Chapter 596: Dialogue with the Curse

I realized I’d only ever gone down these stairs once, when I scouted the place. Now I was heading to the mansion’s hidden second basement, in other words, Fiona’s witch’s workshop.

Blocking my way was a slightly rusty iron door. Naturally, it was locked. If it were only iron, I could have forced my way in, but Fiona had already layered it with multiple reinforcements. For a witch, her workshop is a research lab for the arcane, a factory that produces all manner of potions and magic items, and a vault that safeguards the spells she devised and the precious materials she gathered. It’s only natural to fortify it strictly to protect her magical secrets and her property.

Knowing Fiona, it wouldn’t be surprising if breaking the door and forcing entry triggered a trap powerful enough to blow the mansion sky-high.

And I didn’t have the skills to disarm the fiendishly tricky traps a genius witch would set. You’d need the combined expertise of a thief well-versed in traps and a mage well-versed in magic to remove them.

I had no intention of prying into her private matters, so normally it wouldn’t be a problem if I couldn’t open it, but this time I needed to use the room.

“Let’s see… how did you unlock this again?”

As if she had predicted I’d need access to her workshop, Fiona had left Vivian instructed on how to open the door.

The method was simple. Place your hand on the door and speak the keyword.

“Fiona, I love you.”

With a heavy metallic clack, the lock disengaged. At the same time, without my even pushing, the door swung open by itself, a lamp in the pitch-black room sparking to life with a soft red flame.

Impressive. Door and lighting, fully automatic.

Thinking that Fiona’s magic had caught up with modern technology, I stepped into the witch’s workshop.

“Inside… looks pretty normal.”

As if to say there was nothing untoward going on, the room was neat and tidy. The large shelves were precisely organized by category: materials, tools, grimoires. In the corner sat planters with small, colorful flowers and cactus-like plants. An empty birdcage hung from the ceiling, likely where Vivian had been confined.

Most witch-like of all was the huge cauldron at the back of the room. In a sealed space like this, firing up a cauldron big enough to fit me would normally be unthinkable, but she must have magical countermeasures for that as well.

You could tell, vaguely, that the workshop was fully equipped; even so, it didn’t feel ominous or frightening. It didn’t smell of blood either.

When I checked the place before, I had suppressed the voices of resentment with my Blackening, but this was a cursed house to begin with, and the basement, where the densest grudges had pooled and seeped in, should have felt chilling even to ordinary people.

Yet now I felt nothing at all. Quiet, with not the faintest sign of any sinister curse. Which in itself was eerie. As if even the grudges feared the owner and were masking their presence. At the very least, in addition to my Blackening, Fiona had done something to condition this workshop into an environment ideally suited to her.

“Good. This should be safe enough.”

The training I was about to do was to converse with cursed weapons.

After I managed to speak with Milia, who dwells in the “Tyrant’s Armor Maximilian,” I realized that by using my fourth boon, “Love Demon King Over Ecstasy,” I might be able to communicate directly with curses. If I deepen my understanding of the essence of curses, I should be able to draw out more of their power.

Of course, it’s dangerous. Merely touching a curse drives people mad. I’ve seen it happen. No matter how high my resistance and affinity are, there are limits.

Trying it “just to see” would be far too risky. In the case of “Tyrant’s Armor Maximilian,” I should probably call it luck. Milia accepted me specifically because she desired a wielder.

Curses come in many types. Some hate and curse something in particular; some are so deranged they don’t realize they themselves have become curses. If it’s a type like Hitsugi or Milia, one that wants a wielder, there’s room for dialogue, but if it’s a catastrophic will that wants to curse and destroy the whole world, it will reject me and gnaw at my mind. If I ran into one of those, how much could “Love Demon King Over Ecstasy” really block? Even short of madness, the risk of lasting psychological damage makes direct conversation with a curse far too dangerous.

Even so, I needed power, risk or not.

The opponent is Lily. And not the Lily I knew, but one far stronger. She’s likely on par with an Apostle now.

And I have to capture her alive, not kill her. With my current strength, that’s recklessly beyond me.

“Let’s begin.”

I intend to have both Lily and Fiona. Half-hearted effort and resolve won’t cut it. This is a trial I’ve set for myself. If I can’t overcome it, I have no right to love them.

“Come, ‘Absolute-Grudge Cleaver “Neck-Cutter.”’”

Without a sound, a massive machete surfaced from the shadow cast in the lamplight. A curse-forged blade of jet black with a crimson line running like a vein: profoundly baleful. Its name was “Absolute-Grudge Cleaver ‘Neck-Cutter.’” She was the first cursed weapon I ever took in hand, the one I’ve wielded longest, and the most reliable partner I have.

Now, where to start the conversation?

When I thought about it afresh, I hesitated over how to open.

“Heh. Anything is fine. There’s nothing I need to hide from you anyway… ‘Love Demon King Over Ecstasy.’”

As always, I gripped her hilt to touch her heart.

It didn’t so much stick to my hand as become one with my arm. Light. As if nerves ran all the way to the tip of the blade.

Ideal for a sword, but still not enough. This alone won’t reach Lily.

I want power. More of yours.

“How do you become stronger?”

Tell me.

That intent should travel through my grip on the hilt.

Whether she answered my call or not would be up to “Neck-Cutter”… A chill ran up my spine and my arm began to tremble.

“Whoa!?”

With the tremor came a surge of cursed will. Kill, death, cut—raw killing intent and malice mingled into a pure, chaotic madness. It was the same presence I felt when I first held the cleaver.

