The seasons changed as we journeyed southward, following Arctur's lead through increasingly dense woodland. Weeks stretched into months, our progress slow but steady. Summer heat gave way to autumn's cooler embrace, leaves turning golden before falling to carpet the forest floor.

How much further? I asked one evening as we made camp beneath an ancient oak.

"We've covered roughly half the distance," Arctur replied, stoking our small fire. "The Central Hellzone is still months away."

Casper grunted, sharpening his blade with methodical precision. "At this rate, winter will catch us in the mountains."

Food became our primary concern as we pushed deeper into the wilderness. Game grew noticeably scarcer with each passing week. Casper's snares caught fewer rabbits; berry bushes appeared with diminishing frequency. Even the streams held fewer fish.

"It's because we're approaching Lathan," Arctur explained as Casper returned empty-handed from a hunting expedition. "Animals sense the wrongness there. They avoid it."

"So what happens when we cross the border?" Casper asked, seating himself beside our meager fire. "Will there be nothing to hunt at all?"

Arctur's scaled face remained impassive, his reptilian eyes reflecting the firelight. "Very little. Some hardy plants grow there. Insects thrive, though."

"Insects?" Casper's face contorted in disgust.

"Grubs, beetles, spiders," Arctur continued, his eyes shining as he spoke about the creepy crawlies. "They're delicious, and quite nutritious. My people consider them delicacies."

"I'll stick to my rations," Casper muttered.

Those won't last forever, I reminded him.

We came upon a shallow stream three days later, its water running clear over smooth stones. As Casper refilled our waterskins, one of my scout spiders, positioned a hundred yards ahead, registered movement. The data flowed into my consciousness immediately: a humanoid figure moving with an irregular gait through the trees.

Something ahead, I signaled to my companions. Humanoid. Alone.

Casper drew his sword. "Bandit?"

Unlikely. No others detected in the vicinity.

We approached cautiously, keeping to the shadows of the trees. The figure came into view; it was a desiccated corpse shambling between the trunks, its dull gray skin pulled tight over protruding bones. Tattered remnants of clothing hung from its emaciated frame. Empty eye sockets stared sightlessly ahead as it dragged one foot behind the other.

"Well," Casper whispered, "I guess that answers whether we've crossed into Lathan."

"Obviously," Arctur replied dryly.

The creature's head swiveled in our direction, hollow sockets somehow finding us despite its blindness. A low moan escaped its lipless mouth as it lurched forward, bony arms outstretched.

I didn't hesitate. One of my dragon-headed tendrils shot forward, striking the undead creature's skull with precision. The impact pulverized bone and desiccated brain matter, sending fragments flying in all directions. The corpse crumpled, its animation extinguished.

A system notification appeared in my vision:

Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience.

Pathetically weak, I noted as the notification faded.

"Let's keep moving," Arctur said, already continuing southward. "Where there's one, there will be others."

"Wonderful," Casper muttered, wiping his blade clean though he hadn't used it. "Just how I wanted to spend the next few weeks: surrounded by walking corpses."

At least we won't go hungry, I remarked. You can always eat insects.

Casper's glare was answer enough.

The undead became more numerous as we ventured deeper into Lathan. Individually, they posed little threat as most were mindless level 5 to 10 creatures with decaying bodies and dulled reflexes. My tendrils made short work of them, each kill adding a trickle of experience to my stagnant level.

The true danger lay in their numbers. They traveled in packs of twenty or thirty, shambling masses of rotting flesh that could quickly overwhelm through sheer volume. Even Casper, with his considerable skill, found himself slightly winded after carving through a particularly dense cluster.

"This is getting tiresome," he complained after our third such encounter, wiping putrid fluids from his blade. "At this rate, we'll exhaust ourselves before we're halfway through this cursed land."

We need a more efficient strategy, I agreed, retracting my gore-covered tendrils closer to my frame.

When we finally broke through the tree line into the lowland fields beyond, all three of us froze. The rolling landscape before us crawled with undead. Hundreds of them were scattered across the open terrain like grotesque harvesters in fields long abandoned.

"Fuck," Casper breathed, the single word perfectly capturing our collective sentiment.

Arctur crouched low, gesturing for us to do the same. "We can't fight our way through that. We'll need to move carefully, stay downwind, and keep to the shadows."

Lead the way, I instructed, stooping down and making my frame into a more compact configuration.

The lizardman navigated the undead-infested fields with surprising expertise, guiding us along ditches, through tall grass, and behind ruined farm structures. His movements betrayed a practiced familiarity that couldn't be coincidental.

You've done this before, I observed during a brief rest in the shadow of a collapsed granary.

