"It's...gone."

The Dwarf stared down at his body, awestruck, as if it was made of solid gold. "No more pain." He raised his head to gaze at Rob, eyes misting over. "You are a living, breathing miracle, Human. Thank you."

Months ago, Rob – uncomfortable at receiving that much praise – would've tried to play off healing Corruption as no big deal. One epidemic later, plenty of it spent with the affliction inside his own body, had let him know exactly how big of a deal it was. "I'm just glad that I'm here to help," he truthfully answered. "Rest up, okay? We'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

The Dwarf nodded and closed his eyes. He laid down in his bed, seeming at peace. Rob allowed himself a brief moment of contentment before moving on to his next patient; an aged Dwarven woman regarding him with poorly-suppressed anticipation.

Thankfully, she was one of the mere few left waiting to have her Corruption Purged. Several hours ago, when Rob learned that only a couple dozen Dwarves were infected in the Blightspawn attack, he'd offered to 'knock out the medical ward in an afternoon'. After explaining to the Stonewarden that he was using a figure of speech, and not threatening injured Dwarven citizens, Rob immediately went on over to start treating patients. It was a win for all parties involved; the Stonewarden's subjects were going to receive specialized care, and Rob got to perform his savior role and leave a good impression on the locals.

Most importantly, it was cathartic as hell. Compared to the Corruption epidemic in Fiendland, clearing out a single medical ward of Dwarves felt like a leisurely field trip. Fiends were highly susceptible to Corruption, much more so than any other race, so even the worst-infected of the Dwarves were in a better state than the vast majority of Fiends had been. And outside of the one child that Rob healed when entering Dhalerune City – the result of a miner's exceptionally ill-timed Take Your Child To Work Day – no kids were among the sick.

No kids were going to die.

In retrospect, frantically performing lifesaving surgery on tens of thousands of Fiends had prooobably given him a bit of trauma. Might as well throw it on to the pile, Rob thought, as the freshly-cured Dwarven woman gave him a squeeze of gratitude. I should share a drink or two with Earth surgeons when I get back. Swap some stories. Didn't appreciate their hard work enough until I was yoinked to a world where medical knowledge has been stunted by the existence of Vitality and healing spells. When magic fails, people here don't have much of a backup plan beyond thoughts and prayers.

Message Received From Party Member: Keira

Keira: Everything alright?

Keira: You look pensive.

Rob: really? thought i was smiling

Keira: You are, but it's your fake one.

Keira: Don't think I can't tell.

Rob: hah, true

Rob: thanks, but im okay, just thinkin bout stuff

Rob: nothing too bad

Rob: and purging easy corruption fuckin rocks

Rob: reveeeeeeeenge

Keira: Now there's a sentiment I can wholeheartedly embrace.

She ended the Message, cheerfully waving at him from her corner of the room. All of Riardin's Rangers were there as well, twiddling their thumbs as Rob went from patient to patient like a well-oiled assembly line. The rest of the Party didn't have much to do at the moment, but their alternative was joining Elder Alessia as she hashed out political bullshit with the Stonewarden and Seneschal, so guarding Rob seemed like a better use of their time. Or at least a fraction less mind-numbing.

On the plus side, Vul'to and Faelynn being present was a good first step towards establishing Fiend-Dwarven relations among the common folk. While the Dwarven patients in the medical ward hated Fiends, same as the rest of Elatra, accompanying Rob let them be associated with the boon of Corruption Purging. After all, they were Rob's precious Party members, and he made sure to mention how awesome each and every one of his friends were whenever he had the chance..

And if nothing else, even if the Dwarves balked at the inclusion of Fiends, what were they going to do? Throw a fit in front of the miracle man who'd just saved them from a lifetime of suffering?

Diplomacy whispered.

Oh, hey, Sleeping Beauty is awake. Rob paused. You okay? That last nap was kind of sudden.

The Skill let out a weak pulse of reassurance. When they spoke again, their speech was erratic and clipped, like they were attempting to say as much as they could in as few words as possible.

...Okay. What's your take on him?

Diplomacy's core shimmered with concentration.

