News of Plague City's fall spread like a plague.
It was not carried by messengers or carrier pigeons, but by the "Holy Church knights" who had been lucky enough to escape through Plague City's other gates.
Their eyes were hollow, and they kept repeating the same words: "It's over... The city has fallen... The temple is gone..."
The fall of the temple had utterly broken these Holy Church knights who had once been devout in their faith.
By the time the news reached the eastern port city, the priests within were still distributing potions.
That day was Sunday. A long line stretched before the temple gates, patients waiting to receive medicine.
There was no choice. Without the medicine, they could only wait to die.
The priest stood on the steps, holding a censer in one hand and a vial in the other, reciting prayers.
The believers knelt on the ground with their foreheads pressed to the stone slabs, chanting along with him.
A man covered in blood galloped madly in from outside the city on horseback.
He wore the armor of a Holy Church knight. Every plate was covered in cracks, and his left arm hung limply at his side. The bone had broken, held together only by flesh and skin.
Clearly, his escape had not gone smoothly.
He rushed into the square. His warhorse collapsed, and he crawled up from the ground before staggering toward the temple.
"Plague City... has fallen..."
His voice was hoarse, as though forced from the depths of his throat.
"Monsters... They're all monsters!"
The moment he said that, an uproar broke out around him.
Plague City had fallen? What kind of joke was that?
Who in this world could possibly breach Plague City now?
The leading priest did not panic. He stopped chanting and