Normally my Blackening suppresses this. For an ordinary person, just sensing this will could drive them mad. Especially after “Neck-Cutter” evolved twice, her grudge had grown denser beyond comparison to the initial “Street-Slasher.” Even I would break if I listened to cursed voices like this for a whole day.

That’s why I suppress it with Blackening. In essence, wielding a cursed weapon comes down to how much of the encroachment you can withstand. My Blackening simply excels at that endurance.

But that alone won’t do. If I only suppress, dominate, and wield her one-sidedly, I’ll never draw out her true power.

Unless I reach out through this accursed frenzy, I won’t touch the true intent of “Absolute-Grudge Cleaver ‘Neck-Cutter’—the Girl.”

“…Hah. Finally settled.”

The shaking stopped. The mental shock must have hit me harder than I thought. I realized I was drenched in sweat, a hefty fatigue settling over me.

But this isn’t the end. This is where it starts.

I can feel it. I’m about to touch “Neck-Cutter’s” will.

The cleaver in my hand grew suddenly heavy. A stupendous weight, like a gigantic block of steel, matching and even exceeding its appearance.

Black blade, red glow. The exterior hadn’t changed, but I knew. The Blackening I had layered and layered since the very first time I held her had been lifted.

“Answer me.”

How do I get stronger? How do I master you?

“…chi.”

A small woman’s voice reached me.

I heard that same voice when we went to pick her up at the Stratos Smithy: “Do not let go of me.”

Is she the original wielder, the village girl mad with love, or is she, like Hitsugi, a new-born curse-child?

Either way, it doesn’t matter. No matter who you are, no matter how evil, you’re still my partner.

“Chi o… sasagero… omae no, chi o, sasagero.”

The words echoed in my head, perfectly curse-like. She urged me to offer my blood.

“That all?”

What a modest request. Blood, not my life.

“Come to think of it, you’ve drunk monsters’ blood, crusaders’ blood, and even Fiona’s… but never mine.”

Maybe I should have offered her first and foremost my own blood, as her owner.

“Sorry I didn’t notice. If you want my blood, you can have it. Drink as much as you like.”

Without the slightest hesitation, I laid my left wrist against the cleaver’s edge and drew it across.

Blood should have spurted up—yet the blade bit into my wrist and sealed against it, not letting a single drop spill. I see, it’s drinking. I could feel the blade sucking blood directly from the severed vessels.

Thump, thump—pulsing, the blade drank my fresh blood.

“…ngh.”

I came to suddenly. Before I knew it, I was lying on the cold floor.

Well, I’ll be. I’d passed out without even realizing.

“My head’s spinning… She really took a lot.”

A normal person would likely be shriveled into a husk by now. The only reason I was just woozy was because I manufactured blood to replace what I’d lost.

My healing spell “Body Patch” simply affixes a jelly-like magical substance akin to flesh over a wound to close it, but with the sixth boon I can increase its quality to something much closer to real tissue. Strictly speaking, this is less “Sea Demon King Overblood’s” ability than it is a use of pseudo-water attributes.

With training, I may be able to regenerate the body itself… For now, producing blood is my limit.

Even so, being able to replenish “blood,” which ordinarily you can only make up for with transfusions, by using mana carries enormous significance. In long fights with no resupply, even if I’m injured, I won’t have to fear bleeding out as long as I have mana.

Given that I’m still alive, I can prove that blood made by magic isn’t a mere placeholder like saline; it reproduces erythrocytes and the other blood components properly. That turned into a fairly life-threatening experiment.

In any case, this healing magic that manufactures blood… I’ll keep it simple and name it “Bloodmaker.”

Thanks to that, I could let “Neck-Cutter” drink her fill.

“So—how do you feel, milady?”

Hauling myself upright, I looked at “Absolute-Grudge Cleaver ‘Neck-Cutter’” floating over my shadow.

No answer. Maybe because I wasn’t gripping the hilt. Then again, she seems taciturn; even if I were holding her, she might not reply.

“Good. For now, you’re satisfied.”

When I stood and took the hilt again, the familiar lightness returned.

I hadn’t applied Blackening. Yet I could still feel that lightness. Which means my blood had settled into her.

Up to now she had felt like an extension of my arm, but that assumed Blackening. If “Absolute-Grudge Cleaver ‘Neck-Cutter’” has accepted me, I won’t need Blackening anymore. Rather than swaddling her in sheer quantities of black mana, by giving my own blood we should be able to synchronize and assimilate at a deeper level in the truest sense.

As for how effective that will be… I can’t exactly test it here and now.

“I’ll try a few cuts on Avalon’s ghost knights.”

Something to look forward to. Though given they don’t bleed, she may be less than thrilled.

“All right, next up… do I take ‘Gokuakujiki’ or ‘Haunted Grave’?”

I sank the sated “Absolute-Grudge Cleaver ‘Neck-Cutter’” back into my shadow and hesitated over which to call next.

I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious. But since Simon hadn’t come to fetch me yet, it couldn’t already be the fifth.

As expected, if this keeps up, it’ll be rough. “Gokuakujiki” and “Haunted Grave” won’t be straightforward either. I’ll have to cut away at mind and body—and life—more than once.

“Hah… if I’m going to fret, I’ll just go in order.”

Strictly speaking, the second cursed weapon I obtained was the “Basilisk Bone Needle,” but I lost that in the battle against Sariel at the Daedalus Rampart. Which means my current number two is…