Chapter 474: Before the Mother Harboring Malice
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 474: Before the Mother Harboring Malice
“Mom, am I dying?” the child asked.
“No, of course not. Just sleep well for a few nights, and you'll be fine,” the mother replied.
“Okay.”
The child could barely open their eyes due to the thick crust constantly forming over them. The fever hadn't broken for days, and now the child couldn't even see properly.
Gurgle.
Watching her child foam at the mouth in the early hours of the morning, the mother's heart broke.
One day, blue spots had begun to bloom all over the child's body, and the veins in the limbs swelled, bulging a deep purple. That was when the pain truly started.
I wish I could suffer in your stead.
So please, whether you are a guardian spirit, an ancestral god, or anything else, save my child.
The mother set out in the early dawn to forage for herbs that might soothe the agony.
“It's dangerous to go out now,” said a warrior guarding the perimeter of the tents.
Although the frequency of monster appearances in the West was significantly lower than on the Continent, danger was never far away. If luck ran out, death was the same here as it was anywhere else.
“I'll be fine.”
Thoughts of wanting to die instead would often surge within her. But she couldn't even afford that luxury.
“Mom... Mom...”
The child, calling out for her, was still holding on.
Resentment began to fester. A certain heat, starting from the tips of her toes, rose to her chest and burned fiercely.
Why?
This was not the natural order. Anyone could die—she knew that—but it shouldn't be her child's turn. Why did that young child have to suffer such agony?
The mother drew a short dagger she had tucked into her bosom. It was a gently curved blade, about a span long. It was a dagger known as a karambit.
The blade, forged from a dull gray metal, was not particularly sharp on the outside, but the inner curve was honed to a razor edge. It was sharp enough to slit a young child's throat. Sharp enough to pull across her own, too.
How long—just how much longer—did she have to watch her child drown in a river of pain? Even if dying by the blade was painful, the moment would not last long. Even drowning in a river wouldn't torment them for as long as this.
“It cannot be done easily. We will need a lake larger than a spring, a river larger than a brook.”
The Eldest Shaman, who had vowed to block the curse, had said those words before closing his eyes. That had been his end. He had not opened them since. After collapsing in a prayer stance, he had yet to wake.
The spark of hope had died. The world had plunged into darkness. For the one who was the mother's everything was dying.
Though she had eyes, she could not see the light; though she had ears, she could not hear the birds chirp. The child was dying, wracked with pain, and the mother could only forage for herbs to soothe that agony. Even this was a task she had to risk her life for.
“Over here... over here...”
Once, while wandering like that, she had encountered a monster. The creature had called out to her in her child's voice. The voice of her child in danger—that was how it sounded.
The mother listened to the sound. Her head turned. Her mind was hazy from days of sleep deprivation. Despair and frustration had eaten away at her body and mind.
If I save that child, maybe someone will save mine.
Vain hope clouded her mind further and blurred her vision. She was standing between rolling mounds. Just as she was about to take a step toward the sound, someone grabbed her shoulder from behind.
“It's a Copycat. There's no way you didn't know.”
She turned around to see a man with an angular jaw and mean eyes. It had been five years since the child's father had died. Naturally, talk of remarriage had come up, and during that time, this man had been lingering around her. Seeing the mother head out alone, he had followed.
“It was my child's voice.”
“Have you given up on living, leaving your child behind? If so, you'll just end up dead. Is that what you want? To die before your child? Don't be weak,” the man said.
The woman's heart shattered, and tears streamed down her face. He was right. It was a Copycat, a mimic cat. If the Continent had the human-faced dog, this side had a monster that mimicked voices.
Any ordinary adult male, especially of the warrior class, could handle it without much trouble. The mother wouldn't have fallen for it either if she were in her right mind. But encountering it in her current state would have been fatal. It was only relatively weak; a monster was still a monster. Its claws were more than capable of tearing through human flesh.
“Then do something about it.”
The mother spoke, but the man remained silent.
If she had to sell her soul, she would. If she had to break taboos, she would. If she were told to abandon her chastity, she would do even that. Anything—she could truly do anything. She would even offer her life. They could take whatever they wanted, anything at all.
A demon would do. A monster, a demonic beast, a cannibal—it didn't matter. Just save her child. Then she would do whatever they desired.
She prayed, but there was no one to listen. The child's mother fell to her knees before the waves of despair. There was no way left. The curse cast by the Fortune-teller Tribe would kill her child. Just like those who had died before, her child would meet the same fate.
