Malton, the Elven Warrior

Looking at the man before me, I felt every cell in my body wake up.

Malton.

It sounded a bit rustic at first, but if I recalled correctly, his real name was Malieverton.

He was an NPC companion who had always been by my side when I played Velheim.

No, he wasn't just a simple companion.

For ten years of playing Velheim, he was my partner and friend, someone I had fought back-to-back with through countless hardships.

I never expected to run into him here...

He was a so-called high-rank adventurer, possessing abilities far beyond the reach of ordinary people.

He had helped me so much that he was right there with me when I achieved my high rank in Velheim.

But even for someone who seemed so perfect, he had one fatal weakness.

He was a terminally ill character, bound by a curse.

A tragic hero destined for an early grave.

Malton had been afflicted with a powerful curse even before the tutorial began, and no matter what sacred relics from various holy orders were used, it could not be lifted.

The nature of the curse changed with every playthrough. By the time I finally found a clue after countless runs, it was always too ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠late.

No matter how many times I reset my character and regressed, I could never save him.

Once, after triumphantly slaying an evil god, I returned only to find him dead on a cold tavern floor, coughing up blood. The shock and grief were so intense that I quit the game for a while.

To me, he was a dear friend and a constant source of heartache.

And his presence allowed me to realize one more crucial fact.

The timeline is different...!

The fact that Malton was still alive and well.

The glimpse of a curse-suppressing talisman peeking from inside his robe, indicating he had already been cursed.

Yet, the lack of prominent symptoms like black spots or a deathly pale complexion.

Combined with the fact that Tyrosh was still alive and the information I gathered at the port town, there was only one logical conclusion.

This was the past of the Velheim I used to play.

It seems I've arrived two or three years before the game's official starting point...

That explained why the port town felt so different from my memories.

I had heard that Velheim wasn't always a completely hopeless, grimdark world from the very beginning.

Having pinned down the era, my mind began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to race.

Since this was the past, could I achieve explosive growth?

Maybe I could monopolize all the hidden pieces and claim the most efficient hunting grounds for myself...

No, acting carelessly will get me killed.

Judging by how widely known the concept of 'reincarnators' already was, there were definitely others who had transmigrated before me.

If so, the easily accessible hidden pieces had likely been plundered already.

On top of that, transmigrators would be competing bloodily to survive. If I stood out too much, I might get assassinated without anyone ever finding my body.

...For now, I need to reach level 30 as quickly as possible while keeping a low profile.

Besides... if I remembered correctly, a series of massive crises were scheduled to hit Velheim over the next two to three years.

As I agonized over this, I suddenly realized Malton was still holding his hand out.

Suppressing the complex emotions swirling inside me, I took my old friend's hand.

"...It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Hmm...?"

"Ah, it's nothing. My name is Doran. I am still weak, but I dream of becoming an adventurer. I look forward to working with you."

"Oh, an aspiring adventurer? Splendid! Our journey won't be a dull one, then."

Malton smiled as he shook my hand.

My instincts urged me to smack him on the back of the head with a basic attack and trade insults like we used to, but I held back.

Right now, I was merely an outsider occupying the body of a local.

If I brought up our gaming days, I'd be lucky to be dismissed as a madman. More likely, the moment he suspected I was an evil spirit, he would blow my head off.

As I processed this bittersweet reunion with my old companion, a booming voice echoed from the front of the merchant caravan.

"Let's see... It looks like everyone is here. Let us depart!"

With the neighing of horses, the procession began to move.

I strolled along, my cutlass clattering against my hip, as I leisurely surveyed our surroundings.

The vast, open plains, the sky meeting the horizon, and the wind painting ripples across the grass.

The more I looked, the more I was filled with admiration for Velheim's beautiful natural scenery...

...Not. I was actually assessing the combat strength of the mercenaries.

Six merchants, and about twenty mercenaries...

This was a decent force.

There were no threatening monsters nearby, and bandits wouldn't dare attack a group of this size.

If I had to pick a cause for concern, it was that the mercenaries' levels weren't very high.

Judging by their gear, their average level was only in the late twenties.

In Velheim, one could only proudly call themselves a true adventurer from level 30, when they unlocked their second rune slot. Entrusting my life to this lot felt a bit precarious.

...Am I being too sensitive?

Having experienced the sheer cruelty of this world so many times, preparing for the worst had become second nature.

Still, having Malton by my side was a massive relief.

As I walked at the rear of the procession, observing the merchants and mercenaries, Malton, whose mace clinked with every step, casually spoke up.

"...Your expression is grim. Do you perchance have an upset stomach?"

"No, it's just... I'm a bit anxious. It's my first time traveling with mercenaries like this..."

