True Madness

Following Tsarkhella as she led the way, I arrived at a ger that stood apart from the rest, packed with an array of flamboyant decorations and enigmatic symbols.

"Jelaf~ I brought him~!"

"...I see."

Waiting inside was a voluptuous beauty exuding a decadent allure, her skin smoothly tanned and her eyes heavy-lidded and languid.

"...Oh."

I recognized her as well.

Alongside Baigelman, she was one of Tsarkhella's closest confidantes: the Great Shaman Jelaf. With copper skin brighter than Nemeth's, deep, sultry features, tall stature, and a voluptuous, curvaceous figure, she was quite a striking sight.

Back when I played Origin World as a game, she had been a heroine candidate I recruited quite frequently. Her in-game performance was reasonably solid, but what made her truly appealing was the sheer novelty of wielding the unique power of shamanism.

"Tsarkhella, to be honest, Jelaf is way more my type than you."

"Whaaat...?!"

She sharply narrowed her gentle eyes into a venomous glare, and a cold shiver ran straight down my spine. She looked just like Vivian, yet the sheer pressure radiating from her was suffocating.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"You! Watch your mouth! Believe it or not, I happen to be wildly popular among barbarian warriors! I'm not someone you can just treat like dirt!"

"Isn't that just because you're a strong warrior? Barbarians believe strong warriors bear strong children, don't they?"

"Th-that's...! Even so! How the hell do you know that?!"

She actually admitted it. Looks like she had soaked in barbarian culture a bit too much, where honesty was considered a cardinal virtue.

"Besides, I never said you were ugly. Objectively speaking, you're a pretty girl. You're just not my type."

"Huh? R-really...? Ahem..."

Seeing her blush shyly and fidget in embarrassment made my face contort into sheer disgust. Seriously, trying to fathom the psyche of this woman named Tsarkhella was terrifying. Even if the soul inside was different, how on earth could she harbor such feelings while looking at her own biological younger brother's body?

In the game, she had been depicted simply as an impatient battle maniac, but now, I didn't know whether to call this twisted or downright perverted.

"Sigh... Anyway, good to meet you, Jelaf. I'll be in your hands for the shamanic tattoo."

As I plopped down in front of her, Jelaf nodded with languid grace and offered an easygoing smile.

"Fufu. I've already heard the stories, but you're far more entertaining in person. Leave everything to me."

"Ah, by any chance do you need magical ink or reagents? I brought some along."

When I flicked a hand toward my shadow, Muriel rose silently like a ghost and drew a bundle of vibrantly colored glass vials from the Subspace Pouch.

"Oh...? This is...!"

Jelaf's languid, heavy-lidded eyes widened in an instant, sparkling with awe.

"Isn't this imperial-grade, top-shelf magical ink and reagents?! Is it really all right for me to accept such treasures?!"

"Hold on, this isn't just any regular top-tier stuff. These are handcrafted directly in the Duke's Castle. You couldn't buy them for any amount of gold."

Clatter.

I shoved the pile of glass bottles straight toward her.

"They're yours. So make sure to do a good job on the shamanic tattoo."

Shamanic tattoos didn't have explicit ranks, but the efficiency of their effects shifted slightly depending on the materials used to draw them. Honestly, it wasn't a massive difference... but doing it right was still better than half-assing it.

"Ah! Of course! With ingredients of this caliber, I can craft a truly magnificent shamanic tattoo!"

Watching her beam like an excited child—completely shattering the decadent, languid impression she'd given off moments before—brought a smirk to my lips.

"Then let's not waste any time and begin right away. Please remove your shirt."

"Sure."

Splash!

Scattering the magical ink and reagents across a large sheet of coarse, yellowish paper without hesitation, Jelaf began to chant beneath her breath.

It sounded less like an incantation and more like an earnest prayer. According to the lore of Origin World, that made total sense—shamanism in this world had originated from curses.

In the beginning, it had been nothing more than malevolence, petty ill will wishing misfortune and calamity upon others. Yet at some point, it gained tangible form, and rules and conditions began to surface.

For example, wishing misfortune on someone required drawing a circle with rooster's blood on their front gate and offering a sacrifice. Wishing for someone's death meant shooting an arrow into an illustration of the target while swallowing saltwater. If one wished to inflict physical agony at will, one had to insert the victim's hair or fingernails into a straw doll and submerge it in blood.

