Max walked beside Merlin as they made their way on the northern path, the air felt like it was growing colder with each step. Snow crunched under their boots, and Max could feel the cold wind biting through his cloak. He tugged it tighter around himself, glancing over at Merlin, who went ahead, seemingly unbothered by the cold.

“You know, you could’ve told me exactly why we’re headed to the North. It is freezing, and I feel like we’re walking straight into some bad news,” Max complained.

“You’ll find soon enough. Patience.”

Max rolled his eyes. “You always do this. “Patience. You’ll understand soon.” Just give me a hint at least.”

The old mage smiled but kept silent. Max knew that pushing Merlin wouldn’t get him anywhere. Still, something about this trip felt different. They had been summoned by the King of the North, one of the several kings who ruled smaller regions under the Great King of the human continent, the very one who had summoned Max to this world. Each of these kings, though vassals, held considerable power in their lands. The King of the North, however, was a mystery.

Max had heard whispers about him—Lord Gregorovitch, a man said to be a prophet, a mystic, and even a miracle worker, ruling over the frozen northern lands. Gregorovitch was both respected and feared, surrounded by tales of his strange abilities, his unholy knowledge of the dark arts, and his control over life and death itself. It was said that his kingdom was one of hardship, the people hardened by the cold and isolated from the rest of the continent by snow and ice for most of the year.

But why now? Why were they summoned? And why had Merlin been so tight-lipped about it?

Snowy mountains surrounded them, and the sky above them seemed to be gray, with heavy clouds. As they neared the capital, the first signs of something being terribly wrong began to show. On the road, there were broken carts, and even bones—human and animal bones—frozen and blackened by the cold.

“You’re seeing this too, right? This place feels…wrong,” Max said, his voice quieter now, not wanting to disturb the silence around them.

Merlin just nodded, not saying anything once again.

Finally, the tall walls of the Northern capital came into view, though they were not as majestic as Max had expected. The city was massive, built of dark stone and ice, its walls high, but now, death was everywhere. The gates stood open, and as they stepped inside, the sight hit Max like a punch to the gut.

Stolen story; please report.

People. Dozens of them huddled in the streets. Their skin was pale, their bodies frail with dark splotches covering their arms and faces. The air was thick with the stench of rot and death, and the groans of the dying echoed in Max’s ears. Rats ran around freely, their fur filthy, gnawing on whatever scraps they could find. The buildings now looked abandoned, with windows broken, and doors hanging off their hinges. Crows lined the rooftops, looking at Max.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Max asked.

He looked at Merlin, but the old man still said nothing. Merlin walked slowly, his eyes going around the town. One woman, her face swollen with blackened boils, reached out weakly as they passed, her voice a faint whistle on the wind, “Help…help me…”

Max avoided her look, but Merlin knelt down beside her. He whispered something under his breath and a soft glow appeared from his hands as he touched her, but it was no use. The disease had taken root too deeply. She coughed, blood spilling from her lips, and collapsed, lifeless.

Max stepped back, feeling like he was going to puke. “Merlin…what was that? What is this? What’s happening to these people?”

Merlin sighed and stood. “It’s the Black Plague.”

“What? Like, the Black Plague? From Earth?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes. The same disease that wiped out millions in our world centuries ago. Somehow, it is here now. This entire kingdom is infected.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could’ve—” He stopped himself, realizing there was nothing he could have done, but ran away and avoided not to come with Merlin.

“You wouldn’t have come,” Merlin said quietly. “And we need to be here. Gregorovitch summoned me to find a cure, and you’re here to assist. But don’t worry—we’re immune. We both had the vaccine in our world.”

Immunity or not, this was terrifying. The sight of so much death and disease was overwhelming. He looked around at the hopeless faces in the streets. This was more than any dungeon, any monster. This was human suffering at its most raw and terrible.

As they made their way deeper into the city, the full extent of the devastation became much clearer. Bodies were covering the streets, some already dead, others barely clinging to life. Those still able to walk moved slowly, their clothes hanging off their skeletal frames. The stench of decay was suffocating, and the sky seemed darker, as though even the sun refused to shine on this cursed place.

They reached the palace at the center of the city, a tall structure of black stone, its high towers piercing the gray clouds. Inside, the atmosphere was just as bad. Servants moved like ghosts through the halls, their faces pale, as though death had already claimed them, but left them standing.

At the throne room, they were greeted by the man himself—King Gregorovitch. He was tall, with long, greasy black hair. He was wearing robes of dark velvet, his fingers were covered with rings, each one bearing strange symbols.

“Merlin,” Gregorovitch said, “you’ve finally arrived.”

Merlin bowed slightly. “Your Majesty, I came as quickly as I could.”

Max felt uneasy. There was something weird about the way Gregorovitch looked at them. His gaze was locked on Max, a slow smile creeping across his thin lips.

“And you’ve brought the boy. Good. You’ll both be working to end this plague.”

Max swallowed hard. He had no idea what was the plan to stop the plague. One thing he was sure of, there was something darker at work here, something far more sinister than just a plague, and he really wanted to run away.