The Scent of Jasmine and the Rat Plague

Noren pulled up her trousers and emerged from her private wooden latrine. The blacksmith’s hut offered no dedicated facilities, so she had built this one herself, nestled by the river at the base of the hut’s slope.

Then, carrying the chamber pot, she emptied its contents into the river, giving the bucket’s walls a quick rinse with the flowing water.

‘With the Bloodstone, there’s no need to handle things directly,’ she mused. ‘No longer do I have to torment my ‘little flower’ with those rough materials; a water-dampened tentacle is all it takes to clean.’

Noren offered her daily reflection on her ablutions, affirming this as one of the most significant changes the Bloodstone had brought to her life.

After all, in a medieval era devoid of toilet paper, the act of cleansing with hemp rope, moss, or dry earth was nothing short of torture.

Yet, using fabric—even coarse burlap—would be an immense extravagance.

A single yard of burlap, after all, cost dozens of silver coins!

“Thank the Bloodstone, my little flower suffers no more!” Noren declared, casually plucking a small daisy from the riverside grass.

Having finished her business, she ambled along the riverside, enjoying the leisure of the moment.

This very path had once been notoriously squalid.

While she had strictly forbidden the villagers from relieving themselves indiscriminately, the call of nature, as it were, often overruled good sense.

When ‘happiness’ came knocking, people paid little heed to such rules; they would simply soil their trousers or bestow upon the roadside grass a “shower of blessings.”

Consequently, she had been forced to compromise, asking the villagers at the very least not to defecate directly on the path or in the adjacent grass.

Should she witness a transgression, or receive a report, she vowed to ensure that for an entire year, the offending family and their neighbors would be denied the loan of a plowing horse or any farming implements whatsoever.

There was no concern that the villagers would defy her or dare to lodge complaints in Opava or Hradec.

Anyone bold enough to venture to Opava with a complaint would find themselves with a life to tell the tale, but not a life to return with.

As for Hradec, the Northman warrior serving as the town elder’s guard captain knew precisely how to handle such matters.

The weather today was grim, the sky shrouded in heavy clouds.

A faint dampness hung in the air, carrying the subtle scents of grass and earth stirred by the gentle breeze.

Some claimed that a beautiful maiden exuded a fragrant aura from head to toe, inside and out. Noren had initially dismissed such notions.

However, ever since her body’s awakening, a series of peculiar transformations had begun to manifest.

Her muscles, skin, hair, and teeth were all affected.

The anomalies within her physical form seemed to extend even to her internal organs, resulting in remarkably enhanced digestion and absorption.

Vast quantities of protein were consumed by her gastric furnace, nutrients gradually melting into her bloodstream. So little nitrogenous sustenance remained for her gut flora to process that, quite impossibly, a faint jasmine fragrance now emanated from her.

‘This is getting ridiculous…’ she thought, a wry smile playing on her lips.

Furthermore, she had experimented with eating cooked green grass.

Unsurprisingly, she found she could digest it.

‘Did she, like a true herbivore, now produce enzymes capable of breaking down cellulose?’

‘How utterly bizarre!’

****

“Whoosh!”

A flicker of irritation stirring within her, she picked up small pebbles from the roadside, flicking them one by one across the river. Each stone arced into the air.

“Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…”

Successive pebbles swiftly followed the first, colliding mid-air. Those that continued their flight were then struck by subsequent stones she launched, one after another, until they vanished beyond her sight.

“Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap…” A rhythmic applause broke the silence.

Without turning her head, Noren tilted it slightly, her emerald eyes darting to the left.

A priest.

A bearded priest she had never seen before.

The priest removed his hood, nodding in a respectful bow. “The Lord be with you, lady.”

Noren gave a subtle nod of her chin in acknowledgement.

“I am Father Peter,” the priest introduced himself. “By the lord’s command, I am searching for a runaway s*ave. Can you offer any clues?”

Noren continued skipping stones, completely ignoring the priest.

“The s*ave committed a grave crime and must be brought back for judgment.” The priest’s tone suggested he was certain the s*ave was hiding in O Village.