The Skill smirked.

Rob was surprised, but only for an instant. While the two Leaders' personalities were markedly different on the surface, that didn't mean that the Seneschal cared less about his people than the Stonewarden. Considering that the Elf was willing to set aside his Human hateboner in order to secure Dwarven assistance, that already set him above the Dragon Queen on the Elatran Leader totem pole – which, admittedly, was a rock-bottom hurdle to clear.

Thanks for the tips, Rob answered, sending Diplomacy a mental nod. You have any idea what they're hiding?

The Skill's light dimmed by a hair.

Rob nearly froze in the middle of Purging a patient. What? WHAT? What do you mean by that?!

Diplomacy let out a faint chuckle.

Then go back to sleep! Rob fought hard to keep his poker face up – although his trembling hands didn't go unnoticed by the rest of Riardin's Rangers. That helped before, didn't it?!

The Skill hesitated, unease and determination mingling within their core.

Rob clenched his teeth. You told me that being deactivated feels like death. Not like sleep. Not even like a coma. Death.

Rob finished up with his patient. He brushed aside their remarks of gratitude, muttering that he needed a breather and would be right back as he bolted out the room. I promised that I would never deactivate you.

Diplomacy shuddered, as if a chill wind had caressed their neck.

Rob screwed his eyes shut. He ignored the concerned Messages coming in from Riardin's Rangers, focusing his effort on trying not to punch a hole in the wall. You'll be okay, he said, unsure of if he was speaking to Diplomacy or himself. The next time you wake, it'll be in a brand new body, and I'll give you the biggest damn high-five this side of Elatra.

Diplomacy said nothing. With a start, Rob realized that the Skill couldn't say anything. Their light was feeble, waning further by the second. Immediately, he deactivated the Skill, watching with a torn heart as it went cold and dark.

...So quiet.

Rob stood there, staring vacantly into space. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have his mind all to himself. Even when Diplomacy was silent before, Rob could still sense the Skill's presence, always there. They'd been his mental roommate, a constant companion that helped him center himself in a world of madness. Now they were gone, a refrigerated corpse stuffed into the back of his mind, and everything was quiet.

And empty.

"Rob?"

He flinched as he felt Keira's hand on his shoulder. Slowly, Rob turned around to greet his Party members, who were waiting on tenterhooks for an answer.

"All good," he said, putting on his Grand Overseer-Approved PR Smile. "Diplomacy just...needs a break. They'll be in power saving mode for a few days. Wanted to tell me some last-minute info before they went to sleep."

Not a single one of them bought it – Keira wasn't the only one who could see through him. But mercifully, they recognized that if he wasn't giving them all the details, it was because he really didn't want to. One by one, Riardin's Rangers nodded, accepting the half-truth for what it was. "Are you done for the day?" Keira asked, concern evident in her demeanor.

Rob glanced at the door to the medical ward. There were still several Dwarves left with Corruption, and at the very least they would probably be fooled by a fake smile. "Not yet," he said, stepping forward. "The show must go on."

Even without the one viewer who was always in attendance.

--

Vul'to was starting to regret rejecting Urian's disguise-inducing Enchanted Item.

It wasn't as if he was entirely unused to being a pariah in foreign lands. When the Deserters first entered Fiend territory, it had taken the populace quite some time to grow accustomed to their new Elven neighbors. In truth, without the inexhaustible good will earned from Riardin's Rangers ending the Corruption epidemic, the Deserters might never have been accepted at all.

Yet they had ended the Corruption epidemic, and they had been accepted. Vul'to distinctly remembered how it felt the first time he walked down the streets of Fiend territory without being glared at. It was an experience like no other, validating all of the struggles it took to reach that point.

And now here he was again, in a hateful foreign land, being warily eyed by thirty Dwarves like he was some type of soul-eating monster.

At least this time the glares were accurate.