“Why?” the mother asked the heavens. Still, there was no answer.
She saw a man who had gone mad after losing his lover. There was also a woman who had lost her soul after losing her partner. The chief had intentionally separated the area where the curse struck from the rest of the tribe. While the curse was not a contagious disease, some believed it could spread, and it was also to prevent their gloom from infecting others.
Besides, the curse was still only a problem for a fraction of the tribe. It wasn't eating away at hundreds, but merely dozens. To the collective, it was a small number; to the individual, it was their only one.
The curse was eating away at the Western people from the inside. The mother was one of those being consumed.
If my child dies, I won't leave anyone in peace.
A wicked malice surged within her heart. If the enemy broke taboos, then they should do the same. But the chief only showed a lukewarm attitude. She would not just stand by. She would absolutely not let this go.
Within the heart of the half-crazed mother, despair, suffering, resentment, and malice grew. This was the true curse.
Carrying the herbs, the mother saw children playing. A few days ago, she would have merely watched them with somber eyes, thinking of her own child, but now she was filled with resentment.
Why did it have to be her child? Why were these children laughing so happily? Why was she the only one grieving?
“Get out,” she spat at the children.
Barely mustering her self-control, she entered the cursed tent and sat beside her child. Those children did nothing wrong, she tried to steady her mind.
Veins bulging purple, blue spots, and crust covering half the face. Was this truly her child's face? Was this truly her child's body?
Ugh...
She clenched her teeth and swallowed her sobs. Her child would never be able to see again. Therefore...
Chief. I ask you. What is the right path? Are we to just live as victims? Why do we just take this from the Fortune-teller Tribe? Strike back against this curse immediately. If this is not your responsibility, then whose is it?
Resentment amidst sorrow. Malice amidst resentment. Such feelings filled the entire tent. It was an aura so unsettling that even a stranger would find it repulsive, and anyone who knew better would deem it highly dangerous.
*
Hira, the fortune-teller, was filled with worry as the devastating effects of the curse ate away at the tribe. It was only because the Eldest Shaman and the chief warrior had put their bodies on the line that it had been contained this far, but she had no idea what they would do in the future.
Dunchabel, entering the tent, frowned. Luagarne didn't think much of it. And Encrid sensed the malice triggering his Sixth Sense.
What's with this atmosphere?
That was his only thought. As he stepped inside the tent, a sour smell combined with an unpleasant odor assaulted his nose. It was only natural, given that people who couldn't wash properly were gathered here.
As he walked further in, he saw a child lying on a bed made of layered cloths near the entrance.
Why is there so much crust around their eyes? I wish someone would wash them.
As he watched, the child flailed their arm. It wasn't a gesture asking to hold hands; it was just that their hands happened to brush as he passed by.
He wasn't worried about the curse affecting his own body. If it were contagious, they wouldn't have left them like this. It would have already spread everywhere and caused a disaster. For now, it was a problem for only a few, but it seemed like a troublesome affair. That was all.
Then, the child's hand brushed his, and he caught it. It was partly because old memories had suddenly surfaced.
“There is nothing we can do,” the mercenary captain had said, looking at those afflicted by the plague. He said it was simply unavoidable. It was something that couldn't be solved with a sword.
Without any Krona, these people couldn't even lay eyes on a healer, let alone a priest. Encrid had done something crazy back then, too. At the time, there was only one thing a sword could do, and Encrid did it.
“Are you out of your mind?” said a companion who had followed him to the end, despite being told they didn't have to.
Encrid didn't answer. He simply did what had to be done.
“Are you going to die here? Or will you come with me?”
It was the house of the most skilled healer in the area. Unable to afford to be picky about his methods, he had scaled the wall in the dead of night. He had spoken those words with his sword pressed against the healer's throat. The healer had two choices: die here, or follow him.
“I'll follow you!”
The greedy healer had yielded to the blade.
“Are you a mercenary or a thief?” His companion had criticized Encrid relentlessly. He couldn't even ask why, because things had been incredibly busy after that. Regardless, he had kidnapped the healer. That was the best he could do with a sword.
Because of that, Encrid became a fugitive for a short while.
“You're a real crazy bastard,” his companion had said while hiding him. When they eventually parted ways, she had told him why she had helped him. Her words, spoken with a sniffle and a slightly embarrassed look, remained vivid in his memory.