Noren knew they couldn’t possibly know the s*ave’s whereabouts, yet a flicker of doubt sparked within her. ‘Wasn’t Konrad in Brno? Had he returned? No, this must merely be a pretense, using the lord’s name.’

Seeing Noren remain unresponsive, the priest continued, “The villagers say they come to you for everything. I trust you would know if any s*ave has fled into this village.”

Noren dropped all the stones she held, then bent down to wash the dirt and grime from her hands in the river. Only then did she turn, meeting the priest’s gaze directly.

“No.”

The priest’s expression faltered for a moment, and he lowered his eyes. “Is that so? Then I apologize for the intrusion. Farewell.”

The priest pulled up his hood, concealing his balding head (TL Note: A common Chinese slang term, ‘dizhonghai,’ referring to a bald spot on the crown, resembling the Mediterranean Sea on a map.), and drew his arms back into his hooded cloak. His black monastic robes were swallowed by the shadows of the cloak as he departed under Noren’s watchful gaze.

Noren watched him recede into the distance, then stretched languidly before slowly, leisurely following in the direction the priest had taken.

****

O Village border

The priest mounted his horse, two mounted soldiers trailing closely behind. The soldiers’ faces were sallow, their expressions weary, as they rode in silence. Hooves struck the hard-packed earth, leaving shallow imprints.

The horses let out tired whinnies, and each time a head drooped, it was sharply pulled up by its rider’s reins.

Weary men and exhausted horses—this was the perfect depiction of the trio’s state.

Having ascertained the size of the search party, Noren’s mind began to form a plan. ‘Three individuals, and they appear to have been searching through the night. This suggests that the Grand Shamanic Ritual in Opava concluded recently, and the defenses might still be lax, just like last time.’

Observing the small trio before her, Noren decided she would make another trip to Opava.

‘The power of Opava’s Grand Shamanic Ritual has just faded,’ she considered. ‘While the castle soldiers are still recovering, I might be able to infiltrate again.’

‘When the time comes, I’ll stay a night at an inn outside the castle, observe the situation, and if an opportunity arises, I’ll infiltrate that very night. Even if discovered, those few soft-bellied soldiers won’t be able to stop me.’

With her decision made, she still intended to bring Tolke along as her companion. Although a slight unpleasantness had occurred earlier, it was ultimately trivial, and she hoped Tolke wouldn’t dwell on it.

****

Two Days Later, Opava, Midnight

Clusters of torchlight flickered along the castle walls, swaying gently, patrolling to ensure no trace of darkness enshrouded the ramparts. Below, nestled in a haystack by the stables, two dark figures lay prone: Noren and Tolke.

Yesterday, the defenses had been too heavy, preventing her infiltration. Today, with fewer guards, she had slipped directly into the main keep. She hadn’t expected to have barely plundered a pound or two of gold and silver before hearing Tolke’s signal.

As soon as she had descended from the main keep, soldiers began to ascend the walls in a steady stream. Left with no choice, she and Tolke hid in a haystack beside the stables. To deter any eccentric stablehands from feeding horses in the dead of night, she had even deliberately kicked a pitchfork to a conspicuous spot and placed a smaller haystack conveniently nearby.

“Damn it! Don’t they ever sleep, even in the middle of the night?!”

Noren’s voice brushed against the back of Tolke’s head. He was currently pinned beneath her, surrounded by mounds of hay.

Clad in black night-cloaks, the two were squeezed into a relatively confined space, while warhorses rested in the adjacent stables.

The scent of the young woman’s hair, mingled with her whispered words, brushed past his ear. Tolke twitched his nose, then awkwardly shifted his shoulders, primarily because Noren’s chest was pressing against his right back.

“Don’t move.” An arm circled the boy’s waist, gently pinching the tender flesh of his left side, twisting it clockwise by 45 degrees.

“Hiss~” The boy winced in pain, quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, and ceased all movement.

Only after Noren’s hand released him and returned to his shoulder did he whisper, “Were we discovered?”

“No,” Noren paused for a moment. “If we had been discovered, they wouldn’t merely be adding more men to the walls; they would be scouring every corner of the castle.”

“What do we do now, then?”

“Don’t speak. And wait.”