Arctur nodded. "Many times. My people trade with settlements beyond Lathan. This route, while dangerous, avoids human checkpoints."

"How do they not sense us?" Casper whispered, eyeing a group of undead merely thirty yards away.

"Their senses are magical in nature, not physical," Arctur explained. "They don't truly see or hear as we do. Stay quiet, move slowly, don't draw attention. They'll ignore you. Get too close, though..." He made a slicing motion across his throat.

And the entire horde becomes aware, I finished.

We continued our careful progression, slipping past hundreds of the shambling creatures. By nightfall, we approached the ruins of what had once been a substantial city. Crumbling walls surrounded dilapidated buildings, their once-proud facades now cracked and overgrown.

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"Calsor," Casper muttered, recognition in his voice. "The territorial seat of Lathan. Ground zero for the plague."

Arctur didn't respond, simply leading us through a partially collapsed section of wall.

"Why in the twelve hells are we going in there?" Casper demanded, his hand instinctively moving to his sword hilt.

"We need supplies," Arctur replied simply, his scaled face unreadable in the gathering dusk.

"Supplies?" Casper's voice rose dangerously. "What possible supplies could exist in this ruin?"

The lizardman didn't answer, continuing purposefully down the abandoned streets toward the city center. Vegetation reclaimed the cobblestones beneath our feet, roots and vines fracturing the once-smooth surface. Buildings leaned precariously against one another, their windows like empty eye sockets staring down at us.

I deployed my scout spiders, sending them scurrying ahead to map our surroundings and identify threats. The data they returned surprised me.

No undead detected within the city limits, I reported. Not a single one.

"That's... unusual," Casper said, his brow furrowing. "Why would they avoid the city?"

Arctur kept walking, his silence more telling than any answer he might have offered.

The deeper we ventured into Calsor, the more unsettling the silence became. My scout spiders continued reporting the complete absence of undead, which contradicted everything we'd been told about Lathan. Something was very wrong with this picture.

Arctur, I projected, why are there no undead here?

The lizardman kept walking, his spear held loosely at his side. "You'll understand soon."

We'd traveled several miles into the ruined city when a sharp whistle cut through the air. My tendrils instinctively uncoiled, ready to strike, while Casper's hand flew to his sword. Arctur raised his palm, signaling us to stand down.

He tilted his head back and responded with three distinct whistles, each a different pitch and duration. A moment passed before an answering whistle echoed back.

Arctur's shoulders relaxed. "Friends," he said simply.

Three cloaked figures materialized from the shadows between buildings. I ran an immediate diagnostic on my scout spiders since they'd detected nothing, not even the slightest movement or heat signature. These individuals possessed some form of concealment ability that bypassed even my advanced sensory systems.

The lead figure approached, hood obscuring their features. I activated Analyze:

Name: Bonrad of Kaldos City

Level: 27

Class: Ranger

Species: Sapien [Human]

Gender: Male

Age: 24

The hood came down, revealing a young man with weathered features that belied his age. His dark hair was tied back, and a jagged scar ran along his jawline.

"Arctur," he clasped the lizardman's forearm in greeting. "How've you been?"

Arctur shrugged noncommittally.

Bonrad laughed. "Talkative as ever, I see." His gaze shifted to Casper and me. "New faces. That's rare."

The other two figures lowered their hoods to reveal a stout dwarf with an intricate beard braid and a small goblin whose green skin was marked with elaborate tattoos.

"Arctur," Bonrad's tone turned serious, "you vouch for them?"

The lizardman nodded once.

"Good enough." Bonrad turned to us, his expression a mixture of wariness and hospitality. "Welcome to Calsor, cursed city of the dead." His lips curved into a sardonic smile. "Though as you've noticed, the dead don't much care for it here."

Bonrad led us deeper into Calsor's heart, where more figures in cloaks materialized from shadowed doorways and ruined buildings. Each nodded silently as we passed, their watchful eyes tracking our movement. I noticed they positioned themselves strategically, maintaining sightlines across intersections and thoroughfares.

"Those mechanical spiders," Bonrad gestured toward the shadows where my scouts lurked. "They yours?"

Yes, I projected. How did you detect them?

A smile tugged at his scarred face. "We've survived this long by noticing what others miss." He tapped his temple. "Keep them close. Some of our more... reactive residents might mistake them for monsters and attack first."

I appreciated the warning and recalled my children. They scuttled from their hiding places, their articulated legs clicking against the cobblestones as they gathered around me.

Casper surveyed the empty streets. "Is that why there are no undead here? Your people?"

"Partly," Bonrad confirmed. "The plague victims tend to remain where they died unless disturbed. But any that wander into our territory..." He drew a finger across his throat. "We handle them."

