The group carrying the afflicted man reached the Briarhouse, a sturdy structure hidden behind a tangle of overgrown brambles and vines. The building, constructed from weathered wood and stone, exuded an aura of solemnity—a place where illness and desperation were no strangers. Kalenor stepped forward and knocked firmly on the door. Moments later, the Briar, a thin, wiry man with a face marked by years of tending to the sick, opened the door. His dark eyes briefly studied Kalenor before he nodded in recognition.

  “This must be the new one,” the Briar said, gesturing to the afflicted man. “Bring him inside. There’s room.”

  Kalenor turned to the villagers. “Lay him on the bed and return to your homes. Thank you for your help.”

  The villagers obeyed without question, placing the afflicted man on one of the wooden cots lining the walls. They avoided Kalenor’s gaze as they shuffled out, clearly unsettled by the weight of his presence and the condition of the man they had carried. Kalenor waited until the last villager exited before turning to the Briar.

  “I need to see the other afflicted man,” Kalenor said.

  The Briar hesitated. “He’s... not like the others. I’ve had to keep him sedated. He’s been lashing out—violent, uncontrollable. It’s as if he’s not himself anymore, more beast than man.”

  “I need to see him,” Kalenor repeated, his tone firm but calm.

  The Briar nodded reluctantly and gestured for Kalenor to follow. The room they entered was dimly lit, the air tinged with the scent of herbs and faint decay. On the far side of the room lay a man strapped to a cot. His body was grotesquely altered—black, branch-like growths jutted from his arms and legs, curling and twisting unnaturally. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his skin slick with sweat, and his veins pulsed with a dark, unnatural hue.

  Kalenor moved closer, his sharp amber eyes studying every detail of the afflicted man’s body. “How long has he been like this?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Three days,” the Briar replied. “It started with a fever, like the others, but then he became... something else. I had to restrain him after he attacked my apprentice. He’s no longer himself. I’m certain of it.”

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  Kalenor placed a hand lightly on the man’s chest, feeling the fever radiate through his own gloves. The branches seemed to pulse faintly under his touch, as if alive. He closed his eyes, focusing on the faint traces of Essentaria within the husk. What he sensed made his stomach tighten. This wasn’t just illness or decay—it was something far more insidious, something sentient. The man was gone, his body now a vessel for a darker force.

  “He’s not human anymore,” Kalenor said quietly. “He’s a husk.”

  Before the Briar could respond, the man’s body jerked violently, his eyes snapping open to reveal black pits. With a guttural roar, the husk tore at its restraints and lunged toward Kalenor. Kalenor dodged back, his instincts sharp, and slammed his fist into the creature’s jaw, sending it staggering.

  The husk let out an ear-piercing screech and whirled toward the Briar, who froze in terror. Kalenor moved quickly, placing himself between the Briar and the creature. The husk’s blackened branches lashed out, scratching Kalenor’s arms and face as he grappled with the creature. “Sedative!” Kalenor shouted.

  The Briar yelled to his apprentice, who fumbled to retrieve a vial from a nearby shelf. With trembling hands, the apprentice threw the vial toward them, but the husk flailed wildly, knocking the bottle to the ground, where it shattered.

  “Do you have more?” Kalenor growled, his focus locked on the flailing creature.

  “None that is ready,” the Briar stammered, his face pale.

  The Briar scrambled backward. “What are you going to do?” he asked, his voice trembling.

  Gritting his teeth, Kalenor seized the husk by its limbs and forced it to the ground. The creature screeched again, and suddenly a jagged spike of black wood erupted from its mouth, aiming directly for Kalenor’s chest. He rolled back just in time, narrowly avoiding the attack.

  “What will you do?” the Briar asked, his voice trembling.

  Kalenor rose to his feet, drawing his sword. The blade shimmered faintly with the infusion of his Essentaria. “This man is lost. There is no saving him.”

  The husk lunged again, and with a single, decisive swing, Kalenor severed its head. The lifeless body crumpled to the floor, and the room fell into an oppressive silence.

  “You killed him,” the Briar whispered, his face pale with shock. “He was one of our own.”

  Kalenor sheathed his sword, his expression grim. “He was gone long before this moment. What you saw was no longer a man. There is no cure for this.”

  The Briar hesitated but finally nodded. Together, they lifted the body onto the cot. Kalenor noticed something strange—there was no blood. The husk was utterly drained of life, its body more plant than flesh.

  “I need to examine him further,” Kalenor said. “We must understand what we are dealing with.”

  The Briar swallowed hard. “Very well. But I insist on supervising.”

  Kalenor nodded and began his work, cutting through the twisted flesh and branches with precision. What he found sent a chill through his core. The husk’s organs were shriveled, its veins filled with a dark, resin-like substance. The blackened branches seemed to grow from the heart itself, their roots coiled tightly around it like a parasite. As Kalenor probed deeper, he felt the oppressive weight of something malevolent—a dark force beyond his understanding.

  He paused, his hands trembling slightly. “This is no natural plague,” he said quietly. “This is corruption. Something evil.”

  The Briar’s face turned ashen. “What kind of evil could do this?”

  Kalenor stood, his amber eyes hard and unyielding. “Something that will not stop until it consumes all it touches. And it is not done with this village yet.”