Time ticked by, second by agonizing second. The hoot of a night owl echoed through the town, and from within the hay, the faint squeaks of rats began to emerge.

Noren manipulated a Bloodstone membrane-formed tentacle, flicking away a rat that attempted to bite Tolke. With another casual movement, she lightly crushed a plump rat that gnawed at her forearm, yet failed to breach the Bloodstone’s defenses.

‘Tsk—why are there so many rats? This is practically a rat-infested disaster zone,’ Noren mused inwardly, feeling the spot where she’d been bitten. The Bloodstone-covered membrane remained smooth and intact, without a single tooth mark.

She vaguely recalled that rats possessed a powerful bite force, yet the Bloodstone membrane was undamaged, and she felt no discomfort. ‘Had she unconsciously tensed the membrane just now?’

“Noren, Noren, there are so many rats! My hand almost got bitten just now!” Tolke whispered, his voice low.

Noren, roused by Tolke’s words, replied, “Just bear with it a little longer. This many rats isn’t normal. Once the soldiers are drawn away, we’ll slip out!”

During that brief moment of distraction, the darkness filled with a continuous chorus of squeaks, scuttling, and gnawing on wood.

Tolke stared at the cluster of gleaming pinpricks in the near darkness, swallowing hard. A shiver of dread ran through him; this place was far too eerie.

The rats multiplied, their numbers stirring the warhorses in the stables. The horses neighed, and amidst the frantic kicks of one particular horse and the relentless gnawing of the rats, a support beam snapped. With a thunderous crash, the stable collapsed. Warhorses burst forth from beneath the thatched roof, countless large grey rats flung from their backs, their once sleek and glossy coats now torn into patches of bare skin.

Finally, the guards noticed the disturbance. One descended to investigate, only to shriek and scramble back onto the walls. A chain reaction seemed to ignite along the ramparts, as guards repeatedly ran down and then scurried back up, one after another. This sudden turn of events left everyone bewildered, including the butler who had hidden himself in the main keep.

Upon discovering the rat horde, the old butler had retreated into the main keep, ordering the two remaining soldiers to barricade the main door and seal every window crevice.

He was utterly distraught, muttering to himself, “It’s truly here. It’s actually here. The wizard, the rat swarm, at this crucial moment of welcoming the new lord.”

Outside the main keep, the leaderless crowd plunged into chaos. Soldiers were constantly being bitten, while numerous large rats perished beneath their blades.

“Bang!” The wooden bolt of the city gate snapped, gnawed through by the rats. Gusts of air blew the gate open, surging into the castle courtyard.

A man with a resolute countenance appeared in the surging currents of air. His long hair, sleeves, and the hem of his robe billowed in the wind, and his entire being exuded an aura of formidable power.

Several large, grey, corpulent rats sprang from their hind legs, launching themselves in unison toward the resolute man’s face. With a single bite, they could sever his carotid artery, nourishing their swarm with his blood.

The man’s face remained impassive, the knuckles of his hand, clutching his sword hilt, starkly prominent. In the next instant, the corpulent rats were cleaved in two, falling to the ground. Several severed rat corpses twitched on the earth, seemingly unaware of their demise.

The ceaseless squeaking that had filled the courtyard abruptly ceased. On the castle walls, people frantically swatted away rats clinging to them, or kicked the now-passive rodents down from the ramparts.

A black-haired soldier gasped for breath, tearing a large rat that had gnawed its way into his leather armor. “Is… is it over?”

His nearby archer companion plunged a dagger into a fat rat’s belly. Hearing the black-haired soldier’s words, he stumbled to his feet, leaning against the castle’s earthen parapet, then gazed towards the castle courtyard—

His expression grew grave. “No… look!”

The black-haired soldier turned his head in the same direction, instantly losing himself in a daze, his gaze fixed. “This… this…”

A dense, dark mass of rats covered the entire castle courtyard, yet not a single one dared to squeak. Countless green lights flickered in the gloom, every rat’s gaze fixed on the city gate.

=====Character Profile=====

Wood: 25 years old

Health: 4.0

Valor: 25

Physical Trait: Clubfoot

=====In-Story Context=====