Chapter 21
“Kieeeek.”
“Scary.”
Krondel pressed at the wound on his injured arm and forced a joke.
The crevice in the cliff where they had taken refuge began to split apart from the power the wraiths were radiating. Those things would squeeze through that crack soon, cut Krondel’s throat, and take back whatever they’d stolen.
“What to do.”
If things went bad he could always abandon the sword.
Krondel looked down at his waist. The sword he’d stolen — Periot — hung there. A famed blade that recognized and acknowledged a master when it detected great magical power.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason he’d stolen it. The other labels attached to this sword…
Vrrrr.
The sword suddenly began to vibrate noisily.
“Ugh!”
Krondel instinctively covered his ears. The wraiths, hit by the full force of the sword’s noise, began to wail in terrible cries.
“Kieeek!”
One wraith madly shoved itself through the crack as if to stop the vibration.
Screech.
The sword slid out of its sheath on its own and flew outward at speed. It tore open the wraith’s chest along its path. Before it could even scream, the hacked-apart remnants of the wraith scattered in every direction.
“…!”
Krondel looked up.
Against a sky darkening with the setting sun, something impossible to miss hung in the air, floating on top of a magic glyph.
Krondel smiled with childish delight.
“I knew it.”
It was his crimson magic sword.
“Damn. My wrist almost got chopped off.”
Silia stared at her right hand with an incredulous expression. Half a broken sword was there. Something had flown in from somewhere, batted aside the plow she’d been holding, and wrapped itself around her hand as if that had always been its place. The force gathered by the incoming acceleration was considerable. If Silia hadn’t been a swordswoman like she was, the wrist of whoever received that blow would likely have been snapped.
This sword is…
“Periot?”
When she said the name, the sword hummed.
“Are you a puppy or what?”
Still, because this thing had led them here, they’d made it this far. Silia looked at Periot a moment and asked, “Then why are you batting away other people’s weapons and making a fuss? You sure you can handle yourself?”
Vrrrr. The sword hummed as if indignant.
“But you’re only half of a sword.”
Vrrrrr.
“All the blade’s gone. Doesn’t it feel more like a club than a sword now?”
Vrrrrr…vrrrr.
She couldn’t tell what it was saying, but she got the gist.
“Feeling wronged?”
‘Is this thing an Ego sword — a sword with its own will?’
She’d heard that among magical items, a few rare ones had their own consciousness, called an “ego.” But she’d never heard Periot described as an ego sword in a past life, nor had she seen Ilrod talk to a sword. Did stabbing it give it a consciousness? It felt like an ego made from its own blood, and that didn’t sit well with her.
Silia snapped at it a bit out of spite. “So what exactly is your advantage in this situation…?”
“That thing is an anti-demon sword, Silia!”
Looking down the cliff, they saw the Second Prince. Silia shot back at him.
“And what gives you the right to shout like that!”
Even after being scolded, the prince stuck his face out of the crevice and grinned like a silly kid, and Silia breathed a sigh of relief. The kid apparently had no sense of fear. Then she noticed Krondel’s arm and frowned.
“You hurt?”
“It just grazed me!”
“You don’t look like it.”
Blood streamed from the wound. The source of the metallic tang in the air was right there. Silia sighed and quickly scanned the area.
Several black, melted-looking shapes. Ambiguous figures that might have once been human, now radiating a sticky, dark energy.
Thunk.
She threw a stone to test them; it was absorbed with no effect. Regular attacks didn’t seem to work.
‘But earlier I think that guy cut one when he flew in?’
She stared at Periot; the sword hummed in assertion. Krondel shouted, “If the anti-demon sword is made of magic power, it can cut incorporeal beings!”
“Those things are made of magic?” Silia asked.
“Something like that. They’re wraiths powered by mana.”
“Wraiths?”
She’d read about them in old stories but this was the first time she’d actually seen one. Some battlefield mages could command wraiths, but they were avoided because of how crude—how taboo—the methods were.
‘Because it’s a curse magic ritual.’
They weren’t common, certainly not around noble households in the center of the capital.
“How did you run into these things?”
“Because I stole Periot from the royal treasury and got cursed!”
“Is that something to talk about so cheerfully?!”
“You came to rescue me, so it’s a good thing!”
“…let’s not even talk.”
Kiek!
