The guards led them across abandoned fields, through a patch of woodland, and toward what had once been a modest but well-maintained farmstead. Unlike the other abandoned farms in the region, this one had clearly been lovingly restored… until recently.

  The barn stood in ruin, its doors smashed from the inside, wooden beams splintered as if something had fought desperately to escape. The farmhouse’s windows were shattered, claw marks gouged deep into the porch railing. What had once been carefully tilled fields were now a churned-up wasteland. Trampled, stripped of every last crop, and reduced to mud. Every bit of food was gone.

  Inside the barn, a cluster of half-crushed wooden cages stood amid the debris, their doors wrenched open. They had been sturdy enough to hold animals… until something far too strong for them had broken free. Weylan and Trulda exchanged a grim look.

  The steward, clad in his official tabard, stepped carefully over the wreckage, surveying the scene with a practiced eye. He exhaled sharply.

  "This was no wild nest." His voice was heavy with certainty. "Someone hatched them here."

  Near the barn, the ground had partially collapsed where someone had clearly dug deep. Weylan crouched at the edge of the hole, scanning the layers of dirt before nodding to his master. "Looks like they started digging, maybe to build a cellar. But they hit something underground… A natural tunnel by the looks of it."

  Darken knelt next to him. The tunnel led down into pitch black darkness. “That seems like the perfect time for some Blue Glow potion.” He took out a potion with a clear blueish liquid.

  Weylan looked at it suspiciously. “What does it do?”

  Darken shook the vial vigorously. “It glows blue!” Bright blue light began to shine from the vial.

  At a signal from the steward, they carefully descended into the underground cavern. Jago, the rest of team NPCS and the Vanguard of Innovation followed close behind, every step crunching against loose pebbles and damp earth. To Darken’s disapointment, the guards had brought enough light crystals and torches to light the way.

  The tunnel was narrow at first, forcing them into single file, but after only a few minutes, it widened into a vast chamber. A cold, musty air filled the space, thick with the scent of disturbed soil and something sickly sweet. As their lights swept across the ground, they revealed a landscape of shallow indentations. Dozens, no, hundreds, each the about the right size for a hoarderscale egg.

  Eggshell fragments littered the cavern floor, brittle and sharp, their pale insides reflecting the blue light. Weylan knelt to examine one, rubbing the thin, translucent membrane between his fingers. These only hatched days ago...

  As they moved deeper into the cavern, their footsteps echoing eerily, the flickering light caught something at the far end of the chamber.

  A hulking, mummified corpse.

  The remains of a massive hoarderscale lay collapsed in the dirt, its desiccated skin stretched thin over its grotesque, bloated form. Its limbs were stunted, almost comically short compared to its massive, elongated torso. But the most horrifying detail was its back end, unnaturally swollen, its sagging flesh bulging with countless fist-sized lumps.

  A breeder.

  A cold shiver ran down Weylan’s spine. This was no ordinary hoarderscale. This thing had spawned the horde.

  Legolias let out a low whistle. “That is… deeply unsettling.”

  Jago exhaled slowly, stepping closer but keeping a wary distance. “I’ve read about hoarderscale-breeders before, but seeing one in person is another thing entirely. They are an elder class form of the hoarderscale. Any of them could transform to a breeder if fed enough to level up that high.”

  One of the guards took a cautious step forward, peering at the dried-out remains. “Any idea what killed it?”

  Legolias looked thoughtful. “If I had to guess? It starved. It looks like it kept laying eggs until there was nothing left of itself. Look at the sagged skin. There’s no fat and flesh left anywhere. Even most of the muscle mass seems to be gone.”

  The steward straightened. “I want every inch of this cavern checked. If there are more eggs hidden somewhere, we burn them now. Also, burn the breeder. I don’t even want to think what could happen if some mad necromancer got his hands on one of these.”

