The sheer complexity of magic allowed it to be used for even the most mundane of tasks. When sorcerers first emerged, its usage was seen as heresy--an affront to the natural limits imposed by the Goddess of Light, but as its applications grew in scope and flexibility, public opinion soon shifted to seeing it as a gift, and it shortly became a defining trait of developed civilisation. There was no greater contribution to its rising reputation, however, than that of magic's medical applications. Diseases and afflictions once thought incurable could be dispelled with a passing incantation, and shortly afterward, the professions of healers and doctors were overshadowed in favour of magical adepts. Gone were the days of herbal teas and surgery--replaced instead with spells and the growing schools of alchemical thought.
Of course, there was some backlash to this development. Those educated in the traditional methods of healing most often argued that, if such an affliction immune to the touch of magic were to present itself, a great catastrophe would soon follow. Injuries, diseases, infections--even the all-powerful grasp of death could not resist the power of magic, provided the deceased wasn't decapitated. And so, these detractors were laughed off and dismissed, and over the passing centuries would be remembered only as senile fools incapable of embracing a new world.
Those doctors, surgeons and healers--it was not King Granda's father who had told him of them, or his father's father, or his father's father's father. Indeed, those detractors had lived so long ago that scarce few records of them existed, but as a staunch bookworm in his younger days, King Granda had found them, and like so many others, had waved off their worries without a second thought.
The words of those naysayers repeated in his mind. A disease unaffected by magic? There was no such thing.
Queen Larion had insisted that the Anti-Demon Leagues were not to enter the city. Of course, despite her royal decree, it was agreed upon by all that those countrymen--who had just fought and died to preserve the glory of their homeland--had a right to return. Larion conceded the point, but requested to speak with King Granda in private before a decision was made to have them enter.
"Your Majesty…" Within the enclosed gatehouse, the King was visibly confused by her request, "What is the meaning of this? Claiming that my men are 'already dead' when they stand ready to re-enter the city…"
"I apologise if my words seemed impulsive." Larion began, bowing, "-Allow me to explain. Do you recall the hemisphere of blue light that appeared for a brief moment during the battle?"
"When the Leagues first approached the Demons, yes…" Granda replied, placing a hand to his chin, "Lotte reported that it seemed to emit a great deal of heat, but nothing besides that."
"The light is referenced heavily within the records of the previous Demon Age." Larion placed a hand to her chest, "It is a kind of… magic, or perhaps force, which is closely related to Demonkind."
"Is it dangerous?"
"I'm afraid so." She nodded, "The precursors of our people--those who were known as Aelvens, named it Mu'un. Some of the earliest surviving records within our archives are warnings addressed to future generations--they speak of an invisible force which manifests as heat, and a blue glow in great concentrations. Being exposed to Mu'un somehow sickens the body, causing an irreversible ailment that can be treated by neither magic nor medicine."
"Mu'un…" Granda repeated, "Then, you believe that glow was a manifestation of it?"
"Yes. Although, where it originated from is a mystery…"
"If my soldiers have been afflicted with such a disease, then all the more reason to have them returned as quickly as possible!" He continued, "With alchemy and magic, no ailment is incurable! Perhaps in times of antiquity, the arts had yet to reach full maturity, but with scholars such as Dorma among us today, surely it would be possible to find a cure!"
"We cannot risk allowing the Leagues into the city…" Larion countered, shaking her head, "Those touched by Mu'un become… carriers. Or, perhaps 'conduits' would be a better term? Depending on an individual's exposure, it's possible that they, or even something as mundane as the clothes they were wearing, can continue to 'emit' Mu'un, putting others in the vicinity at risk of falling ill themselves."
"Unbelievable…" Lowering his head, Granda struggled to comprehend the nature of such a weapon, "You'd have me tell my own soldiers that they won't be allowed back into the city--no, that their lives are already forfeit!? How can you be so certain that the light during the battle truly was an example of this Mu'un?"
"I hope for the sake of our world that it was not." She shook her head, "I feel your pain. But, keeping this information from you would be dishonest."
"I take it you weren't expecting something like this to happen?"
"No… according to the archives, Mu'un only rises from the deep, cavernous holes created by Demons when they first emerge from underground. It's unheard of for it to manifest in such a strange way."
"I understand, and appreciate, your desire to keep the people of Gria safe." Granda replied, "-As a king, it is my duty to weigh the scales of sacrifice. But, you must know that I cannot deny these soldiers the right to reenter the city. Families and comrades pray for their safe return."
