You'd think the Legion would be trying to do a lot more than they have been.”

“I haven't had much faith in the Legion's leadership in quite some time.” Veros replies with a touch of vitriol in his voice. “Nor the crown, by extension. They could be holding themselves back from taking action for any number of reasons. Worst case, they want the commonfolk to do their work for them, which is already hinted at thanks to us being here in the first place.”

“You really think they'd throw the fate of the whole country, maybe even the world into the hands of random commoners like us and just sit back? Wouldn't that hurt them as much as it hurts us?”

“I wouldn't put it past them. These are the same people who decided to interfere in a war they had no part in for no other excuse than to just throw their political weight around.” The veteran with a chip on his shoulder decides to stop the conversation before it turns into a rant on his part. “But further speculation and we'd just start talking about unproven conspiracies. None of it changes the fact that we're now beyond the Legion's help.”

“You've got quite a grudge against the crown, don't you?” The rogue observes.

“I'm not much of an admirer, no.” Veros bluntly replies back.

Though he pretends to not care, he also wonders why additional efforts haven't been made. It's a curiosity indeed that Legion checkpoints stop so far from the mist's center. Giving the benefit of the doubt, could it be a lack of resources? The unwillingness to throw more men into the unknown abyss without more information? Veros doesn't doubt that it is a tough call to make considering how alien the situation is, but inaction is inaction all the same, and the crown has offered little communication regarding their next moves.

Not long after, now several miles from Rosemont, the shadowy figures of undead can be identified in the foggy distance, shambling closer the group. Veros stops in order to examine the enemy.

“I think I see... two?” The leader estimates with narrowed eyes. “Who wants to take these?”

“I'd like to get some practice, if it's okay.” A feminine voice emerges from the back of the group. Zyra, usually quiet – more so than Erik – during the day, steps forward with confident eyes.

“Oh?” Veros smirks, surprised at the young woman's initiative. “It's rare for you to volunteer for these things.”

“I'm ready to start pulling my weight.” The pyromancer declares. “I feel like I haven't contributed much since we began our journey. But if things are going to get more dangerous, then I need to get used to fighting.”

“That's the right attitude to have.” The team leader offers praise with a proud smile. He beckons the mage to go ahead. “They're all yours.”

The pyromancer proceeds forward with a clear gaze of determination in her eyes, and Veros follows behind, anticipating a new, skillful display of arcane usage that Zyra was unable to show off before.

She stops her horse at a safe distance from the two wandering cadavers, both heavily decayed, who are gradually closing in at brisk pace. She raises her right arm, opens her hand to face her palm to the closest undead, takes a single breath to gather her focus, and begins.

“Spherus Infernum.” Zyra speaks the incantation in a low voice, and a fiery orb is conjured and flashes across the air at an amazing speed. It hits the first undead directly in the chest, causing it to explode into a gory, flaming mess.

“ Spherus Infernum.” She says again, aiming at the second corpse, a slightly further distance away. Again, the ball of fire collides with its chest, and the undead bursts in an orange flash, throwing bits of flesh in every direction.

Zyra brings her hand down, taking another deep breath to relax herself as a single bead of sweat slides down the side of her face. Despite how easy she made it look, her heart is racing and her mind is spinning with disbelief that she's made so much progress with her casting in only a few days. She still has a ways to go before casting such simple spells becomes truly effortless for her, but the young woman has gained a more positive outlook on her ability as a mage.

“Good work.” Veros comments from behind, sporting a satisfied smile. “You almost made it look like second nature.”

“Thanks! I've been receiving good advice on my casting.” Zyra responds to the praise in kind with a smile of her own, which she also flashes to Atticus, watching from the back of the group.

“Keep it up.” The team leader gives an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he passes her to approach the bodies, both now totally without the upper half of their torsos.