"Haha, there are no powerful monsters in these parts, so you need not worry. Even if something does occur, I shall ensure that you, my charge, remain safe."

"Thank you. ...I bought some apples back in town. Would you like one?"

"Oh, then I shall gladly accept. My thanks."

Crunch!

I walked alongside Malton across the plains, both of us munching on our apples.

It felt strange to be protected by a companion I used to hunt bosses with, but given my current weakness, I had no choice but to accept it.

I tried to fish for information about the world, taking care not to arouse suspicion about my identity.

Thanks to that, I managed to glean some deeper insights from him.

He mentioned that research on mana stones was highly active at the Magic Tower, and that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠signs of a large-scale war were brewing in a neighboring kingdom.

He also noted that capturing or reporting a reincarnator would yield a massive bounty...

Malton, seemingly curious about me—a traveler walking with nothing but a single cutlass and no pack—kept the conversation going.

It was the perfect opportunity to build rapport and win him over.

For instance...

"...By any chance, are you stressed because your property value isn't rising?"

"H-How on earth did you know that?!"

"And your shoulders are probably stiff, and you've been having strange nightmares every night..."

"My word, are you...?!"

Malton's eyes went wide as saucers. He grabbed my shoulders and exclaimed:

"I-Is your mother a fortune teller?!"

"Of course not."

"..."

"The stiff shoulders might just be because your current mace doesn't suit you, so you should try changing it. As for the nightmares, you might want to check if there's an animal carcass buried near the head of your bed."

"I-Is that so...! Then what about the property value..."

"There's really nothing I can do about that..."

"H-Hum... I suppose. Still, you are quite remarkable..."

I pretended not to hear Malton muttering to himself about how he should have bought a house near the plaza instead of the cemetery.

Elves, with their long lifespans, were practically all wealthy landlords anyway.

But as we were talking, Malton suddenly let out a violent cough.

He quietly wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, leaving a smear of blood on his sleeve.

...Judging by the small amount of blood, the curse hasn't been active for very long.

Even so, his internal injuries wouldn't heal, meaning his stats were likely heavily debuffed.

I subtly probed him.

"Um... is everything alright, Lord Malton? There is blood on your mouth..."

"Ah... it is nothing..."

"Please, tell me. Did you catch some local illness?"

"It is not that, but..."

Malton glanced at me, let out a heavy sigh, and confessed.

"...It is a curse."

"A curse...? Who on earth did that to you? What kind of wicked, vile bastard would cast such a thing!"

I feigned outrage while subtly digging for details.

If I could identify the specific curse afflicting Malton in this run, I might be able to slow its progression or alleviate the symptoms.

But the name that slipped from Malton's lips was entirely unexpected.

"...Mortemius."

"Mor... Mortemius? That bag of bones?!"

"...Indeed. The name of a most malevolent Lich. He is the one who cursed me."

"W-Wait...! If it's Lich Mortemius, isn't that Mortemius of the Magic Path? The one who commands the Mary Celeste and the ghost fleet..."

"How do you know of him?"

"W-Well, because he's a very famous Lich, of course."

What a bizarre coincidence...

Could the curse afflicting Malton in this run be connected to the Mary Celeste?!

If so, it made perfect sense why Malton was lingering around the port town at this time.

Wait... then could the treasure of the Andira Order I found in the ghost ship's vault be...

For a split second, the jewel tucked inside my pocket seemed to hum and vibrate.

Could it be... that I can actually lift his curse in this run?

All because I transmigrated to the past, survived the Mary Celeste tutorial, and escaped with the sacred relic?

While I was reeling from this unexpected butterfly effect, Malton straightened his back and changed the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠subject.

"Whew, fortunately, it seems it did not trigger a full seizure this time. More importantly, there is something that concerns me..."

"Wait, what could be more important than the curse—! Ah, never mind. What is it that concerns you?"

"...Do you see those figures atop the hill? I pray my eyes are merely playing tricks on me."

Malton squinted and pointed toward the crest of the hill.

Squinting, I saw dark, blurry shapes rushing down toward us.

"Hmm... something is definitely running this way."

"Good heavens... We must prepare. Fall back, Doran."

The moment Malton raised his mace, the mercenaries also noticed the anomaly and shouted.

"Monsters! Prepare for battle, everyone!"

The mercenaries moved in perfect unison.

The warriors drew their weapons, bracing for the clash.

Normally, in a situation like this, I would have retreated into a carriage with the merchants and quietly let them protect me, but...

"...Lord Malton, may I fight alongside you?"

"You?"

A novice like you?

As I gripped my cutlass, Malton looked at me with a deeply skeptical gaze.