The open book lay before him. On the page was written:
"The curse of the book can be lifted if one goes through it entirely."
On the next page were new inscriptions:
"Cursed place: The Land of the Dead. There, the dead reign."
The Cursed took a quill and wrote in a neat, precise hand, the same as the one used for the previous inscriptions:
"The Cursed has come here."
He found himself in a room filled with decay. Once-expensive, rare handmade carpets, now tattered and partially falling apart, hung on the walls. Ancient, broken furniture and rusted antiques. Outside the window, heavy night twilight hung over the lifeless plain.
Beyond the room was a corridor. At the end of the corridor, by the exit, stood two guards. They wore light helmets and leather armor. Pale faces with dark circles around lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. The guards were armed with sabers.
The Cursed passed freely between them. He crossed several more abandoned halls and corridors. Along the way, he encountered the next guards. They carried medium weapons and wore medium armor. Axes and leather armor reinforced with dark iron inserts. Farther on, he saw warriors with heavy weapons and fully enclosed armor. Two-handed swords and armor of steel and bronze. All of them stood silent and motionless, showing no reaction to his presence. He felt as if he had entered the realm of the dead.
Somewhere beyond the third line of guards, a noise was heard and some muffled moans.
He found himself in a great hall where, in the center, a man lay in a pool of dark liquid, his face and body covered with painful black sores. From his wounds, white worms continuously crawled out, fell down, and sank into the dark liquid. The pool was surrounded by a circle of heavily armed warriors. Beyond them, across the entire hall, silent white people lay on the floor. Most lay motionless, and only some of them stirred and rolled onto their other side.