The first real battle in the Great War of Arcaena was underway, and though it wasn’t a battle of swords and spears, it was no less deadly.

Only desolation could be seen no matter where Brin’s invisible eyes looked. The commanders ordered a return to camp, and those that could comply did so, but many soldiers collapsed where they’d been standing for the joint exercises. Neither the camps nor the open fields were a pretty sight. The disease produced a terrible cough first, diarrhea second, and then vomiting, all of which came with copious amounts of blood. It was hard to find any place that could be called clean. Latrines had been dug, and still were being dug by anyone healthy enough to pick up a shovel or cast a Skill, but those were quickly overwhelmed by men splashing each other in their uncontrollable need to empty their guts. And not everyone had the time or remaining health to make it there, and many lay in growing pools of their own filth.

The deaths began quickly, quicker than Brin expected, taking the weakest, the injured, or maybe just the unlucky.

Great pyres were being lit, bigger than seemed reasonable for the amount of fallen, which only meant that the commanders expected this to get much worse.

The combined army that only hours before had seemed undefeatable was now all but overcome, but a new army rose to fight the threat.

Every medical Class Brin had heard of and then some rose to the field. [Pharmacists] and [Medicine Makers] worked in assembly lines to mass produce drugs. [Sick Friends], [Nurses], and [Tenders] marched in ranks, organized and disciplined, at least until the first clash with the enemy where the sheer number of the fallen broke them apart. They strode through the army to bring down fevers, close open sores with bandages, give water to those crying out for thirst, and mark the dead for disposal.

There were [Herbalists] and [Surgeons], a few [Doctors] which was a Class Brin didn’t know existed here, and three [Medicine Men] who strode up and down the camps waving their amulets and burning charms that healed with colorful smoke. He even found a bona fide priest of the System when he [Inspected] and got a jarring, soul-shaking DO NOT that nearly took him off his feet.

It felt like every healing Class from three nations had been pulled to this army to deal with exactly this situation. There were thousands of them.

It wasn’t enough.

The healers weren’t immune to the disease, and moving from one sick person to the next for hours on end only made sure that they were thoroughly exposed. The ones on the front lines, the people who were tending the sick up close and personal started to fall first. He saw one [Nurse] who moved untiring through the agony-stricken rows of the sick, white robes spotted with filth. She stumbled and then collapsed into the mud, and pulled down her mask to take a deep, gasping breath, revealing that the mask had been covered with blood from the inside. She tried to stand, and couldn’t, so instead she downed a Mana potion and in a raspy voice, told anyone that could move to bring the sick to her so that she could at least use her Skills. Brin had been in a lot of life and death situations and seen a lifetime's worth of heroism, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone more brave.

Brin's Lance was able to return to their camp in the Order of the Long Sleep, since with their high Vitality the disease was taking longer to work in them than it would for others. During the trip, he experimented with [Say What’s True]. The initial thought of it drove a spike of fear and panic into him, but he was ready for that. He needed to try this, no matter what his Class instincts said. He shone a faint light, invisible unless you had Brych’s senses and were looking for it, and tried to use the Skill’s Wyrd effects to fight the curse. It was fruitless, the magic didn’t connect. He tried making a simple illusion, just a little mirror in the palm of his hand, and pressed an argument into it. You aren’t sick. You’re healthy.

This time, he felt the power of the argument and he nearly believed his own lie that the sickness had passed from him, but that’s all it was. Once he dismissed the illusion he could feel the Wyrd in his body hadn’t budged an inch. There was maybe something to be said about encouragement and positive reinforcement, but it wouldn't be anything a [Bard] couldn't do, and already he heard their music carrying through the breeze, lifting spirits and discouraging panic.

By the time they made it back to camp, the effects of the illness were really taking root in the Lance. Yes, their high Vitality helped them, but that was a problem in its own way. The disease wasn't affecting them the same as the commoner army. They were swelling up, their temperature was rising through the roof, and blisters and boils were growing up all across their skin. It affected Hedrek the worst, and he had to pull off his armor before the swelling could suffocate him, but Brin saw signs of the same thing in the other men, and even in himself.

Brin used [Wyrdic Inspect] on every member of his Lance, repeatedly, and compared it with men in the regular army who had much lighter symptoms, but couldn't see any difference in the Wyrd. It made sense that knights-at-arms would've been targeted with a stronger curse, but that's not what his magical senses were telling him. They were affected by the same disease that everyone else was struggling with.

"I don't get it. I don't get why ours is different," Brin said.

