As they delved deeper into the heart of Dawnbrook, navigating through its affluent districts, the divide between the town's social strata became increasingly evident. The wealthy, hidden in their opulent homes, seemed to operate under a different set of rules, blatantly disregarding the envoy's directives meant to ensure the town's safety amidst the crisis. Their entitlement went so far as to demand priority inspection for neighborhoods, a clear show of disregard for the collective threat the town faced.

The envoy's response to such insolence was unwavering; his refusals to the messengers were sharp, his threats to imprison them, serious. Lily couldn't help but be surprised by the open defiance, revealing the real strain between Dawnbrook's elite and the Empire's mandate.

They had been notified of two earlier monster incidents within this very district. Despite the swift and effective response by hired warriors and rumored mages, the damage had been done, fueling the fires of discord and fear among the residents.

The Council's outrage mirrored the growing unrest, Dawnbrook was a few steps from an open rebellion.

Amidst the chaos, Lily just wanted to escape, to flee with Draven from the escalating conflict that threatened to engulf the town. However, the envoy, seemingly insulated from the chaos, remained singularly focused on his mission. His confidence in unmasking the witch behind the attacks was unshaken, encouraged by his reasoning that the scope and scale of the assault pointed to a culprit among the town's wealthy – a disturbing notion that suggested a betrayal for inscrutable, possibly nefarious, ends.

The scope of the attack was alarmingly extensive, and while he was not intimately familiar with the specifics of death magic, he possessed sufficient knowledge to deduce that the resources expended on executing such a scheme must have been obscene. Therefore, he speculated on the possibility that a wealthy merchant, seeking to engage in shady dealings, might have unwittingly invited this catastrophe upon Dawnbrook. The exact motivations that would take someone to do such a foolish and dangerous thing remained unclear, something related to greed and ambition. But the implication was clear: the witch's actions might have been financed by someone with considerable resources and influence within the town, someone willing to risk the peace for unknown gains.

"Can we hurry?" Lily pressed, her annoyance evident as she watched another group being ushered back to their homes. Their progress was painstakingly slow, moving through only a few houses at a time to inspect smaller clusters of people.

"Just do your job," the envoy replied curtly, not even bothering to look her way.

Unaware of the envoy’s thoughts, Lily became increasingly frustrated. As they moved deeper, the toll of their mission added up. With each step, the number grew – twenty-one more infected, faces forever carved into her memory. Only a fraction of those, four, to be precise, were in the early stage of the infection, leaving seventeen others beyond hope. She tried not to dwell on the others, the wounded left unaided in their desperation. Each time she identified another victim, a sharp pang of sorrow cut through her, leaving an indelible mark on her soul. To shield her heart from the guilt, Lily concealed herself in a fragile illusion – that all around her was just a nightmarish figment of her imagination. But, the gnawing truth lingered; reality would not be denied.

As the watchers ushered forth a new group for inspection, Lily cast her gaze upon them, her skill probing for the signs of infection. Relief washed over her as she found none afflicted in this batch. The disparity between the masters and their servants was obvious, displayed not only by their attire but by the life mana on their bodies. The vibrant hues of life mana that wreathed the nobles stood in comparison with the dimmer, diseased auras of their servants – yellow and orange markers of illness all too common among those of lower station.

Just as Lily was about to dismiss the group, her skill revealed an anomaly – a small, elderly man garbed in a tunic of luxurious blue and yellow, his aura marked by a blue tag signaling an unknown condition. This wasn’t something she had come across before; based on her recorded experience, the skill deduced it was strong mana poison of an unidentified type. However, the man had no outward sign of severe affliction, his pale complexion not too far from the norm. The life mana in his body was not ravaged as one would expect in sickness; it was merely subdued, suppressed in certain places as though something within lay in wait, biding its time.

"What is it, mendicar? Are there infected among them or not?" The envoy's impatience was obvious. His trust in Lily's intuition, once skeptical, had solidified over the course of the day, her shocking accuracy spoke for itself. Yet, trust in her abilities would falter if she hesitated now, especially with stakes this high, just as they were checking the estate of a Councilman's brother for signs of infection.

"The old man, in the blue and yellow tunic," Lily began, her voice trying to find certainty, "he... he carries something. Not the infection, but something more dangerous." The words tumbled out, her conviction solidifying with each word.

The envoy, initially poised to reprimand her for deviating from their primary mission, paused, his rebuke dying in his throat. The words struck a cord in his mind, his gaze sharpening as he regarded Lily. Was her sensitivity stronger than he had anticipated? Opting for caution, he ordered the watchers to detain the man, guiding the others to the manor.

"What is the meaning of this? Unhand me! Do you not know who I am? My brother will hear of this!" The old man's protests and threats were met with indifference from the watchers, their loyalty belonged to the envoy.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

As the old man was brought nearer, Lily's skill afforded her a closer examination, revealing a situation far more sinister than she had initially sensed. The aura of death that clung to him was disconcerting. "Death," she whispered, the word slipping from her lips unbidden, "there is death in him."

