At dawn, they reached their destination. The so-called outpost was a single-room wooden hut built halfway up the mountain. They hid a little distance away to observe. The hut was dilapidated but still mostly intact, with glass still in all six windows. Dark yellow, congealed secretions adhered to the base of the outer walls and under the eaves, evidence that it had become Qiraji territory. The inside was very dark, making it impossible to see what was within.
"Something's not right," Bassario said. "There are no assault-type Qiraji guards nearby. They usually protect larvae nests being reinforced."
"Is the information wrong?"
"That's impossible. Look at the condition of this house; there's secretion outside but it's still intact, so there must be a nest inside. They like human-made shelters for self-protection. Even if there's no nest yet, it will eventually be built here, so we need to burn it. Let's get closer to take a look."
After halving the distance, their suspicions were confirmed because they could hear a continuous, crashing noise like two currents colliding—the sound of countless Qiraji flying insects hovering inside the hut.
"Can we just set a fire around the house?" Bossia asked.
"Are you afraid to go in?"
"...Why go inside?"
"If you don't start the fire closer to the nest, it might not burn completely. The insects might even carry it out of the flames."
"I've never heard of that."
"Of course not. You've been doing this for just over a year, and you're already taking on such a task. You're the first."
There was no hint of praise in his words.
"Alright. Let's do it your way."
"If you really don't want to, you can..."
"I said I'll go in," she interrupted him.
They lowered their bodies and approached the door. When the eaves were just above their heads, the humming sound was nearly unbearable. Half-kneeling, Bassario pushed the door open and gestured for Bossia to stay low. They almost crawled inside. Even though they had already closed their noses and breathed through their mouths, the sight alone nearly pushed her to the brink of nausea.
The ceiling was entirely covered with a black sludge-like substance, as if a swamp was suspended above them, threatening to collapse at any moment. Among the black matter were some dark yellow, semi-transparent, irregularly pulsating veins. They converged at a grayish-white, adult-torso-sized egg—the surface of the nest. The nest had hundreds of holes, through which tiny Qiraji flies swarmed, continuously moving in and out or joining the dense swarm surrounding the nest.
For a moment, neither moved. The flies did not have fully functional eyes and mainly detected living creatures by smell—at least, that's as much as researchers had uncovered. Their cloaks had been soaked in a chemical solution for a long time to mask human scents, so theoretically, as long as they didn't touch the flies, they would be safe. But this didn't stop Bossia's heart from racing, feeling a revulsion invading every pore. Everyone has fears, and this was like having the feared thing almost touching your skin. She recalled an event from when she was about five or six: the graveyard behind the church was the most terrifying place. Just imagining spending a night there made her cry uncontrollably. Benedictus would try to comfort her, saying that the people buried there were once great, and she should feel solemn, not afraid... but it never worked.
"Let's get started," Bassario said, turning towards her. In such conditions, it was hard to hear clearly. He repeated and gestured to indicate the division of labor and steps.
They poured fuel in the necessary spots. What seemed like a simple task took them half an hour because they had to move slowly and lightly. Any slight disturbance among the flies, like a change in the noise frequency or flight path, forced them to lie flat and let their cloaks cover their bodies. After completing their task, they noticed the flies clustered even tighter around the nest, allowing them to straighten up against the wall.
Bassario took out several matches bound together, lit them, and threw them into a corner doused with fuel. The fire instantly illuminated a third of the room and continued to spread rapidly. The black substance on the ceiling melted upon contact with the heat, dripping down. Many flies turned to ashes in an instant.
"Let's go."
As Bassario was about to step out, a white predator Qiraji suddenly lunged in, its head and front claws squeezing through the door. Unable to fully enter, it swung its claws wildly, emitting a sharp cry. Through the windows, they saw more Qiraji approaching the hut, each carrying some clump in its mouth.
"No wonder they weren't nearby. They were out gathering materials to reinforce the nest." Bassario stepped back.
"What now? Fight our way out?" As she spoke, Bossia didn't know where to look—the approaching Qiraji outside, the flames spreading inside, or the increasingly frantic flies. A slightly smaller Qiraji crawled over the shell of the first one into the house, and Bassario slashed its head open with his sword, then kicked the not-yet-dead insect outside. "We can't do that," he said. "There are too many enemies here."