His only solace was that the Dwarves wouldn't attempt to murder him while the rest of his Party was present as well. Currently, Riardin's Rangers were stationed with the Stonewarden's thirty handpicked Dwarven elites, both groups waiting for the Leaders and Elder Alessia to finalize their battle stratagems. Anticipation was building to a fever pitch, due in no small part to the location they'd been ordered to wait at. The entrance to Dhalerune Mines lay stretched out before them, a yawning chasm that threatened to swallow everyone whole.

Objectively, Vul'to knew that was an overly dramatic interpretation on his part. The entrance to Dhalerune Mines was just that; an entrance to the mines. Little more than a Dwarven-made hole in the ground. It was the knowledge of what lay within those mines that set his nerves aflame. Vul'to would rather confront another aberrant Dungeon than pursue a Blight into the bowels of Elatra.

He nervously rubbed one of the many anti-Corruption Amulets fastened to his chestpiece. Dozens more were hidden underneath. Once the initial batch had been distributed to the Dwarves, the remaining Amulets were given mostly to himself and Faelynn. Redundancies, Rob called them, for if some broke during combat. As long as just one Amulet remained, Vul'to wouldn't receive the full brunt of the Blight's corruptive aura.

Still, even with the Amulets, he couldn't help but be worried. Any person in possession of a rational mind would have been. Not wanting to leave behind any regrets in case the unthinkable happened, Vul'to contacted Meyneth, making another effort to reach out to her.

Message Started Between Party Members: Vul'to, Meyneth

Vul'to: Hello, Meyneth! How are you faring?

Meyneth: Well.

Meyneth: And you?

Vul'to: Glad to hear it, and I'm doing quite well as...well!

Meyneth: Good.

Vul'to: I think so too!

Vul'to: So, a thought occurred to me – it's likely that we won't have much time to discuss things until the Blight is defeated. Is there anything you'd like to talk about right now?

Meyneth: No.

Vul'to: Well okay then! Please feel free to let me know if there is! You are a true friend, and we're all here for you if you need us!

Meyneth: Understood.

She hadn't so much as glanced at him. Meyneth's attention was focused directly on the Mines, her posture more rigid than the stone she was standing on.

Vul'to suppressed a sigh. If he didn't know her better, he would have felt hurt by the exchange, assuming that she was avoiding speaking to him because of a failing on his part. In actuality, it was blatantly obvious to everyone in the Party – including Meyneth herself – that she was plagued with remorse over the Krazan incident. Vul'to was no stranger to survivor's guilt, having witnessed all of its myriad variants following the Cataclysm, so he knew what to expect. Until Meyneth convinced herself that she 'deserved' to speak with him, she would continue keeping him at arm's length.

With that in mind, Vul'to resolved to be patient. She'd opened up to them before, and as long as they continued to remind her that she was a valued friend, she would open up to them once more, given time.

Although he had to admit that her reticence did sting a little. Had he used too many exclamation points in his Message? Was it even possible for him to stop? Party Messages were less like written words and more like a representation of conscious thought – and thoughts were not so easily controlled. It was Rob's explanation for why his Messages often appeared as if they'd been written by a drunken child. Something to do with years of 'texting' irreversibly rotting his brain.

"Unfortunate, isn't it?"

Vul'to's head snapped up as he was broken out of his thoughts. Faelynn stood in front of him, a resigned expression on her face. Vul'to glanced at the Dwarves – most of whom were still observing him for signs of treachery – and confirmed that they were out of Heightened Senses range.

"What are you referring to?" he whispered. "The Dwarves' inhospitable reception, Meyneth's needless self-recrimination, or how we've once again set ourselves on a path to cross swords with a nigh-unstoppable abomination?"

Faelynn paused. "I was actually referring to your armor," she replied, "although you bring up some excellent counterexamples."

Vul'to winced. His armor – if he could call it that – was closer to a slapdash collection of metal than anything a smith would have taken pride in. There'd been no time to reforge his old Elven-sized armor to fit his current body, and as Fiends tended to eschew armor due to their system restriction on armor-based Skills, his selection of alternatives had been...slim.

"Be honest," he said. "How much of a farce do I look like?"