  While the guards went up to get wood and the adventurers hurried back up to escape the depressing atmosphere below, Ulmenglanz stayed back and went over to the desiccated body of the breeder. Following some primal instinct, she shoved her hands right into the paper-like flesh and groped around. Like a needle attracted to a lodestone, something small slapped into her hand. She pulled her hand out of the carcass and looked around. No one was watching her. She opened her hand and in the dim flickering torchlight of the guards searching the walls and floor, she saw a silver sliver with some grooves and ridges on one side. She hid it in her bag. Some guards turned around surprised as they noticed her going down on her knees to pray. Since nothing happened, they soon decided to ignore it as some dryad custom. With a cheerful dryad song on her lips, she went back up to the surface. Right when she left the tunnel, she heard a commotion and hurried back to the rest of her team to witness a squad of city guards escorting four bewildered individuals into the ruined courtyard. Two pairs of rabbit folk. Their clothes looked worn but clean, their furry faces etched with shock and disbelief. Their ears twitched nervously.

  One of them, a broad-shouldered male with a farmer’s hat and a neatly trimmed beard, stepped forward hesitantly.

  “I’m Gerhard Grün. I own this farm. What in the name of Gjodsel, blessed be the god of agriculture and the harvest, happened here?” His eyes swept across the devastation.

  The steward turned on him sharply. “You claim this farm?”

  A younger woman, her rabbit ears twitching nervously, nodded.

  “Yeah… we bought the deed a month ago. It was a wreck, but we put in the work and rebuilt it by hand. We just logged in for the weekend and…” She gestured at the destruction, voice breaking slightly. “Gods, what happened?”

  Weylan let out a slow exhale, suppressing a groan. He turned slightly toward Trulda and mouthed a single word: "Revenants."

  The steward’s frown deepened. “You don’t know?”

  Gerhard shook his head. “No clue. We were just playing farmers. Trying to get away from all the business stress in RL. It’s great for balance, you know? We were building a root cellar, but the ground gave way, and we found this cavern underneath.”

  One of the other players, a rabbit folk with carpenter’s gloves hanging from his belt, added, “Yeah, and inside were all these weird eggs. At first, we thought they were dead, but after two days, some of them started hatching. They were… kind of cute.”

  The rabbit folk woman chimed in. “Sabine fed them. Tiny little things, barely bigger than mice.” She smiled nervously. “When one of them stuffed half a grain sack into its cheek pouch, we realized they had some kind of magic ability. We figured they’d make good crafting materials.”

  Gerhard nodded. “Yeah, their pouches. Perfect for bags of holding! We thought we were onto something big. We just had to feed them until they got bigger.”

  A long silence followed.

  Weylan rubbed a hand down his face. “…You didn’t know.”

  The rabbit folk woman blinked. “Know what?”

  The steward crossed his arms. “That you were raising one of the most dangerous scourge-type monsters in recorded history.”

  The players froze.

  The carpenter laughed uneasily. “Wait. What? You’re joking, right? They didn’t even bite.”

  The steward’s voice was clipped. “Not while you were feeding them.” His eyes hardened. “Hoarderscales aren’t livestock. They evolve. They multiply exponentially. They consume everything. You’re lucky they didn’t wipe out an entire village.”

  The color drained from Gerhard’s face. “We… We had no idea.” His gaze swept over the devastation again, his expression crumbling. The barn. The trampled fields. The empty food stores. The shattered cages.

  “They were harmless.” His voice was quiet. “We just fed them whatever we had…”

  The steward gestured toward the scattered, empty supply bags. “And you never thought it strange that you had to keep buying more?”

  Gerhard ran a hand through his hair. “We figured they were just… hungry.”

  The steward let out a slow breath. “Ignorance is not an excuse.” His expression hardened. “In the name of the baron, you are fined 300 gold pieces for reckless endangerment.”

  The players winced.

  Gerhard groaned. “Come on, we just wanted to play farmers.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  The rabbit folk woman sighed. “Guess we should’ve read more about the game’s lore.”