There are many unknowns about the Qiraji, such as how they communicate and organize their actions. Bossia realized that the flies inside the house were not completely disordered by the flames. They had detected the intruders and were closing in, not clustering but forming wave-like shapes, gradually spreading across the room. This was their natural defense mechanism, devoid of intellectual cooperation, which made it even more terrifying. Flies incinerated midway would not affect their revenge on the intruders. The cloaks masking their scent meant the flies didn't immediately pinpoint them, but it was only a matter of seconds before they would be swarmed by thousands of potentially lethal insects.
Lowering their bodies was pointless. Bossia pressed her back against the wall, her right hand on her sword hilt—why? To her left, a white Qiraji predator had shattered the door, pushing its body further in, with a dozen more waiting behind it. The room was filled with fire and smoke. The burning nest was slowly turning black and shriveling, oozing pus-like substances, giving Bossia no sense of victory. They couldn't exit through the door, and the fly swarm blocked the nearest window. She coughed, almost succumbing to the long-repressed urge to vomit but producing nothing. Her mind was in too much pain to think. The sound of the insect-infested hut collapsing in flames, black substances dripping, boiling under the intense heat, smoke inhaled accidentally, burning her throat. Shadows pressing on her vision, she neither wanted to close her eyes completely nor see everything clearly.
She nearly forgot she wasn't alone, almost forgetting why she was there—not just the hut but Silithus, the Crater, and everywhere she had been since leaving Stormwind. The situation severed her present self from her past self. Those who die unexpectedly don't have the luxury of recalling their past—if such recollection is a blessing. There is no peaceful ending. Her right hand still on her sword hilt. Drawing it out, for herself… this guaranteed nothing. If the fire didn't completely incinerate her body, it would still become food or a nest for the Qiraji. Disappearing from the world as an invisible person with a false name—
"Fuel," she said to Bassario. "The remaining ones. Use them."
"What?" Bassario heard her, waiting for her to elaborate. "Burn it down…" she said, pinching a corner of her cloak. "…and dash out."
"When I give the word, run with me," Bassario said, understanding her. He took off his cloak and covered both of them, mainly protecting their heads and upper bodies, then took out a small bottle of fuel and held it up. Bossia, her face completely covered by the cloak, couldn't see or anticipate what would happen. She clutched Bassario's arm pressing on her shoulder with one hand, assisting in holding the cloak with the other. Then she heard the word: run. Together, they dashed towards the nearest window under the cloak. The remaining fuel spilled on the cloak and ignited in contact with nearby flames, setting it ablaze. They broke through the swarm of flies and crashed through the window. She heard the glass shatter, then felt herself suspended in mid-air as the cloak flew away.
Landing, they found themselves on a slope. With no clear path, they ran downhill over uneven stones. Bossia noticed her cloak on fire and discarded it. The bare rock of Silithus' mountains offered no cushioning vegetation, causing foot pain soon, but she ignored it. Now, she was in open space again, free of smoke, flames, and flies. She even felt joy—not the excitement of surviving despair, but the relief of escaping a confined, foul-smelling place into the open sky. Near-death offered no time for recollection, and post-escape gave no reason for it. She saw from the corner of her eye that Bassario's face was almost entirely blackened. She thought she must look similar. They could still hear the sounds of burning, collapsing, and breaking behind them, but it no longer concerned them.
Reaching the foot of the mountain, Bassario suddenly lay on the sand, arms spread wide, gasping at the sky. His right hand and forehead were slightly burned. Bossia caught her breath and sat beside him.
"I…" She took a deep breath and continued, "I came up with the idea."
"Don't get cocky." He raised his right hand, showing his fingers. "I covered you. Look, who's burned."
"At least you didn't die."
"What are you trying to say, we're even?"
"No such thing. Last time, even without you, I could have handled that guy."
"Fifty silver coins earned. Half each."
"Not that much."
"How come?"
"The cloak got burned."
"Oh, right… deduct five each."
After half a minute of silence, Bassario got up.
"Let's go back."
After receiving her payment, Marlis called Bossia to her office alone.
"How was it working with him?"
"We completed the mission and returned. Isn't that enough to explain?"
"There are things I won't ask him because he won't answer seriously. I want to ask you. Why did both of the cloaks you took get destroyed?"
"They burned."
"How…? I did notice some burns on Bassario."
Bossia roughly recounted the events. Marlis tapped her right index finger on the desk twice, looked at Bossia, and shook her head.
"Poor girl. I thought you understood him enough to insist on taking this mission."
"What's wrong?"
"You didn't need to go inside to set the fire. Bassario always chooses the most dangerous way to do things. That's why no one wants to partner with him. Go rest, I won't deduct the cloak's cost this time."