While she was muttering, a wraith lunged. Silia slashed at it with Periot to try it out. Unlike when she’d thrown a stone, this time the attack connected. The wraith with its arm sliced off let out an ear-splitting scream. Silia suddenly asked the question that had been bothering her.
“Why didn’t you get the royal mages to lift the curse instead of coming to Diamanga?”
“This place is safe.”
He said it calmly. Silia started to retort, but the memory of how Fatty and Slender had talked earlier made her stop.
‘That guy’s not getting any decent treatment even from the royal court.’
Just for stealing a sword from the treasury, heavy punishment was guaranteed. Not even the guards would be on his side. He might’ve been close with the fourth princess, but he was still too young to have a prince’s protective shield.
Silia clicked her tongue and cut down another incoming wraith with her sword. The wraith vanished, but she felt as if the edge hadn’t been fully effective.
‘How did Ilrod use this thing?’
When Ilrod used it, the sword had been rune-inscribed. That meant he probably infused mana into it. She wasn’t keen to use mana in a situation where the sword might go berserk, but—
“This little bit shouldn’t be a problem.”
Confident, she opened her mana circuit and let red mana whirl toward the sword. Periot seemed to welcome it and began to glow white. The light turned to heat. The wraiths faltered.
“Don’t be prowling around my territory.”
If these were the wraiths that had crawled out of the treasury, it made sense: those who died hiding in the vault had been turned into wraiths by a curse ritual.
“Don’t you know thieves usually lose their wrists when they steal?”
“…Ow.”
Krondel laughed sheepishly as if his conscience had pricked him. Right — he was a thief. No wonder his arm nearly got cut off.
“How long do you think you can hold on?”
“I don’t know.”
He said it while the prince’s proud face grew pale. He was trying to smile but clearly only faking it.
‘I hope he doesn’t die in front of me.’
“Hey, you scrap of a sword.”
Vrrr.
“You good at fighting?”
Vrrr…vrrr.
After a few more vibrations the sword settled comfortably in her hand. She felt a thrilling, steady grip that excited her.
“Then let’s go.”
The wraiths were wavering.
“Now’s not the time to back off.”
What followed was a one-sided massacre. After swinging her sword for a while, Silia said with satisfaction, “Refreshing.”
It felt good to let loose without holding back against enemies she could whack freely. It was almost intoxicating. She almost regretted having to return Periot to Ilrod…
‘No. I absolutely have to return it to that bastard. What am I thinking.’
Silia scolded herself. She shouldn’t get drunk on a momentary surge of power — that would only land her in trouble.
After the screams and the smell of ash that followed what seemed like a battle, the forest fell eerily silent. Silia looked down at the sword still wrapped round her hand and muttered, “Would be nicer if it were longer.”
Half a broken sword had a short reach. The sword buzzed in mild protest.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s usable even now. I’m just saying it’d be nicer if it were a little longer. You’re basically a fire-club now.”
Silia had reduced a legendary blade to a “fire-club.” She took out her mana orb again and approached the cliff edge.
“Prince.”
“……”
“Are you sleeping?”
The prince’s eyes were closed. When she approached with a baffled expression, his condition looked worse than she’d thought. He wasn’t asleep; he was fainting from blood loss.
“Tsk.”
A gloomy, sticky energy clustered around his arm. Silia hesitated, then brought Periot close. The sword flinched.
“It won’t cut a person.”
At least not in this life. Probably. She knew how unpleasant that would be.
“I’m trying to save you.”
When she carefully applied Periot to the clotted energy, the gloomy sensations peeled away from her fingertips. But just as she managed to remove them, they reattached themselves to the prince’s arm. It felt like they hadn’t been cut away cleanly. Then she remembered the prince had called it a curse earlier.
“What exactly do we have to do to break this curse…?”
“Will you help?”
“What?”
The prince, who had regained consciousness, smiled broadly. Even as he smiled he still looked unwell.
“Haven’t you already been helped by me? I’d kind of like a reward.”
“I get it. You stumbled out of bed, huh? Sorry.”
The prince smiled at her pajamas. Still, he sounded genuinely grateful now that he seemed to have made it through.
“If you want something, I’ll make the reward generous…”
“Money’s one thing, but—”
Silia looked him square in the eye and whispered, “Can you give me information too?”
