Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Severing the Curse (2)
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Lying on his back, Ronan stared up at the familiar color of the sky. He slowly pushed himself upright. Below the hill stretched a village, a river winding lazily alongside it.
A quiet murmur slipped from between Ronan's lips.
"Nimburton."
He rubbed his eyes and looked again. It was the same. This was his hometown, Nimburton.
As if drawn by some unseen force, Ronan descended the hill. The feel of grass crunching underfoot was vivid.
'Is this my heart world?'
The gentle rush of the river, the breeze tickling his nose—it all felt utterly real. Only the empty absence at his waist, where Lamancha should have hung, hinted that this wasn't reality.
Soon, he reached the village outskirts, tilting his head in confusion.
"...Was this here?"
Beside the sign reading "Nimburton" loomed a massive weeping willow, so tall and lush it seemed visible from anywhere in the village.
Something like that would've stuck in his memory. Shrugging it off, Ronan entered the village.
The scenery matched what he remembered almost perfectly. Asel's parents' vegetable patch was unchanged, as was the raucous Rumbert's inn that came alive every night.
One thing felt off, though: not a single sign of life. The streets were deathly silent, as if every resident had fled, echoing only with Ronan's footsteps.
"This feels bad..."
Even the wind blowing through was eerily still. Just as Ronan started to move, a child's laughter rang out from behind.
"Kyahaha!"
Ronan whipped around. A flash of silvery-white hair vanished around the corner, light footsteps fading fast. Compelled, he chased after it.
"Damn it, wait!"
He rounded the corner. There was the house he and his sister had lived in. It should've been minutes farther, but he had no time for such inconsistencies.
The outer wall, once thick with ivy, was bare. Then, the child from before appeared behind him.
"Heehee!"
"Shit, you scared me."
She looked no older than four or five. Seeing her face, Ronan frowned.
"...Sis?"
"Mommy!"
Ignoring him, the girl dashed into the house. The wooden door swung open, then shut. Ronan stood rooted to the spot, as if his feet had grown into the earth.
No matter how young, he couldn't mistake that face. Those large eyes glowing like sunset, hair pale as starlight. It was unmistakably his sister from childhood.
'Then this place...'
The unremembered weeping willow, buildings less weathered. The young Iril. Ronan finally realized he was wandering a past version of Nimburton.
-Wah! Wah!
Suddenly, a baby's cry echoed. From his house. Glancing around, Ronan grabbed a hoe leaning against the fence.
"...Better than nothing."
He had to remember. This heart world was created to excise the curse within him. Since its purpose was to sever the curse, he couldn't assume it was friendly.
With that in mind, Ronan grasped the doorknob. The unlatched door opened smoothly.
Three chairs surrounded the table. Voices drifted from the inner room with the bed—the one Iril used now. Clutching the hoe, Ronan crept forward cautiously.
He peeked around the doorframe. Young Iril propped her chin on the bed, eyes sparkling.
"I'll protect him. He's my little brother."
"Heehee, that's our girl."
A black-haired woman lay stroking Iril's head. Ronan's eyes widened.
Her face was identical to Iril's. Though he'd never seen her, instinct told him: this was his mother.
"Mom...?"
Ronan staggered into the room. Mother and daughter continued talking, oblivious to him.
He was invisible to them. Reaching out to touch his mother, his hand passed through empty air.
"Then, you must be..."
Ronan's gaze, now somber, turned to the bed. Between Iril and their mother, a swaddled newborn wriggled.
"Ungh..."
"Heehee, so cute."
Iril extended her hand; the baby grasped her finger. Giggling, she kissed its cheek. Their mother watched with a gentle smile.
'I had times like this too...'
Forgetting his goal, Ronan watched the happy family. Then, the door creaked open behind him.
-Creaaak...
"...!"
A chill unlike any he'd felt swept over him. Gripping the hoe like it might snap, Ronan turned.
There stood an indescribable, amorphous shadow writhing like mist. In that instant, Ronan knew: this was the curse he had to sever.
'I have to cut it down.'
As he swung the hoe, the shadow at the door glanced around and made a sound.
"■...?"
Ronan's body stiffened at the noise.
"■■■? Iril? ■■ ...■■ ■■ ■■?"
'Huh?'
The grotesque voice was barely recognizable as speech. Only Iril's name stood out. Soon, mother and daughter responded warmly.
"Iril, ■■ must be home. Go greet him."
"Yay! ■■~"
Young Iril ran with arms wide. The elongated shadow enveloped her in an embrace.
Carrying Iril, it entered. Their mother greeted it cheerfully from under the covers.
"How'd you time it so perfectly? He was just born yesterday. Cute, right?"
"■ ■■■..."
"Ahaha, he looks more like you than me... But why the long face? Something happen?"
