Bloodstained Blade-Chapter 176 - Bloody Work
True to his word, Geral went home and burned his cottage to the ground after taking his wife to a friend’s house on the far side of the village. The field, he left as it was, since it would have taken days to plow under; it would wither soon enough without care, and its poisoned fruits with it.
Once the blade showed him the river of evil that he’d built his home upon, though, he saw no other choice. Their impoverished community had no mages or holy men who might have given them good advice.
The Ebon Blade needed no special powers to see that everyone thought its wielder was crazy as it gently siphoned off of the Village’s residents. It was evident in the way that they whispered about him once he’d passed by. More often than not, they compared him to his father, but he was too consumed by his own recriminations and growing lists of things that he needed to do to notice.
+84 Life Force.
My father told me… he told all of us, but I didn’t believe him. Geral told himself over and over as the sword tried to keep him focused on the trials to come. At least no one besides his wife sought to distract him. In a single day, he’d gone from member of the community to an outcast who was alone in the crowd. Except for the one friend who took his wife in, people would barely talk to Geral. His wife didn’t understand what was going on much better, but she tried.
“The whole world is a fallen place,” she protested when he tried to explain why he’d done what he’d done, but the young man merely shook his head in frustration.
Frustration was a very natural reaction given that he couldn’t exactly tell everyone the truth, not that it would have helped to say, ‘There’s a magical sword that showed me the problem after it healed my wife, and I have to repay that favor in blood.’
People did ask about the blade, but Geral deflected those questions with the lie that it was just something that had belonged to his father. No one believed him, but no one pressed further, either.
By that evening, though, after he’d belted on armor that was only a little big for him, he was ready to go beyond the community’s fragile wooden walls and purge the monsters that lurked further up the slopes of their meager valley. The blade neither hurried him nor slowed him down as it watched the young man navigate his own troubles. It was refreshing, given how long it had been forced to act as its own wielder.
Still, when he set up camp and started a fire, a quarter mile outside his home, the two discussed strategy when its wielder finally asked. There, he sketched a map of the broad, crescent-shaped place, wedged between two mountains, even though the Ebon Blade could see the place laid out in his mind’s eye, and as the former farmer spoke, each nest or tribe of monsters slowly populated that map.
This is a dangerous place, the blade said when he’d talked himself out. I’m surprised your community managed to last as long as it did.
“It’s less dangerous than the rest of the world,” Geral countered. He meant it too, but it wasn’t much of a defence.
They were effectively surrounded. On two sides, there were roving bands of beastmen on the ridges and slopes, and further in the valley, where it was the most isolated from the wide world, the orcs were thick. On the fourth side, to the north, the river of evil flowed out of the valley, but those long, filled slopes only led down to another set of lower valleys that contained what everyone thought of as the wastelands. As if that wasn’t enough, the whole area was filled with scattered goblin warrens.
While it was perfect for the blade’s needs, it wasn’t fit for anyone else, save perhaps a professional army. Still, its wielder didn’t need to hear that. Instead, it offered more pragmatic advice. Start with the hazards closest to your people, then move to the beastmen next, the blade counseled. Once they are culled, then focus on the orcs, because you are in no shape to deal with them yet.
“I feel like I could take on anyone while I wield you,” Geral responded, nodding.
You could, the blade agreed. Right up until you are taken by surprise or overwhelmed and ripped to bloody pieces. I wish to avoid this fate, so we will work on your technique with easier enemies before you fight harder ones.
The young man didn’t argue with that. Instead, he asked questions about the blade and fighting in general. How could he best learn? What was he doing wrong? How long would it take to become a great swordsman?
The weapon offered general advice that amounted mostly to the aphorism ‘We will learn by doing, and not by speaking about how such things should be done,’ when it was completely blindsided by one of its wielders' more probing questions.
“What battles do you want to fight?” its wielder asked. No one had ever asked it such a thing before, and paused in consideration. “If you… When this is done, where would you like to go, if you could?”
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I might try to cleave the throne a second time if it hasn’t already ascended to godhood, the blade answered. Or perhaps slaughter more mages. Before I went to hell, all I wanted to do was fight, now… well, there is more to life than that, I think. It is a matter of choosing my battles.
“Wait, gods? You went to hell? What?” he asked, shocked.
+26 Life Force.