"That's a difficult question to answer, as you're still a Fiend who can use armor Skills. That impossibility more than offsets any deficiency in fashion." She glanced at the Dwarves for a split second. "I must also confess a fair degree of jealousy. Any Class that incentivizes wearing armor sounds incredibly appealing right about now, considering how effective that might prove against..."

Message Received From Party Member: Faelynn

Faelynn: Against the Thunder Rods.

Vul'to stiffened, doing his best not to openly examine the Dwarven contingent and double-check if there were Thunder Rod wielders among them. To think that we barely gave the city guards a second glance, he thought, when they could have ended our lives with the twitch of a finger.

Rob had painted a grim picture of what the Thunder Rods – the Rifles – were capable of. Vul'to was still trying to come to terms with the notion of a Utility Class user being able to effortlessly kill seasoned Combat Class users. There'd been some historic instances of low-Level civilians killing high-Level fighters, but they always involved extreme extenuating circumstances, such as a grand betrayal or being stabbed in their sleep. From a safe distance and with unfathomable speed? That just wasn't possible.

It was hard to argue with some of Rob's more vivid descriptions, though. Vul'to never wanted to hear the phrase 'splattered brain matter' ever again.

Thankfully, utilizing a Message chat log allowed them to communicate in secret as often as they wanted. They'd spent a good portion of the day planning Rifle countermeasures and running battle simulations right under the Dwarves' noses. Vul'to dearly hoped that they would never require those plans, but it was better to be prepared than regretful. During those sessions, one conclusion Rob had reached was that Vul'to's armor-enhancing Class Skills would offer him a large degree of protection from Rifle shots. He was the only one – besides maybe Rob himself – who could charge into a hailstorm of bullets and potentially live to tell the tale.

I would have preferred to spend the day planning against the Blight, Vul'to groused. Even with a body that was highly susceptible to Corruption, though, he found himself fearing Utility Class users armed with new technology more. The world truly has gone mad.

Faelynn took that moment to continue speaking. "I'd like to hear your opinion on something," she whispered, in a hushed tone. "What did you think of the Stonewarden?"

"He seemed like a fine sort," Vul'to replied. "Wasn't overly perturbed about Fiends in his city, although I presume he was notified of our arrival well in advance. Got along well with Rob and Elder Alessia. Listened to critiques and advice. Kept his disgusted glares to a minimum. As a whole, he was certainly easier to converse with than the Seneschal or the Merfolk King."

Vul'to blinked, briefly frozen in shock as his own words sank in. "I've...met with Leaders now, haven't I? Three of them."

"Life is a whirlwind of surprises," Faelynn agreed. "And your perspective on the Stonewarden helps set me at ease. Perhaps I was worried over nothing."

Vul'to tilted his head. "You thought differently?"

"...Well..." Faelynn hesitated, as if speaking her thoughts aloud might turn them into reality. "It is true that the Stonewarden was...amicable, towards us. He didn't demand that you or I be expelled from the meeting room. And once he learned that we could speak Common, he expressed genuine interest in hearing our stories after the Blight has been expunged."

Her eyes narrowed. "But whereas you saw someone who kept his disgusted glances to a minimum, I saw someone who couldn't bear to look at us any more than necessary."

Before Vul'to could respond, he noticed three figures approaching from the path back to Dhalerune City. The chatter from both groups quieted as Elder Alessia, the Stonewarden, and the Seneschal walked forward. A flash of pride surged through Vul'to at the sight – despite being thirty Levels lower than the two Leaders, Elder Alessia didn't appear out of place in the slightest. She strode with the poise of someone completely in her element, and by the looks on their faces, all three of them had come to a reasonable accord.

It gave credence to a sentiment Rob often espoused; that those who possessed the highest Levels shouldn't necessarily be the ones in roles of leadership. While Elder Alessia's Level 43 was well above average, she'd been outpaced by Rob and Keira at this point, and the rest of Riardin's Rangers weren't far behind, Vul'to included. He tried to imagine a version of the Deserters where he was responsible for making the final call on important decisions, and nearly burst out laughing. They wouldn't have lasted a month.