"At the very least, they must isolate themselves from others." Larion recommended, "Mu'un cannot be stopped by clothing or armour. Especially thick walls, such as those of a well-built home, however, have been proven to halt the 'spread' of Mu'un."
"How likely is it that others will fall ill as a result of the soldiers' exposure?"
"That is… a difficult question to answer." Larion responded honestly, "Like a disease, it spreads without warning, but there have been cases of Elven soldiers becoming sick without the capability to spread it… but others, such as researchers who attempted to delve into the holes created by Demons, were so infectious that their clothes needed to be burned…"
"Let us move forward under the assumption that the people of Gria are in no immediate danger." Granda declared, "As to a potential cure for the affliction…"
"Even the finest of Elven sorcerers could not wield magic powerful enough to expel it from one's system." She answered, "As I'm sure you know, sorcery involves the manipulation of small objects, known as 'magical particles' which can be instructed to carry out a wide range of tasks, from levitation to summoning storms. However, it appears as if the condition caused by Mu'un affects the body on such a miniscule scale that not even magical particles can mend it."
"There must be something. I refuse to believe that in a world touched by such miracles as magic, a disease so foul and incurable could exist."
"It would please me greatly to learn of a cure." Larion muttered, "But as it stands, once contracted, there is no saving those who have been afflicted."
"I will consult the court's experts. As for right now, we will allow the Leagues entry into the city. If evidence of such a condition does emerge, then rest assured, a method to cure them will be discovered. We have not suffered through the terror of Demons only to fall before something so measly."
An invisible force--a weapon that killed without touch. It sounded implausible even by magical standards, but the concern on Larion's face was more than genuine. In the hours following the battle outside the city gates, medics were sent to aid those who had been maimed or injured in the conflict, and to recover the salvageable corpses of the deceased. The anointed priests of Gria would spend many an hour that night performing rituals to raise those fallen soldiers from the dead, weaving their god-touched sorcery to restore life to that which had been lost.
For a day, there were no developments among those who had been allowed to return. Members of the Leagues who had survived, in fact, were eager to fight again, emboldened by the victory of the previous night. Aside from nausea and vomiting thought to be the result of stress, all seemed well within the city. Then, beginning in the early morning of the second day, a handful of those soldiers-on-leave were afflicted with terrible symptoms--unprovoked vomiting, cramps all over the body, and watery stools. Those who thought themselves ill were surprised to find that clinics across the city were inundated with worse cases--people losing consciousness, shivering violently and falling into spasms.
Physiologically, there appeared to be nothing wrong with those individuals, all of whom had taken part in the battle. Even those who had been severely injured displayed no physical abnormalities besides scarring. Magic most commonly used to cure minor afflictions quickly gave way to heavier usages of sorcery. Spells intended to cure fatal diseases, regenerate lost tissue, or even cure curses were put to use, but no amount of expertise improved the patients' conditions in any way. Both alchemists and traditional healers were called to help, but even Gria's most learned herbalists could not devise an effective drought to aid with the condition.
It was that very same force. Mu'un--a name King Granda had learned only the night before, but which had lowered the very best of his soldiers to shivering wrecks. Nothing could be done as men died by the hundreds overnight, falling into wakeless comas or succumbing to infections as their bodies weakened to the point of uselessness. The King was reluctant to publicly reveal such a worrisome threat, and so ordered the clothes of the deceased to be burned or disposed of while guising it as a new kind of disease. Queen Larion, who, despite her extensive knowledge on the subject, was forced to watch Gria's hard-fought victory transform into an utter defeat, assisted Sir Lotte in combing the Elven archives for a possible cure, to no avail.
20,000 soldiers had been levied to combat the Demon threat. Some of them veterans, and some of them starlets with hearts of iron. Just over 1,000 fell in glorious battle, and almost 300 of those valiant fighters had been given life again by the grace of the Goddess. By all accounts, it was a victory worthy of a ballad--a testament to humanity's enduring penchant for survival in a time when hope was quickly crumbling away. But just like that, their victory had been snatched away, and by something so completely alien and unknowable as to overshadow the threat of Demons entirely. By the end of that week, corpses were being ferried on wheelbarrows and carriages to an honourless mass grave just outside of the city. Numbering in the thousands, few could bear to watch as soldiers once starry-eyed and ambitious were buried atop one-another, sealed within a sarcophagus of dirt. Fewer than 4,000 men remained at the end--and even fewer who were able-bodied. Barely enough to fill out a single Anti-Demon League.