To Lenora, she'd been in this world for about four years.
When she first arrived, there was a war followed by a plague and then a famine. The war was problematic enough but the plague had reduced the world's population by a hefty one third. Most of the surviving people had developed warts as big as golf balls and were in terrible pain. To ease that, Lenora set out for the North woods and plead for help. When she reached the woods, however, it was all on fire and most of the forest was already burnt down. She still got to meet the guardian spirit and get a formula for a possible cure.
"So, it was already burnt," the Dryad said.
"Yes. It was the work of orcs."
"Orcs? But they're… are you certain?"
"I am. I saw two with my own eyes. Dead, decaying orcs with large protruding fangs, and they reeked of roasted pork."
Vershia grimaced. This was too much. Far too much. Orcs? Those hideous beasts from the age of calamity? "But why? Why now…"