As the trio of Leaders approached, the Stonewarden broke off to join his fellow Dwarves. Elder Alessia, naturally, continued on towards Riardin's Rangers. Surprisingly, the Elven Seneschal followed her. Maybe he felt more at ease among the presence of other Elves, or-

Vul'to winced as the Seneschal went to stand directly in front of Rob, glaring at him with an intensity that surpassed anything he'd seen from the Dwarves.

Oh dear.

--

Aw, son of a bitch.

Rob didn't bother forcing a PR smile to his face – he highly doubted the Seneschal would buy it. "Can I help you?" he said, edging a bit closer to a very tense Keira.

"I'd like to ask the same thing," Elder Alessia cut in, leveling an unimpressed stare at the Seneschal. "You had plenty of time to voice your grievances during the hours we spent meticulously forging an alliance."

"We discussed grievances pertaining to politics and battle strategies," the Seneschal stated, his eyes locked straight on Rob. "This, however, is a personal matter."

I miss you already, Diplomacy. "Personal in what way?" Rob asked. "We haven't met before."

"No, although you did slaughter some of my handpicked men and women. Twice."

"The ones you sent to kidnap me," Rob spat. "Twice."

Seneschal Sylpeiros raised an eyebrow. "Ah, so the Human has a spine. You barely responded to my provocations during our initial meeting."

Rob resisted the urge to clock him in his stupid bullshit-Elven-perfect teeth. "Generally, when meeting someone, you're supposed to put your best foot forward. Especially when it involves a crisis on the verge of spiraling into a catastrophe. Not all of us are Level 76 nation Leaders who can get away with acting like a prick."

Belatedly, Rob realized that the Dwarven contingent had gone silent as the grave, all thirty-one of them watching the confrontation play out with scandalized interest. They may as well have been eating popcorn. Let them, he thought. I can only be on my best behavior for so long.

"A 'prick', you say," the Seneschal repeated, rolling the word on his tongue. "Spend five minutes in my position, Human, and then we'll see how eager you are to don a mask of decorum around those who-"

Elder Alessia loudly cleared her throat. The Seneschal stopped himself mid-sentence, his face looking like he'd swallowed a lemon. Alessia tapped her thigh twice, and Rob – taking the hint – kicked a random Party member and added her so that she could send him a Message.

Message Received From Party Member: Alessia

Alessia: Let this matter go. I will explain later.

Alessia: As an addendum; don't mention the Dragon Queen in his vicinity.

Rob: ?????

Rob: wasnt gonna, but okay

"Well, it's been absolutely fantastic speaking with you," Rob said, clapping his hands together. "But we've got a Blight to kill. I'd be more than happy to trade insults after it's dead."

"This won't take long." The Seneschal leaned forward slightly, prompting Rob to prep Not A Scratch and Waymark. "Human. Do you remember an Elf by the name of Kenzotul?"

Rob looked at his feet and scratched his head. "...Okay, full disclosure, I don't even remember the names of any of the Fiends' Grand Overseers, or my own doctor."

The Seneschal's frown deepened. "How disappointingly expected. He should have left a strong impression on you; a faulty memory is no excuse."

Rob threw his hands up into the air. "Face? Height? Age? Come on, give me something else to work with."

Message Continued

Alessia: You don't remember the names of the Grand Overseers?

Rob: not the time!!

"Kenzotul is over two-hundred years old," the Seneschal continued, voice rising with every word. "His face is weathered. He-"

"Wait!" Rob called out. The number of Elves he'd met whose faces were haggard enough to be described as 'weathered' could be counted on one hand. "Is Kenzotul the guy who asked me to kill him?"

A few of the Dwarves gasped out loud. Messages from Riardin's Rangers poured in; evidently, most of them weren't aware of the incident. Vul'to especially seemed shocked, asking for detailed clarification on the Elf's name and the events that transpired.

In contrast, the Seneschal's burgeoning wildfire of emotions immediately cooled, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head. "You...recall what happened?"

"Kind of impossible to forget," Rob murmured. "I only read his name in Identify once, but the actual guy?" Even by Rob's current standard of life insanity, it wasn't every day that a war veteran asked you to publicly execute them so they could atone for their crimes.

