Reincarnated as the Weakest Magical Beast

After confirming that the area was indeed a legitimate safe zone, the three of them took shelter beneath the shade of a nearby tree. It was large and old, its gnarled branches stretching wide enough to shield them from the relentless rain. Droplets slid down the leaves in steady streams, pattering softly onto the muddy ground below.

Meanwhile, the crimson moon glowed brighter, eerier. The rain grew heavier, each drop carrying the faint scent of blood. Thunder rolled in the distance, echoing through the forest, while the guttural sounds of undead creatures spawning and wandering nearby filled the night. Their cries and roars painted a grim symphony that clawed at the edges of sanity.

However, the safe zone wouldn't stay safe for long.

In three hours, the final grain would fall and the dark wall of protection would dissolve. Once that happened, they would be thrown back into the nightmare, forced to fight their way through the undead once again in search of another refuge.

Still, three hours of safety was already a gift. A chance to breathe, a chance to live.

Under the tree, Emilia stood silently, watching the blood rain pour, her figure bathed in the crimson moonlight. Her armor, clothes, and hair were drenched, water dripping steadily from her shoulders. She drew in slow breaths, focusing on recovery. Soon, she would head out again—farming levels, making full use of every precious second to grow stronger.

Beside her, Mimi took the chance to stretch and shake the water from her fur.

Urrrghhhh…

She clearly didn't like it one bit, soaked from head to tail in the reddish rainwater, her fur clumping together in uneven tufts. She shook herself again, droplets flying everywhere, then flattened her ears with a pitiful little grumble.

As for the others… the noble girl with the purple hair and large bow, Mary, sat quietly beneath the tree, hugging her knees and staring blankly at the muddy ground. Her expression was empty—eyes distant, lips trembling faintly. It was as though her mind still lingered back on that bloody battlefield. She needed time for everything to sink in.

Couldn't blame her, though. She had just lost most of her party… and nearly her own life.

Aron sat nearby with his back against the trunk, armor dented, breathing slow and weary. His gaze was fixed on nothing, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. Every movement looked painful. Beside him lay the unconscious mage, her blonde hair matted with dried blood. Though her complexion had regained a bit of color, she remained still, her chest rising and falling faintly. She was alive, but far from waking.

The rain continued to fall around them in a steady, almost mournful rhythm. For a while, no one spoke.

Then Emilia finally broke the silence.

"So, what are you guys doing here? In Ashbane Forest, during the Blood Rain and Blood Moon? You knew this would happen, right?"

From her knowledge, such events weren't random at all—they followed cycles that could be predicted with reasonable accuracy. The Blood Moon occurred roughly once every 180 to 190 days, while the Blood Rain cycle came about every 130. The exact timing might vary by a few days, but there was always a clear window when both were likely to coincide.

For most people, that knowledge alone was enough. The townsfolk of Duskwald would mark the dates carefully, preparing days in advance, shutting themselves indoors, fortifying walls, and waiting out the cursed night. No sane person would wander into Ashbane during that period.

Which meant… there was no logical reason for this group to be here. Not unless something had gone horribly wrong.

Unless… this time was a random event, something beyond prediction?

Or perhaps… there was a deeper reason, something worth the risk.

Mary looked up at Emilia, sighed softly, and began.

"Well, it's not like we had any other choice. We were about to die anyway."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?"

"Have you ever heard of a disease called The Withering?"

"Huh?" Emilia blinked. "The Withering? What's that?"

"Seriously? You don't know?" Mary's eyes widened slightly. "Don't tell me… this is your first time in Duskwald???"

"Y-yeahhh…" Emilia admitted awkwardly.

Mary just stared at her for a moment, then exhaled a tired, bitter sigh.

"Ahhh... I see..." she murmured. "Well, I'm actually glad you didn't know about it. That means you don't have it…"

"Anyways," she continued after a pause, her voice trembling faintly, "let me show you."

She reached toward her left arm. The rain pattered lightly on her glove as she hesitated, just for a second, before pulling it off.

When she did, Emilia and Mimi froze in horror.

Damn…

Mimi's fur and tail fluffed up, a cold shiver racing down her spine. The air itself seemed to grow heavier.

Emilia gasped beneath her mask.

Because Mary's left hand… was no longer human. The skin was pitch black and cracked, the veins beneath faintly pulsing with a dull violet light. It looked dry, shriveled, and lifeless, like the bark of a dead tree. The fingertips had curled slightly inward, as if the flesh itself were retreating from life.

It was the hand of someone being slowly claimed by decay.

****

The Wilthering

No one truly knows where this dreadful disease originated. Some claim it is divine punishment upon those who committed grave sins in their past lives, that karma finally taking its due. Others even speculated that it is the mark of a corrupted soul, a curse born from those who consorted with the demons of Abyssia, even when there's actually no evidence for that.

Whatever its origin, The Wilthering is both terrifying and agonizing beyond measure.

It begins subtly, with a faint tingling or numbness in a single body part—most often the hands, the face, or the feet. At first, it seems harmless. But soon after, the skin begins to blacken, harden, and crack, like bark peeling from a dying tree. The affected area becomes dry and shriveled, radiating unbearable pain.

When the curse flares, victims describe it as being burned alive from the inside, the kind of agony that drives even the strongest to madness. And slowly, mercilessly, it spreads. Each week, a little more of the body becomes affected. Eventually, the disease reaches the heart, and death follows soon after.

Once manifested, it is almost always a death sentence. Even when you cut off your hand, your legs, it will just reappear at another part and grow even faster. In the end, few survive longer than a year or two before their entire body withers away.

Unless… they somehow find one of the rare magical herbs said to cleanse the corruption completely.

And among those rare cures, one is rumored to bloom only deep within a dungeon in the Ashbane Forest, appearing solely during the Blood Moon's special event.