The blade realized it had said too much, even as it was speaking, but it had been alone for so long that the allure of honest conversation was irresistible. I have it agreed. I was there, for… I may never know how long, but I escaped. It almost mentioned Nuella, but decided against it. Casually mentioning the Demon Queen’s death, even in a conversation like this, was a bit much. Instead, it chose to be vague. The same rift that pollutes your region allowed me to escape after a long quest.
“Well… killing goblins must be nothing after killing demons,” its wielder said after a long silence, stunned.
It is an important battle to you, which is what matters, the blade answered. What I require is strength and focus. You must give me your all for as long as I am in your hands.
“I will, until the valley is cleansed and we know peace,” he agreed.
That will not be enough, the weapon clarified. You are my wielder, and my purpose is to fight. We shall do so until your last breath, when old age takes you, or you die at the hands of someone stronger than you. Then they will become my wielder, and the cycle will continue.
He didn’t protest or even speak for almost a minute. Then he said, “That is a terrible cost to save Simone, but as long as she lives, I don’t care how many die. When we finish purging the valley, we will go down and see if we can do some good in the wasteland below. Will that suffice?”
It will, the blade agreed, appreciating the fact that it did not have to force this man to acquiesce more forcefully. He might have a long way to go in a martial sense, but in temperament and devotion, the blade couldn’t ask for more.
The blade kept watch when Geral slept, but he only got three hours of sleep before the blade had to wake him because of lurking goblins. These he slaughtered without difficulty or style thanks to the lack of cavern walls to hamper him. He used pure brute force, which the blade chose not to critique, given the late hour. All that mattered was that it was short, messy, and he was ultimately victorious.
+128 Life Force.
+5 Lesser Monster Souls
While its wielder slept the blade contemplated the soul remaining upgrade that was available to it, but it had no interest in learning The Path of Undeath. Still, I might have to just to see what lies beyond it, it reflected. Not immediately, of course. Its reserves had been completely depleted, and it would renew them before it did anything.
Geral did not receive such consideration the following day. After a second short nap, he woke up for the second time with the sun, but even before he ate, the blade insisted he train. You have nothing on your side but strength and reach, the blade lectured, and if you aren’t careful, you will soon develop bad habits.
Geral defended himself, but he didn’t actually protest, and before he attacked the loaf of bread he’d brought with him, he completed a number of simple drills that the weapon showed him so that he wouldn’t leave himself open with every scything strike.
As he did so, they went over the plan, which was a simple one. Its wielder planned to take two or three-day trips in every direction from the safety of the village and slaughter everything in his path. That way, he would be able to show his kinsmen quick progress, resupply regularly, and, of course, see his wife often. That last one was important to the blade, too, because she would definitely need more healing.
While healing anyone was near the bottom of its to-do list, it was right above dealing with a depressed and despondent wielder. As long as she was healthy, he was motivated to fight, and so as far as the weapon was concerned, she would live forever, even if her life mattered to it very little. In hell, it had experienced suffering, sadness, and other strange emotions, but love was still well beyond its grasp, and the closest it was ever likely to come to that was loyalty and respect, which were both emotions it had toward its current wielder, along with gratitude.
That was fortunate, because when Geral faced his first warband of beastmen, he did not fare so well. He charged in swinging, taking three for his effort, but he underestimated their pack tactics and their ability to run along impossible surfaces. The stone wall he was eventually forced back to offered him little protection, and he was caught completely off guard when one of the beasts headbutted his knee, making it crumple sideways with a sickening crack.
+176 Life Force.
-34 Life Force.
+6 Lesser Monster Souls.
Despite a willingness to let him make his own mistakes, though, the blade was unwilling to let him die here, so even in that moment of agony, he never released the blade, and in less than a minute, he was back on his feet as the sword’s power flowed through him.
+119 Life Force.
-8 Life Force.
+4 Lesser Monster Souls.
Even so, the pain and the fear of the moment lingered, and when the battle was done, he conceded, “You’re right. I might have some work to do.”
Beastmen are not strong, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous, the blade counseled him.
The two talked about not just the battle after that, and what its wielder could have done better, but the size of the tribe this band had come from, and where its camp was. The weapon didn’t tell him that it had come by that knowledge by devouring a few of its enemy’s souls, but in time, it might share those details. For now, it was less important that he knew how the blade operated and more important that he knew how to fight.