"I've heard of this," said Cid. He already had his shirt off, and he was puncturing his sores as soon as they grew, letting them ooze down his body. "High Vitality means you get sick less often, but when something does catch you, it will be a lot worse. It's because our bodies move too fast, I think. Our bodies are trying to regrow our insides faster than the disease can destroy us. Like, if the disease is in our blood then our body will just try to make more blood, and now we have too much."

"It's in our blood? Govannon, hurry and stab me," said Hedrek, who'd collapsed onto his back on the ground.

"...been waiting for a chance to do that," Govannon mumbled in response, also prone.

The fact that they could still joke around was a good sign. At least Brin hoped it was joking and they weren't actually considering stabbing each other to let the corrupted blood out. Or would that help? It wasn't like he was an expert in medicine from his old world, and [Bloodletter] was a healing Class here.

Marksi had avoided the curse and the disease, but he was so stressed out about Brin being sick that he may as well have been sick. He squeaked pitifully and moped around, not running with his usual zippiness lest sudden movements cause Brin to vomit again.

Brin stroked his scales softly and said, “Hush, I’m going to be just fine.”

Marksi batted Brin’s hand away and then curled around his shoulders. He made a soft hissing sound and ran his claws through Brin’s hair. Right, he was the sick one. Marksi wanted to be the one consoling him.

"Did you know? Fever is one of the primary causes of death to people over level thirty," said Cid.

"I can't die from fever," said Brin.

"Anyone can get sick," said Cid.

"No, I mean, I have [Heat Resistence]. Actually, Cowl, do you have a pot that I could fit inside?" Brin asked.

"Of course not!" Cowl snapped, then looked at the ground and mumbled, "Sir."

Brin raised his eyebrows at the uncharacteristic testiness, but didn't comment on it. He supposed it had been a pretty dumb question.

Cowl was hunched over a regular sized pot where he was slowly bringing an herbal broth to a boil, and he looked like the effort of sitting up and occasionally stirring was more taxing than doing aerobics after using a [Knight's Charge]. They would need the broth. Most people who died of dysentery actually died from dehydration, though Brin couldn't even imagine putting something in his mouth while that stench hung in the air.

A quick scan with his Invisible Eyes told him that the cooks had a couple big pots like he needed that currently weren't being used. He stood, ignoring the way that any motion made his stomach lurch, and walked towards the pots.

It was strange, being this weak. The disease didn’t really target his muscles, and clenching his fists, he could feel that all of his power was still there. He could crush rocks with these fists, and yet without any strength in his core, he was one strong wind away from falling to the ground.

He found a pot, made a fire, and then began the long, arduous process of filling it with water. Getting water wasn’t actually a problem; the army had thought ahead and dug lots of wells, each of which magically pumped the water up and were fitted with handy faucets. They didn’t have anything so convenient as a hose, though, so Brin had to fill the pot one bucket at a time.

When it was finally enough, he sat nearby and waited for it to heat up. He thought about just getting in now, but he wasn’t sure his body was done expunging fluids. He didn’t want to have an accident and then find himself boiling in a cauldron of diarrhea and vomit. Boiling himself alive with regular water was bad enough.

While he waited, he spun up dozens of conscious threads to watch what was happening. He was miserable so speeding up his perception of time could only be a good thing. He sent even more Invisible Eyes out, [Inspecting] everyone and getting a bigger picture of what was happening.

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He noticed a group of eight hundred soldiers moving from the camps, back towards the front lines. They were filthy and thin, but moved with a strong energy that he didn’t think anyone else in the camps possessed. Had the commanders gathered a group of those who were resisting the disease better than others to go defend the perimeter? He had a Directed Thread search through the memories of the Invisible Eyes he’d had spying on the camps, and try to figure out where they came from. It returned quickly with several pertinent memories. They hadn’t been resisting the disease very well at all; in fact, these had been some of the worst afflicted. Those robed anti-Wyrd people had plucked them from their units, given them potions, not to cure them, but to give them one last boost of energy, and ordered them to the front line.

Brin used [Wyrdic Inspect] on one of the men, and noticed that no, they hadn’t resisted the disease at all. In fact, the curse lay much stronger on these men than anyone else still in the camps. Tracing the lines of precedence, Brin could see that these were the first to become cursed, and that the disease had spread out from them. Somehow, the allied army must have figured that out as well.

The eight hundred reached the front lines. Someone threw an Eveladis out, and instead of opening up the illusion wall to reveal empty ground and scorched earth, it showed an army of undead and human soldiers, right on the other side, ready and waiting.

They descended on the eight hundred, who didn’t put up anything that could be called a resistance. They were slaughtered to the last man.

It was a cold-blooded maneuver, but objectively a beneficial one. Now the most infectious of the soldiers were out of the picture, and they had a good idea of what was waiting for them outside of the illusion wall.

