4th of Last Seed

The scorching heat of summer left me drenched in sweat, yet it was not the relentless sun that unsettled me—it was what I encountered deep within the wilderness.

A young female adventurer, driven by curiosity and an unyielding spirit, rushed headlong into a dungeon before I could stop her. Adventurers delving into forgotten ruins is hardly an uncommon sight, but there was nothing ordinary about this place.

The dungeon's entrance alone was enough to turn my stomach. It resembled living flesh, its walls pulsing with slow, rhythmic breaths as though it possessed a heartbeat of its own. One could easily mistake it for the gaping belly of some colossal beast, split open and left to fester. Every instinct urged me to pursue the woman inside and drag her to safety.

Yet another instinct, far stronger, warned me to stay away.

In my years as an agent of Stendarr, I have learned one lesson above all others: never ignore your instincts. More often than not, they are the only thing standing between life and death.

So I waited.

Hours later, the woman emerged.

Her clothes were gone. Her eyes were vacant, devoid of recognition or reason. She could not remember her own name, nor where she had come from. Every trace of the woman who had entered that place had vanished. Only one desire remained—a relentless craving for carnal pleasure that eclipsed every other thought. She wandered aimlessly, stripped not only of her dignity but of her very self.

If those wandering merchants are one source of this corruption, then this grotesque dungeon is surely another.

It seems my burden has only grown heavier.