The Cursed Sword Chooses Its Master

"D-don't you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dare scam me!"

Han Serin's eyes kept darting frantically between the cursed sword and my face.

"There's no way you're fine! That's the Lamenting Blade of Finality, Night's Shriek That Gnaws at Souls! The instant you touch it, a curse crawls up your spine and starts sucking your brain dry—it's a vicious, murderous cursed blade!"

"The name's too long to even remember. Mind if I just call it Night Shriek?"

"Don't shorten it! If you shorten the name, the curse gets three times stronger!"

"Excuse me, ma'am."

"Eek! Don't come any closer!"

She darted behind the display case and peeked out with just her eyes.

"Y-you… I get it now. You're an undercover investigator from the Association's Special Inspection Bureau, aren't you? You're here to raid an unlicensed cursed-weapon workshop and pad your arrest record!"

"I'm not."

"Then it's that, isn't it? A hidden-camera YouTuber? You're going to film a video titled I Held a Cursed Sword (Shocking Ending) and farm the views! Where's the hidden camera? Where is it? I did not consent to being filmed!"

"I'm just a regular customer who came to buy a sword."

"Customer? What customer! Put the sword down first, please! In three seconds your heart might just—thump—stop beating!"

Tick. Tock.

The only sound filling the shop was the second hand of the grandfather clock on the wall.

Han Serin's jaw went slack.

"How?!"

"It's a long story, but my trait is a bit special."

"That's impossible…"

She started circling the anvil, clutching at her hair. The eyes peeking through her black hair were on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

"It's a trick. He's wearing special gloves, or… his internal organs have already melted and he's just pretending to be fine on the outside. A psychopath. An emotionless psychopath! In ten seconds he'll collapse and pin a murder charge on me…!"

At this point, her persecution complex had ascended to an art form. The thought crept in that talking to a wall would be more productive.

There was no reasoning with her. And if words wouldn't work, I'd just have to show her. Seeing is believing.

"All right. Let's put it to the test."

"…What? A t-test? Test of what?"

"My trait versus this sword's curse. Let's see which one wins."

"What are you even—hiiik?!"

I tossed the cursed sword toward the ceiling.

Whoosh—

The blade spun as it soared, paused at its apex, then began to fall. I stretched my right arm out directly beneath its path.

"W-what are you doing, are you insane?! Your arm's going to get chopped ooooff!!"

Han Serin went white as a sheet, screaming as she lunged forward.

"Ow-oww…!"

And in two steps, she tripped over her own feet and sprawled face-first onto the floor.

Spinning, spinning—

The cursed sword whirled as it dropped toward my forearm. By the laws of physics, that blade should have sliced through flesh and buried itself in the floor.

But.

Shhhk—

Just before the tip touched the skin of my forearm, the cursed sword twisted at a bizarre angle. The blade missed my arm perfectly and thunked into the floor. The hilt shivered.

"Th-the cursed sword… dodged a person…?"

"As you can see."

I pulled the sword from the floor.

"It doesn't want to hurt its master's hand. What a good boy."

"That's impossible… That thing is a lump of hatred and curses… the most ungrateful brat in existence, itching to destroy every living thing that dares to touch it…!?"

Han Serin crawled over on all fours and looked up at me.

"You… what the hell are you?!"

"Just a hunter passing through. Name's Baek Mujin."

"Baek… Mujin…?"

"Anyway, I've confirmed the condition, so let's make a deal. How much?"

"A-a hundred thousand won…! No, fifty thousand! Just give me fifty thousand!!"

"…Come again?"

"Th-then thirty thousand… ten thousand? N-no, wait! I'm sorry! You don't have to pay me at all! I'll pay you! I'll give you fifty thousand, so please just don't report me to the Association for distributing defective weapons! If I go to prison I won't last a single day!"

"Ma'am."

"Y-yes?!"

"I'm not that kind of thief. Honestly, based on performance alone, this is the sort of piece that would open in the hundreds of millions at auction. The penalties are a bit… severe, I'll grant you."

At that, Han Serin's shoulders gave a startled twitch.

"And the raw materials that went into forging this sword must have cost tens of millions on their own."

"Th-that's because I picked them up at a waste disposal site… I melted down scrap iron that barely had a flicker of mana left in it…"

She'd gathered scrap and made a sword of this caliber?