  The female rabbit folk in the back muttered, “Told you guys we should’ve bred horses instead.”

  The steward ignored their grumbling and turned his gaze back toward the ruined farmstead, but his frown remained.

  Weylan noticed. “…Something else on your mind?”

  The steward nodded slowly. “Yes.” His eyes lingered on the devastation, a shadow of unease in his gaze. “Why did we not notice them as soon as they left the cavern?”

  Weylan tilted his head. “Right… the kingdom has detection enchantments for that, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t they have gone off the moment the first hoarderscale hatched?”

  The steward’s jaw tightened. “Exactly.” He exhaled. “Something disrupted them. And that worries me more than anything else. I have sent word to the Mage Academy as soon as I got the news. The archchancellor has promised to lead an investigation personally.”

  The wind stirred through the ruined farm, carrying with it the distant echoes of a catastrophe that should have been prevented. But someone, or something, had ensured it wasn’t.

  Steward Jago went outside to oversee the aftermath. Around him, city guards and adventurers moved in measured steps, checking the last corpses and ensuring that none of the scourge had survived.

  A loud commotion in the woods got everyone’s attention. Several adventurers and mages seemed to have a competition to cast the brightest and loudest combat spell when they found another hoarderscale straggler. After the smoke cleared and the guards had made sure no forest fire had been started, the long-awaited notice appeared.

  Quest Completion Notice

  Quest: "Cleanse the Forest"

  Status: Completed

  Details:

  The hoarderscale infestation has been eradicated, and their nest destroyed. The immediate threat has been neutralized, preventing further spread of the scourge.

  Rewards Earned:

  Experience: Awarded based on performance

  Gold: Awarded based on performance

  Cheers erupted all around. For most of the guards, the bounty amounted to a month’s wages or more. Enough to ensure the taverns would be overflowing that night. Among the adventurers, reactions were mixed. Those who had only managed to take down a few hatchlings grumbled in disappointment, while others threw their fists in the air, roaring in triumph.

  Weylan checked with the priestesses. All had leveled up again and reached level 5. Two levels in a night was way better than they’d expected. He checked the questgiver system and nodded. They’d also gotten a bit of experience for completing the original quest to get rid of the monsters stealing grain from the farm. His team was too high leveled to get any xp for hatchlings and not much for the juveniles. Their gains came mostly from the quest completion, since the threat level of the quest itself had been too high, even for them.

  He turned around as a whirl of magic energy crackled through the air. A slender, robed figure materialized atop a fallen tree trunk, robes still shimmering from the remnants of a teleportation spell.

  Archchancellor Kosmaran had arrived.

  Tall and composed, his regal presence was accentuated by his deep blue robes, embroidered with the sigils of ancient wards and detection spells. The air around him hummed with restrained power, the subtle crackle of untapped mana lingering in his wake. His silver hair was cropped short, and he absentmindedly stroked his long beard. His staff, a polished length of dark wood capped with a blue crystal, pulsed faintly in response to the latent magic in the air. He was equipped for battle. He did not waste time with pleasantries.

  “Steward Jago,” Kosmaran greeted in a clipped tone, scanning the battlefield. “I wish I were arriving under better circumstances.”

  The steward turned, his eyes lighting up in surprise. “Archchancellor? I did not expect to hear from you for days. You already found something?”

  Kosmaran stepped down from the trunk and pointed at the ground with his staff. He spoke a command word and the crystal at the tip lit up. The translucent illusion of a man-high stone obelisk appeared where he pointed. It was tumbled over and shattered in the middle. Toolmarks marred the surface, from chisels or pick-axes.

  The steward’s brow furrowed. “That looks like…”

  Kosmaran nodded grimly. “One of the rune-obelisks anchoring the kingdom wide detection net. Or rather, what’s left of it.”

  A hush settled between them. The meaning was clear.