“Watching you... made me think of my younger sibling back home.”
She was a female mercenary about ten years older than him.
“I didn't see you as a man, you brat.”
It was a simple, dry farewell.
Thus, he had wandered the Continent for a short while. He recalled the corpse of the child he had buried, who had died despite him kidnapping the healer.
The child whose hand he was touching now was alive. In that case, there was no reason to give up. Curse or not, there had to be a way to save them. Even if there wasn't, he would have to do his absolute best until the very end. Only then could those left behind go on living. Even if they had to let them go eventually, the fact that they had tried something would give the survivors the strength to live.
Tap, tap.
Holding the hand, he lightly tapped the back of it with his other hand. It was a gesture meant to reassure. He felt a squeeze from the child's hand. The child tried to grasp his hand but lacked the strength. It was a weak grip.
Encrid held the hand back, taking care not to hurt the child. Was the child even ten years old?
In front of him stood the child's mother. She was the woman who had passed through the children in the village clearing earlier. She had seemed to have quite a fierce temperament. She hadn't snapped at the children, but hadn't there been a sharp, chilling aura of bloodlust about her?
The woman wiped the child's face with a wet cloth. The crust wiped away easily.
Why is she only wiping that off now?
As he watched, the child opened their eyes. Hira cried out, and the twins approached. As he watched for a moment, Rem entered. He was with his wife. Behind them, Juol was blinking in surprise.
“What did you do?” Rem asked.
Encrid raised his hand and stared at it for a moment.
Was it my left hand? No, it was my right. He switched hands and looked back at Rem.
Encrid's mind worked quickly. The situation clicked in his head. It was something his hand had accomplished.
“I think I've awakened Divine Power,” he whispered as Rem approached.
Of course, he didn't actually believe it; it was just a silly, elf-style joke.
“Looks like this place is cursed too?” Rem asked in a serious tone, looking back.
“That is not how the curse manifests, you source of all evil,” Rem's wife wielded her blade of criticism without hesitation. Even so, her gaze never wavered from the child. Ayul's eyes were also wide with surprise.
Rem nodded, murmuring, “I see.”
“Then what is it?” Rem asked again.
“I don't know either,” Encrid shrugged. Honestly, he had absolutely no idea.
But there was someone for whom such details didn't matter right now. Hira was lost in thought, her eyes wide with shock.
How is this possible? I said we needed a lake larger than a spring...
Beside her stood the mother of the child, whose eyes were now shining like starlight. The veins that had bulged on the child's body had visibly receded. The spots had faded as well.
“You,” she called out to Encrid.
“Hmm?” Encrid reacted. In truth, he didn't even know what he had done.
But looking at the situation, it seemed to be because of his touch. Whether it was a coincidence or something more, that was how it appeared on the surface. The child's mother seemed to have perceived it that way as well.
She knelt, turned her palms toward the heavens, and pressed her forehead to the ground. Although the thick cloth typical of the tents was laid on the floor, it was far from clean. Traces of blood, sweat, and pus were clearly visible. Yet, she did not hesitate to prostrate herself and bow her head to the ground.
“I will do whatever you wish, so please, stay by my child's side...”
The mother couldn't even finish her sentence. She was trembling violently.
“Fuck, what did you actually do? Do you know what that gesture means? It's a sign that she'll offer everything—even her body,” Rem whispered urgently.
It meant that even if he told her to come to his tent naked this very day, she would come with a smile. That was what it signified. Naturally, Encrid had no way of knowing this.
Just then, Hira raised her head and slowly but thoroughly scanned Encrid from head to toe.
The reason this happened? Unknown. But one thing was certain. Although Hira was a shaman and a fortune-teller, her primary specialty was healing. Since most of her healing was based on sorcery, she was skilled at dispelling curses or the side effects of misused sorcery.
Her senses told her: the curse cast by the Fortune-teller Tribe through their collective consciousness had faded. It was all thanks to the appearance of this one man. She couldn't pinpoint the exact reason, but she could roughly guess the principle.
That man dispelled the curses around him. In other words...
“I, too, wish to make a plea,” Hira spoke hastily.
This curse was dangerous. Though she couldn't tell everyone in the tribe, Hira had foreboded the end of their people. That premonition had just been shattered.
“Hold on, everyone just stop for a second,” Rem stepped in to mediate.
Encrid just stood there blankly. Because he truly had no idea what was going on.