"And who exactly are you people?" Casper asked, his hand never straying far from his sword hilt.

Bonrad laughed, the sound echoing off crumbling walls. "Arctur didn't explain anything, did he?"

Casper and I both indicated negatively, which only made Bonrad laugh harder.

"Calsor is a free city," he explained once his mirth subsided. "Those who wish to live beyond the kingdoms' reach make their home here. We've carved out this sanctuary in the heart of what others consider a cursed land."

"Criminals," Casper stated flatly.

Bonrad shrugged, unbothered by the accusation. "Some, certainly. Thieves, smugglers, deserters; we don't discriminate. But most?" His expression hardened. "Most are simply people who couldn't stomach the nobility's practices anymore. Families fleeing debt slavery. Scholars who asked too many questions. Soldiers who refused unjust orders."

One of my scout spiders detected movement ahead; not hostile, but deliberate. More of Bonrad's people emerged from concealed positions, watching us with wary curiosity. I observed humans of various races alongside goblins, lizardfolk, and even a few species I couldn't immediately identify.

The diversity was striking, a stark contrast to the rigid segregation practiced in places like Kaldos City. Here in this "cursed" land, they'd built something remarkable: a community that existed entirely outside the System's intended structure.

We approached a towering barrier deep within Calsor's heart: a ramshackle wall cobbled together from wooden planks, sheet metal, and salvaged materials. Despite its haphazard appearance, the structure stood firm, encircling what appeared to be the city's central district. Armed sentries patrolled along makeshift walkways, their vigilant eyes tracking our approach.

Impressive defensive perimeter, I observed, analyzing the wall's construction. Though crude, the barrier's design incorporated overlapping materials to reinforce weak points, which was a practical solution for those with limited resources.

Bonrad nodded toward the guards, who returned the gesture with practiced familiarity. "Home sweet home," he announced as we passed through a reinforced gate that groaned on mismatched hinges.

The scene beyond the wall defied all expectations. What should have been an abandoned ruin pulsed with vibrant life. Hundreds of people filled the streets, moving with purpose between structures that had been cleverly repurposed from their original functions.

An old guard station, its official insignia still faintly visible beneath layers of new paint, now served as a bustling tavern. Laughter spilled from its windows along with the warm glow of lantern light. Nearby, what once had been a bookstore displayed curtained windows and smoking chimneys; obviously someone's residence now. Most striking was the former lord's manor grounds, transformed into extensive gardens where orderly rows of vegetables and fruit trees flourished under careful tending.

My scout spiders detected multiple heat signatures within each building, suggesting dense occupation. The population density approached that of Monster Town in Kaldos City, though with considerably better living conditions.

"By the gods," Casper breathed, his usual composure momentarily fractured as he took in the thriving settlement. "There must be—"

"Over two hundred souls call Calsor home now," Bonrad finished, pride evident in his voice. "Humans, goblins, lizardfolk, orcs; all living together under the kingdom's nose."

"How is this possible?" Casper gestured at the bustling community. "The quarantine—"

"Is enforced at the borders," Bonrad explained. "No kingdom patrol dares venture more than a mile into Lathan. The undead provide a convenient buffer, and those that do make it past usually don't survive to report back."

We passed a communal cooking area where several women stirred enormous pots of stew. Children, human and non-human alike, darted between buildings in some game of tag, their laughter a jarring contrast to the desolation outside the walls.

"But the plague," Casper persisted, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Aren't you concerned about infection? The Plague of Dead turned an entire region's population into undead. How can you risk-"

Bonrad's laughter cut him short. "The plague?" He shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look around you, warrior. Does anyone here appear infected? We've lived in Calsor for generations."

He gestured broadly at the thriving community surrounding us. "This is your proof. There is no plague. There never was."

If there was no plague, I projected, then what created the undead?

Bonrad's expression darkened, his earlier jovial demeanor evaporating like morning dew under a harsh sun.

"You want to know what happened here?" He pointed toward a long, rectangular structure near the manor grounds. "That building used to be the garrison barracks. Now we call it the museum. If you truly seek answers, that's where you'll find them."

I followed his gesture, noting how pedestrians gave the structure a wide berth. Despite the settlement's crowded conditions, a noticeable empty space surrounded the building, as if the residents unconsciously avoided its proximity. My scout spiders' sensors detected minimal foot traffic near its entrance compared to the bustling pathways elsewhere.

What's inside that makes everyone avoid it? I asked, my children already mapping potential entry and exit points from the building's exterior.

Bonrad's gaze met mine, his eyes holding a weight that transcended his relatively young age. The scar along his jaw seemed to deepen as his expression hardened.

"The corpse of a god," he said simply, the words falling between us like stones into still water.

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