  The kingdom’s magical detection matrix, the very spell that should have alerted them to a scourge outbreak, had been sabotaged.

  The archchancellor took some glittering shards from his bag of holding and showed them to the steward. “Several rune obelisks in the area have been broken. Deliberately. Someone stripped the matrix for its components.”

  Jago looked at the twisted metal shards. Remnants of the complex metal inlays of runic scripts that once carried the kingdom’s most important wards. Without them, the detection spell had failed to trigger, allowing the hoarderscales to hatch and spread unnoticed.

  “Who?” The steward’s voice was tight.

  Kosmaran exhaled, his expression unreadable. “A common thief, most likely. Someone who had no idea what they were breaking.”

  The steward’s jaw clenched. “For what? Gemstones shatter if removed from an enchanted object. Theres hardly a handful of mythril and silver in the inlays. Worth maybe ten gold pieces?”

  Kosmaran’s fingers tightened over the shaft of his staff. “Exactly. Someone, most likely some idiot revenant, saw the rune-obelisk and thought only of the valuable materials inside. Not knowing, or not caring, that those runes were keeping the kingdom safe.”

  Jago let out a long breath. “Damn fools.”

  The chancellor’s voice lowered. “And that’s just in this region. I’ve sent word to the other rune sites, but I suspect more have been plundered. If the matrix is failing in multiple locations, we could be looking at a much bigger problem.”

  Jago’s gaze darkened as he turned back to the ruins of the farmstead. Hoarderscales, the most infamous scourge-monsters in history, had hatched and grown unchecked for weeks. And all because some fool wanted pocket change.

  Kosmaran adjusted his grip on his staff. “I’ll have the Academy mobilize a full investigative team. We’ll need enchanters to assess the damage and restoration specialists to reconstruct the missing runes. But it won’t be quick. Rebuilding a section of the detection matrix could take weeks. And then we’ll have to set up camouflage and alarm wards to prevent further vandalism.”

  Jago exhaled sharply, his mind already racing ahead. If they couldn’t rely on the detection matrix, then the responsibility fell back on the guards, the guild, and local scouts to prevent another scourge outbreak.

  He turned toward the remaining adventurers. Weylan, Trulda, and the others who had survived the night’s battle. They would need all the help they could get.

  Looking back to the chancellor, he asked the question weighing on his mind. “If these runes were compromised for weeks… what else have we failed to detect?”

  Kosmaran’s eyes narrowed. “That,” the chancellor murmured, “is exactly what I intend to find out.”

  Steward Jago rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion creeping into his voice. “So that’s the situation. The kingdom’s detection network has been compromised for who knows how long, and we have no immediate way of knowing if other scourge outbreaks are already underway.” He turned toward Weylan, who stood a few paces behind him. “Which brings me to another matter.”

  Weylan blinked in surprise as Jago gestured him forward.

  “This is my apprentice, Weylan. He has a minor inborn magical talent, though it’s nothing particularly flashy. Still, he’s sharp, quick on his feet, and most importantly, he understands how to survive in the field.” Jago glanced at Kosmaran. “I’d like him to be formally assessed by the Academy.”

  Kosmaran raised an eyebrow, looking Weylan over with interest. “Hmm. Inborn talent, you say?” He extended a hand, fingers briefly glowing with an arcane pulse as he scanned Weylan’s aura.

  Weylan shifted uncomfortably but held his ground. He wasn’t exactly fond of having mages poke at him, even when it was part of an assessment. The moment passed, and Kosmaran gave a thoughtful hum.

  “A faint but stable mana signature,” the chancellor observed. “Odd to have someone with an affinity for shadow magic of all things.” He nodded approvingly. “With training, you could enhance your combat efficiency, perhaps even develop a hybrid casting style.” His gaze flicked to Jago. “I assume you’d like him trained at Wildeguard Academy?”

  Jago inclined his head. “If he’s accepted, yes.”

