The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound

All of Rococo's hunters were dead.

Vikir and Aiyen approached through the foul odor and heat of the corpses.

"Is this ...?"

Aiyen's eyes narrowed.

Rococo's hunters were talkative, even in death.

They were screaming with every fiber of their being why they were dead.

There were signs of vomit and diarrhea everywhere, signs that they had tried to warm their chilled bodies with bonfires and fallen leaves, and, crucially, red spots on their skin.

Aiyen swallowed hard.

"So this is what warriors look like when they come out to hunt."

Only the relatively healthy would have gone hunting.

He had no idea what the condition of those left behind in the village would be.