I was speechless. I thought of that eight-million-won piece of junk hanging in the glossy show window of a chaebol-affiliated workshop.

"Earlier, on the main street, they were selling a C-rank dagger for eight million won."

"Eight million!? What kind of highway robbery—ah, that's Meteor. They're always like that."

"Anyway, as far as I'm concerned there are no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠defects, so this is a functioning product. Let's call it fifteen million. We'll write up a contract."

Honestly, even this felt like I was ripping off a naive blacksmith, and it pricked at my conscience a little…

"Fifteen… what!?"

Han Serin's voice cracked and shot up an octave.

"A-ah, I get it!"

And what exactly had she figured out this time.

"This is a new kind of scam, isn't it?! You hide some microscopic special clause in the contract, and later you send a certified demand letter saying, 'I developed a migraine from the cursed sword's curse, so cough up ten billion won in damages'! There's a trap in there somewhere, I just know it…!"

I had no idea how many courtroom thrillers were currently screening inside her head.

I pulled out my phone and checked my account balance. The settlement money I'd received from the Association for climbing the Tower was a measly few million.

"To be honest, I don't have the cash to pay in a lump sum right now."

"See! He is a con artist!!"

"Instead, I'll put down three million as a deposit and pay off the rest as my Tower settlement money comes in. I'm Baek Mujin. If you've seen the news articles about me lately, you'll know my ability to repay is rock-solid."

"The news…? Wait. Baek Mujin… that Baek Mujin?"

Han Serin pulled her phone from her pocket. She tapped the screen a few times, and her hands went still.

"Fastest record on the 4th Floor broken…"

"Ah. That was today."

"Why would someone of your stature come to a shop like ours?"

She backpedaled, bumped her rear into the anvil, and stopped.

"A-are you really… going to take it? You won't hold it against me even if your brain melts and you turn into an idiot?"

"It's not going to melt."

"You might be hallucinating. For all we know you're actually dying right now, and your brain is dumping happy chemicals so you're having a nice dream…"

"Just bring the contract."

Han Serin went to a dresser shoved in the corner and came back with scrap paper and a ballpoint pen. Then, in a crooked, wavering hand, she began to write.

"This has to go in. It has to."

"Sure, sure. Write whatever you want."

"I really won't know if your brain melts. I clearly warned you. I warned you twice. This is the third time."

"I'll take care of my own brain, thank you. I just need to watch fewer Shorts."

With trembling hands, she pulled out her name stamp. Her grip shook so badly that the impression came out half-smudged, but you could still make out Han Serin.

"Looks like we have a deal."

The moment I transferred the three million won deposit, a payment alert chimed on her phone.

So her original balance was four thousand won. I saw something I wasn't supposed to see.

"I-it went through…? For real…?"

Han Serin stared at the notification. She looked like she was seeing something she could not quite believe.

"I'll take good care of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sword. I'll be back to pay the balance, so don't close up shop."

"…You'll come back?"

"The value for money is excellent. I intend to become a regular. I wish you every success."

I buckled the cursed sword at my hip and turned away. The mana radiating from the hilt pleasantly stimulated every nerve in my body—a sense of stability that a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-won iron rod couldn't begin to match.

Ding-a-ling—

As I pushed through the door, a faint sob leaked out behind me.

"…It sold."

The voice of a woman sitting on the floor, clutching the contract to her chest.

"My sword… not as a research sample, not as a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠curse offering… as a weapon… for the first time, it sold as a weapon…!"

Sniffle, sniffle.

"There sure are some weird shops in this world."

I didn't look back. I just walked out of the alley.

I'd found a cheap, excellent weapon. Tomorrow, I'd head up to the 5th Floor.

A few days later.

I passed through the gate, and a gray wasteland unfurled before me.

The 5th Floor. The community called it the Wailing Wall—a graveyard for rookie hunters, a talent scanner. Climbers who failed here spent the rest of their lives hunting puppies on the lower floors.

The reason was lying in the middle of the wasteland.

The strategy was simple. Kill it in one hit. Fail, and it would curl into a ball and switch to defense mode—and from that point on, you were looking at a siege.

"So it's one shot, then."

I drew the cursed sword from my hip.

Vmmm—

The blade hummed. It seemed… excited.

"Hold on. I'll let you drink soon enough."