  Kosmaran tapped his staff against the ground, considering. “Wildeguard is an excellent proving ground. It sits on the edge of the Wildewood, where the ley lines are strong, and the local fauna is… diverse. Plenty of exotic creatures to study. Unicorns, arcane beasts, and more than a few dangerous predators. Perfect for applied field magic.”

  Weylan frowned slightly. “I assume that means I’d be training with spellcasters?”

  “Not exclusively,” Kosmaran replied. “Wildeguard takes a more practical approach. Warriors, scouts, and even artificers train alongside mages. The academy believes that magic should serve survival, not just theory. If you train there, you’ll learn to incorporate magic into your existing skillset rather than trying to force yourself into a caster’s mold.”

  Jago smirked. “Sounds useful, doesn’t it?”

  Weylan crossed his arms. “I guess… if it means I can enhance my existing abilities, rather than trying to fling fireballs made out of shadows.” He glanced at Kosmaran. “So what, a semester in the woods dodging monsters?”

  “Something like that,” Kosmaran said dryly. “Think of it as an advanced survival course with magical enhancements.”

  Jago cleared his throat. “Speaking of training, I have another recommendation.” He turned slightly and gestured toward the priestesses, who stood in a loose group nearby. Their robes were torn, their faces still smudged with ash and exhaustion, but their eyes burned with newfound resolve.

  “They fought well,” Jago continued, his voice serious. “But they aren’t just healers anymore. They held their ground in that barn, held off the scourge while others would have broken.” His gaze swept over them. “They’ve already expressed interest in learning basic combat magic alongside their healing abilities.”

  Kosmaran turned his attention to the young women, studying them with a sharp gaze. “Interesting,” he murmured. “You wish to pursue hybrid training?”

  Mirabelle, still gripping her staff, stepped forward and met his gaze without hesitation. “We do,” she said firmly. “The battlefield isn’t always safe for healers. We need to be able to defend ourselves and those under our protection.”

  Alina, standing beside her, nodded. “We saw what happened last night. If we weren’t able to fight, we wouldn’t have made it.” She swallowed. “Healing isn’t enough.”

  Kosmaran considered for a moment before nodding. “Then Wildeguard Academy is your best option as well. The instructors there specialize in battlefield support magic. You’ll learn how to integrate healing spells into active combat, rather than simply standing at the back and hoping you don’t get targeted.” He glanced at Jago. “I assume you’re sponsoring them?”

  Jago nodded. “The church of Lieselotte will gladly pay their tuition. If they’re willing.”

  Mirabelle and the other priestesses shared a glance, then turned back with determined expressions. “We’re in.”

  Kosmaran gave an approving nod. “Then it’s settled. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.” He turned back toward the remnants of the battlefield. “I only wish we weren’t sending you there under these circumstances.”

  Jago exhaled. “We don’t have the luxury of waiting. This hoarderscale outbreak was contained, but the damage has been done. If someone tampered with the detection runes here, who knows what else has slipped through the cracks?” His expression hardened. “We need trained healers that can survive outside of their temple. Because next time, we might not be so lucky.”

  When Weylan returned to the group, he found the Vanguard celebrating their quest rewards. Legolias held up a token, and after a brief discussion, he handed it over to Darken, who accepted it with a triumphant grin.

  Weylan approached, raising an eyebrow. “Seems like the Voice approved of your performance.”

  Darken’s grin widened. “The experience was decent for one battle and the handful of stragglers we caught. The gold reward is nice too. Especially since we were almost broke. Now, we’re back in the game. But this…” He held up the token between two fingers. “…this is the real prize. An invitation token for a semester at Wildeguard Academy.” He gestured toward Legolias. “He’s more into the theoretical schools, but I’ve heard Wildeguard is all about practical effectiveness. Just my style.”

  Weylan imagined Darken explaining to an alchemy teacher why his poisons only worked if you believed they would and grinned. That would be a welcome change to the permanent life and death threats of the last months.