Brin was starting to understand why not everyone liked Grimwalt. He would always take the path that would lead to the fewest casualties, but he wasn’t a kind man.

The Arcaenean force noticed the diseased army was virtually undefended and started to step forward, but an artillery strike of blazing comets slammed into the ground in front of them, a warning shot. Instead, they picked up the corpses of the men they’d killed and retreated back to their side.

Brin couldn’t understand why they didn’t attack. Surely, there’d be no better time than this. If Arcaena really didn’t mean to put up a resistance, then why not surrender? And if they did mean to fight, then why not now?

He continued to watch. Removing the most infectious men was only a small benefit; the disease was already spread broadly. More men died, more healers succumbed to the disease that they were trying to cure, but with any crucible like this, the ones who made it through were strengthened.

Heroes rose. The surviving healers gained levels like mad, and he saw Classes change. No one had time to go through a lengthy Class Selection process, not when there were lives to save, so a [Pharmacist] might change to a [Epidemiologist] from one breath to the next. A [Sick Friend] changed to a [Disease Breaker] and now instead of merely relieving suffering she completely cleaned the Wyrd off of every person she touched.

Where there were heroes, there were also villains. Seemingly out of nowhere, a group of [General’s Personal Guards] grabbed a man from off the ground, carried him to the funeral pyres, and stabbed him to death before throwing him onto the flame.

Then they strode back to the commander’s camp, passing the sentries that separated the leaders from everyone else. It was a real separation, too, with a row of archers who had orders to shoot down every unauthorized soldier who tried to cross.

It wasn’t that the commanders were completely unaffected by the disease, but even a quick glimpse showed that they had the disease under control over there, while the regular army did not.

Brin’s resentful anger at the random murder and the separation gave him an energy he didn’t know his body still possessed, but rather than jump to conclusions, he had his directed threads scour his memories for any sign of what the dead man had been doing today.

He eventually got a shot, far up in the air where he’d been scanning the entire army at once. The man in question was tiny in that view, but Brin watched him anyway, squinting his mind’s eye to try to make out anything that might explain things.

He watched, speeding up the memories time, until… there! He played it back, and quite clearly saw the man smear something over the mouth of a water canteen before handing it to his neighbor to drink. Brin hadn’t [Inspected] the man in this memory so he couldn’t now, but that was a point of data.

He didn’t have to wait long for another. Several more men were carried away and summarily executed. Brin was ready, and used [Wyrdic Inspect] in the first one and saw that yes, the Wyrd in him was different. He still got the disease, but looking closely he could see that it was only enough to help him blend in, and wouldn’t actually have a chance of killing him. What really sealed it was when one of the condemned men, seeing his fate was sealed, shouted “Free Arcaena! Arcaena forever!” before being silenced.

These were Arcaenean infiltrators. Brin was willing to be they had helped start the disease, or at least had been instrumental in spreading it through the camps. Everyone always assumed that [Witches] could just do whatever they wanted with no problems, but if you really watched what they did, you could see the many plots and schemes they had to pull off to make something like this happen.

It was a little annoying that the commanders had figured this all out and found the spies before Brin, though, especially since he had a Class that was perfect for it. He didn’t know what the Classes of the robed anti-Wyrd people were, and he was realizing now that was by design. Grimwalt also had to know that this was a war of Wyrd vs anti-Wyrd, so those people’s Skills and Classes were this army's most important secret.

His pot was finally ready, with little bubbles starting to form. Brin dismissed many of his threads, and climbed inside. Predictably, it was hot. With his high Vitality, he could feel temperature in a cerebral sort of way. He knew when things were hot or cold, but it was just room dressing, it didn’t really affect him. This was different. This was really hot.

Marksi hopped in as well, and did laps around the rim of the pot as if it were the temperature of a swimming pool. Brin didn’t know if his heat resistance was because of a monster he’d eaten or his draconic heritage. Actually, since when could Marksi resist any temperatures? If it got even slightly warm out, the little dragon would insist that the only possible thing to do was to take a six hour nap. Was he just lazy? Well, Brin had already known that.

To Marksi, the temperature might be fine, but for Brin it was hard to handle. He could feel the Wyrd of the disease still churning inside him, so he didn’t jump out and tried to relax, thinking of this as a hot tub from his old world. It was torture, and he just wanted to leap out at once, but through strength of will, he stilled himself. It would all be worth it if the disease died. To help things along, he dropped a ball of glass into the water and used his glass magic to heat it up. Since he was using magic, he could imbue it with a bit of Wyrd. Die, infection. Begone, curse! This is my body! You don’t belong.