"■■■."
The shadow set Iril down and lifted the newborn. Staring at it awhile, it turned to their mother.
"■■■. ■ ■■■. ■■ ■■■."
"Huh? Dangerous? What do you...?"
"■■■..."
"Why, what's wrong ■■?"
The shadow surged violently. Mother and Iril collapsed as if asleep. Ronan's eyes bulged.
"No... don't...!"
Crunch. Something shattered in his mouth. His muscles bulged, straining. He'd been frozen since it entered, fighting to move.
"■■■ .... Iril..."
The shadow stilled. Tears suddenly welled in Ronan's eyes. He couldn't explain it, but he knew the shadow was deeply sad.
It placed Iril and the baby beside their mother, then extended part of itself to cover them.
'What the hell is it doing?'
In a flash, Ronan glimpsed curse letters from his own body swirling within the shadow, flowing into the newborn.
"■■ ■ ■■■..."
Muttering, it headed out. As it left, the bonds holding Ronan snapped.
Bang! He flew back, crashing into the wall—his pent-up strength unleashing at once.
No time for pain. He rushed to his family. Mother, daughter, baby—all lay motionless like the dead.
"No. No...!"
He tried to support them, but his hands passed through. Despair darkened his vision when ragged breathing reached him.
"...Huh?"
Regaining himself, Ronan checked. Iril's chest rose and fell slowly. Mother and baby too. Thankfully, just asleep.
Iril clutched the baby even in sleep. Rising with the hoe, a beastly growl escaped Ronan.
"You... fucking bastard..."
Despair fueled rage. The wooden handle snapped. Spotting a black iron sword by the door, he seized it.
Why it was there mattered as little as this being a heart world.
Illusion or memory—it didn't matter. Only one thing did: it had done the unforgivable.
Bang! Kicking the door open, Ronan sprinted full-tilt.
As he exited, village buildings dissolved like mist. He tore through Nimburton's empty streets.
Soon, the fallen weeping willow and shadow came into view. It had drawn part of itself into a blade-like form, panting by the stump.
"■■■, Iril...■■. ■■ ■■■■ ■■..."
Tears brimmed in Ronan's eyes. A sadness and rage far greater than his own churned in his chest.
Instinct told him these were the shadow's emotions. Yet he didn't slow.
Distance closed. Unaware, it stood. From deep in his throat, an inexplicable emotion surged; he bellowed.
"Stop right there, you bastard!!"
"■?!"
The shadow turned. Ronan's body shot forward like lightning. His fastest swing ever slashed at it.
Clang! Black sparks flew.
"What?!"
"■...■■?"
The ambush failed. The black iron sword glanced off. Spitting on the ground, Ronan swung again.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Strikes too fast for ordinary eyes rained down. But the shadow parried effortlessly.
"Damn it...!"
Even varying techniques, it dodged or blocked all. Ronan gnashed his teeth. It felt like being toyed with, not fought.
After twenty exchanges, the defensive shadow rippled explosively.
"■■■■!"
"Urk!"
The mood shifted utterly. Eerie sword paths invaded his guard.
Unblocked strikes tore his body. Stab! A thrust pierced thigh then wrist in a blink.
"Hah!"
Clang. The black iron sword hit the ground. Ronan dropped to one knee. The shadow leveled its blade at his throat. Bracing for death, it did nothing more.
"......"
"Hah, what... are you doing? Pant, not killing... me..."
It just stared. Fresh waves of sorrow and rage flooded Ronan's mind. Sheathing its blade, the shadow turned away.
"■■."
It flicked the sword into empty air and walked off. Limping up, Ronan grabbed the black iron sword left-handed.
"Damn it... Pant, stop...!"
It didn't. Bowing to the stump, it continued. At this rate, it'd escape.
Ronan breathed deep. He needed something to halt it. One idea surfaced, but death before saying it.
Three chairs at the table. Iril's beaming hug. "More like you," from mother.
He'd suspected, but denied. Facing truth terrified him. Voicing it felt like self-betrayal.
'Fuck.'
No choice. Blood poured from leg and wrist. Inhaling deeply, he shouted at the shadow.
"How can you call yourself a father, you son of a bitch?!"
"...■?"
It halted. Clear emotional turmoil rippled through. An indescribable shiver raced over Ronan.
'One chance.'
He gripped the hilt. Whoosh! The whirling shadow lunged.
Vision narrowed, time slowed. Strike true now, in its agitation. Approaching, it drew its blade.
'Huh?'
Something shimmering caught his eye. Like a water stream, or wind given color.
The battered black iron sword had become sleek Lamancha. Ronan swung at the oncoming shadow—not wildly, but tracing the flow in the air.
Slash.
The shadow split in two.