Her murmured revelation, meant only for her ears, did not escape the envoy's acute hearing. His reaction was immediate and terrifying – his sword unsheathed in a flash, its tip aimed threateningly at the old man. The air around them thickened, a collective shiver running through the onlookers.

Panic seized the air as the old man's desperate cries for mercy clashed with the envoy's grim determination. "What are you doing? You have no right! Please, stop!" he begged, the fear in his voice intensifying as the sword's shining edge neared.

"Die!" The envoy passed the sentence, his body tensed for the fatal blow.

In a frantic bid for freedom, the man struggled against his captors. "Stop! Tamara, help me! You promised that…" His words hung unfinished as the envoy closed in.

However, the expected death blow morphed into a swift, cruel mercy – the envoy's sword slicing through the air, severing the man's hand rather than his life. The suddenness of the act left onlookers aghast, the watchers included, as they witnessed blood spurting from the wound.

The man's agony erupted, a blend of pain and fury. "You! Your filthy imperial hound! You will pay," he howled.

"The next will be your neck, traitor!" the envoy barked back. "Where is the witch, speak now!"

Fearing a more final judgment, the man's defiance crumbled into desperate bargaining, "Please save me, promise to let me live and I will tell everything."

The envoy's fury receded, replaced by a cold, calculated pragmatism. "Speak, or die!" he threatened, but the edge of his anger softened, an implicit promise of mercy if the man complied. "I won’t kill you if you tell me where the witch is."

The old man’s defiance dissolved into fearful compliance, his voice a mere whisper, "Please... I'll tell you everything. Just... just spare me."

The envoy nodded, eliciting a confession.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the old man cried, his voice breaking with regret. "She... I didn't know she would do this... I just wanted her to... She's inside! In the basement. There's a passage in my study, beneath the carpet."

With a nod, the envoy dispatched the watchers to investigate, his gaze then shifting to Lily. "Try to keep him alive," he instructed before disappearing into the manor.

Lily, momentarily unsettled by the violence and the weight of command, approached the grievously wounded man. Shielding them both from prying eyes, she cast a ‘clear’ spell to steady her nerves, then turned her attention to the urgent matter of stemming the blood loss, fashioning a makeshift bandage from the man's attire.

"Move, quickly," she called to the mendicar student, who, until then, had been a frozen spectator to the unfolding drama. Roused to action, he ran to her and passed the necessary supplies – disinfectant and drapes.

Ignoring the man's renewed screams, Lily administered the disinfectant with careful movements and applied pressure with the cloth. She then secured the wound with a rope to slow the bleeding, all the while instructing the student on preparing the essential concoctions. The "poison" within the man, as she decided to call it, cast a shadow of doubt over the efficacy of their treatments, but they pressed on, compelled more by duty than hope of making a difference.

Treating a patient so clearly marked by death was a troubling task, leaving a sour taste in Lily's mouth. However, she was determined to do all within her power – so that others couldn’t fault her.

Once the concoctions were ready, she administered the oral ones to the old man and prepared the rest for external application. With a heavy heart, she unwrapped the bloodied cloth, needle and sutures in hand, ready to begin the delicate and useless work of closing the wound.

But before she could make the first stitch, chaos erupted again. A watcher, panic showing in his every feature, burst from the house, his warning cries to stand back cutting short as he collapsed, black blood oozing from every facial orifice.

Caught in the maelstrom of unfolding horror, Lily's instinctive use of her 'health sense' revealed a nightmare far beyond the scope of her training. "By the source of all magic!" she exclaimed, recoiling from the sight of the afflicted watcher, his life mana all but extinguished by a darkness that now claimed him. There was nothing she could do to help him, not even a master mendicar might have known what to do. Perhaps a high tier healer would, if the Empire had any.

As the terrifying spectacle unfolded, more watchers emerged, each succumbing to the same dark fate...

The chaos soon escalated into a battle of elemental fury as the envoy emerged, his sword wreathed in flames, clashing against a dark mist that seemed the very antithesis of life itself. "Evil being, stop your tricks and face me!" he roared.

Despite the danger, Lily couldn’t stop looking at the confrontation unfolding, her eyes locked on the spectral dance of fire and darkness. The envoy's efforts to repel the dark mist, his blade slicing through the thickening gloom, appeared a desperate bid for dominance. To the untrained eye, the battle might seem evenly matched, but Lily's unique vision laid bare the grim truth – the envoy was losing, the sinister mist leeching his vitality with each passing moment.

What could she do? What role could she possibly play against such power? The questions haunted her, demanding action yet offering no clear path forward.

Then, from the depths of the manor, a new figure emerged, shrouded in the dark mist that had wrought such devastation. The architect of this nightmare, the witch