He got dizzy. The water didn’t seem so hot anymore, but that wasn’t a good thing. There were real bubbles forming. He was boiling. Then he felt it. The curse was gone.

Marksi started to chirp with worry, but he was only vaguely aware of the world around him. He tried to stand, but couldn’t summon the energy. He’d just sit a little longer…

“Pull me out of here!” he shouted. He couldn’t actually speak so he’d projected it with illusions, but it had the desired effect. A couple men who’d been waiting in line for water trudged over and pulled him out, hissing a bit as the water scalded their skin.

They tossed him to the ground, and the fresh, cool air was a shocking relief. He couldn’t even thank them, and laid panting in the mud.

“If you’re done with this, then I need it!” shouted a woman who didn’t even look for an answer before shoving armloads of grimy bandages into Brin’s pot.

He couldn’t answer her either, right away, and lay on the ground until the strength returned to his limbs. This time, when his strength returned, it returned all the way. He stood, still a bit dizzy, with a bad headache, and sore all over, but almost giddy nonetheless. He could stand without issue. He wasn’t sick anymore.

“It worked. I’m healed,” he breathed. Marksi jumped onto his chest, shaking with relief.

Now all he had to do was figure out what he could do to help. He’d sort of had an idea puttering in the back of his mind… something stopped that train of thought in its tracks. He blinked a couple times. He had been thinking about what to do next? Right, he should check on his Lance.

He jogged back to their camp, and saw that they were in about the same state as before. Cowl had finished the herbal broth and was starting to ladle it into mugs.

“I can’t drink that. No offense, Cowl, but not with this stench in the air,” said Brych.

“Oh, I have something for that, too. They dropped it off a half-hour ago,” said Cowl. He held up a small pouch of pills, and then popped one in his mouth before passing it to Brych.

Brych popped one in his mouth and said, “What is it?” Then his eyes widened and he smiled. “Oh, thank the gods.”

Brin took one with everyone else, and found that the pill immediately removed his sense of smell. It was a godsend, and he could see that everyone felt the same. He could see why they didn’t use these all the time; with a foe like Arcaena you didn’t want to mute any of your senses, but he could also see why now was an appropriate exception.

Cowl passed out the broth, and Brin took a sip just to see what it was like. Apparently, the pill muted the sense of taste as well, because he couldn’t taste much other than water.

“Hey, tell me what you see,” said Cid. He was laying on his back with his eyes closed, taking slow awkward sips from the mug Cowl had given him.

Brin sat next to him and used the Silent Voice to run him through the things he’d seen with his Invisible Eyes. Cid also didn’t have any ideas for why Arcaena wasn’t attacking; he was just thankful she hadn’t.

Now, with his Lance squared away, and his Prime properly informed, Brin needed to figure out what to do next. Why was it so hard for him to think this right now?

Oh, right, because of his Class. The [Delusionist] part of him was fighting the idea of doing anything else that could expose his secret. That wouldn’t stop him. Yes, it had made sense to cure himself first, but now he was ready to give it another go. His mind was already a lot clearer. He had a lot more mental bandwidth to devote to the problem now that his head was focused and he wasn’t personally at risk. He might be able to think of something. Some way to dampen the curse, if not drive it away completely.

He didn’t even know if that was possible. He’d need to experiment some more, and experimentation would lead to a chance of discovery. Even now as he was trying to think of something new to try, he was cursing himself for how little precautions he’d taken earlier. Was he really going to risk everything on the possibility that he might be able to do something?

Besides, it was starting to look like the healers had things under control. The heroes were still rising, and conquering the disease rather than merely slowing it down. All of the healers still moving around had gained enough levels that they were no longer at any risk. They’d slowed the spread enough that they could focus on the worst cases. This was already looking like it was under control.

Then night fell. The sun had been idling on the horizon for a while, but then it suddenly peeked down below and it felt like everything got dark at once.

The army collectively groaned, as if the darkness had been a sudden punch to their guts, and after a quick flurry of [Wyrdic Inspects], Brin saw that was literally the case. The curse was worse now, more deadly. The sunlight had been limiting it; a malicious stratagem on Arcaena’s part. While the sun still shone, the disease had been more virulent but less deadly, a way to make sure as many people got infected as possible. But the lack of sunlight had triggered the disease to move on from spreading and focus on killing.

Brin connected the dots, including the fact that Arcaena had an army just outside her illusion wall, but hadn’t attacked yet. They’d been waiting for this.

Brin looked at Cid, who stared back with determination in his eyes, showing that he was thinking along the same lines. He said, “We should go.”

Brin nodded. “Armor up, men! They’ll need us on the front!”