The Seneschal snapped out of his stupor, his gaze focusing once more. "And you recall why he asked you to kill him?"

Rob's lips twitched downward. "The Scouring."

"Then why didn't you?"

Rob almost responded with a pre-packaged, PR-friendly answer. It would've made sense for him to do so; after all, he was playing the part of the saintly Elatran Human willing to forgive the genocide of his race. And with the Seneschal, the Stonewarden, Vevrandi, and a bunch of Dwarves in attendance, there was no better opportunity for him to reinforce his status.

But he just...couldn't. Maybe it was lingering instincts from Diplomacy, or maybe he simply wasn't cut out to be a politician. But something inside Rob told him that he should be as truthful as the situation permitted.

"It wasn't my place to forgive him." His voice rang crystal clear across the cavern. "Kenzotul didn't kill anyone I personally knew. The people he could have atoned to are dead. Executing him wouldn't erase his sins, and it wouldn't make anyone feel better. All it would have done was give him an easy way out."

Rob shook his head. "Instead, I told him to live, and fight through the pain."

The Seneschal sucked in a harsh breath. "You hated him that much?"

"Fucking what?" Rob hissed. "Okay, I'm actually insulted by that one. I didn't hate the guy; just told him what I would've told myself if I were in his position. You only get one life."

No one stirred. The Seneschal stared blankly at Rob, seeming lost. "You're saying...you didn't forget him, and you didn't hate him?"

"Yes," Rob flatly stated. "Have you paid attention to a word I've said?" He paused. "Wait, why are you asking this, anyway? I never saw Kenzotul again after the day he ambushed me outside my apartment. Always assumed that he died in The Village's invasion. How do you know about him? Is he alive? Did the Village Elves who migrated to Reviton City mention him?"

The Seneschal turned around, and with unsure steps, went to stand in a corner, alone.

...What the hell was that about?

"Well said, Human," the Dwarven Stonewarden interjected, his voice booming. "We should all strive to make a difference with the one life we have. Today, our forces shall ensure that the greatest difference possible is made – when we save Dhalerune City by extinguishing the Blight."

The Stonewarden continued his ra-ra hype speech from there, somehow managing to spin Rob and the Seneschal's tiff into a positive learning experience. Rob tuned it out, having heard several variants in the past. He hardly needed extra motivation to want to kill the Blight. It was effective on the Dwarves, though, righteousness gradually supplanting their fear as the Stonewarden filled their heads with visions of glory.

"-and let the Human's Purging light guide us to victory!" he finished.

Rob perked up – that was his cue. He raised his hand into the air and emitted Purge Corruption energy in the form of a glowing wave, just enough to give the Dwarves a fancy light show without draining his resources. The Dwarves erupted into cheer as if they were at a rock concert, and without wasting a beat, the Stonewarden marshaled them forward, directing them into Dhalerune Mines before their fervor could die down.

It was time.

Message Started Between Party Members: Rob, Vul'to, Faelynn

Rob: Only going to say this once.

Rob: If the Corruption gets too much, then run. Your bodies aren't equipped to handle it.

Rob: No big dumb heroics.

Both Fiends nodded at him with completely serious expressions. They'd witnessed the Corruption epidemic at its worst, and neither of them wanted to merge into a Flesh Amalgamation anytime soon.

Accepting their acknowledgment, Rob gave the cavern one last headcount. There were Riardin's Rangers plus Elder Alessia, most of them above Level 40 and with Rob at Level 52. Then there were the Elven Seneschal and Dwarven Stonewarden, Levels 76 and 78, respectively. Finally, there were the thirty Dwarven veterans, Vevrandi included, ranging from Level 35 to 43. In total, their combined forces consisted of forty-one high-leveled Combat Class users, some of them being the literal strongest of their race.

Versus one Blight, partially grown, on its home turf.

It will have to be enough, Rob thought, before banishing the notion. No. It will be enough.

That's all there was to it.

The coalition of nations marched, descending into the belly of the beast, as unseen jaws closed around them.