As these curses began to yield real, albeit faint, effects, scholars and practitioners naturally arose to study them—regardless of whether they hailed from the Empire, the kingdoms, the ranks of dark mages, or even demons.

Through their research, they discovered that the conditions and laws governing curses were tied to symbols perceived and recognized by sentient beings, and that reciting intense desires and prayers gave them power. Thus, this art was named shamanism. In some ways it resembled magic, in others it mirrored holy arts, yet its untraceable origins made it a profoundly alien discipline.

...At least, according to the game lore. In gameplay, it was merely one of several skills that allowed for unorthodox playstyles.

Coated in magical ink and reagents, Jelaf's ten fingers darted across the yellow paper as if moving of their own volition. What emerged were circles, stars, the sun and the moon, alongside indistinct beasts and humans. The drawings were crude and barely recognizable, as though sketched from fleeting impressions, but clarity didn't matter so long as the symbolic intent was sharply defined.

Listening quietly to her chant, I nodded. That very curse was the reason I had come alone to receive the shamanic tattoo. If simply branding a tattoo made one stronger with no drawbacks, I would have dragged the entire party here.

In the game, the curse was represented as a penalty. In exchange for gaining powerful special skills and bonus stats, equipment restrictions were imposed—locking out certain weapons, armors, and even relics. Needless to say, in an RPG where power progression is tethered to gear tiers, such a penalty was monstrous. That was also why managing Tsarkhella as a companion was notoriously tricky.

...Granted, Origin World had dating-sim foundations, so there was some leeway in that regard, but tricky was still tricky.

"Mmm..."

As Jelaf raised her hand, the symbols drawn on the paper floated into midair. Swirling and colliding in total chaos, they converged into a single, pitch-black circle.

I gritted my teeth, steeling myself for the pain.

Sssssssss—!

"Ngh...!"

Just as expected, the black sphere seared straight into the right side of my chest. Desperately fighting the urge to thrash as agony ripped through my nerves, clamping my jaw shut to keep from screaming, I trembled violently for several seconds until the searing torment gradually began to subside.

Stamped across my right chest and ribs was a circular mark, black and bottomless like a pit into the abyss.

"It is finished. From now on, the strength and abilities of your first slain quarry will take root inside you. The shape of the tattoo will change once that happens."

"Ahahaha! Not letting out a single scream—that's my husband for you! Truly manly and magnificent!"

Listening to Jelaf and Tsarkhella, I exhaled the breath I'd been holding.

"Whew... That hurt even more than I expected."

Gulping down a swig of booze to numb the lingering ache, I slowly pushed myself to my feet.

"Are you leaving already? Won't you stay for a cup of tea...?"

At Jelaf's soft suggestion, Tsarkhella's expression turned instantly ferocious. Why the sudden mood swing? Did that phrase carry some hidden meaning I was unaware of?

"Tea from a barbarian tribe... I can't say I'm not curious, but I'll pass for now. I'm craving booze more."

"Is that so? How unfortunate. After receiving such lavish gifts... If there is ever anything you need or wish to ask of me, please do not hesitate."

"Sure. Will do."

Giving Jelaf a wave, I stepped outside the ger and gazed across the wide-open wasteland, tipping another sip of liquor down my throat. The rich, smooth flavor of the Belteogeo brew washed over my tongue, instantly lifting my spirits.

"...Hmph. That was well done, Husband. Shrugging off Jelaf's seduction like that."

Having finished her farewells with Jelaf, Tsarkhella stepped outside, looking up at me with an enigmatic glint in her eyes as she dropped an utterly unexpected remark.

"What?"

When I tilted my head, Tsarkhella pouted, glaring back toward Jelaf's ger.

"She never pays a lick of attention to men normally, yet she dared to fawn over my husband of all people... Tch, at least she has good taste."

"...What are you babbling about? Jelaf tried to seduce me? Offering a cup of tea counts as seduction?"

"Of course! Aside from that, didn't she smile with those wicked eyes, casually show off her cleavage, and unnecessarily bare her thighs?! In all the time I've ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠known Jelaf, she has never acted like that! It was the first time I've ever seen her do such things!"

"...Uh, really?"

I had been so preoccupied with the shamanic ritual and the blinding pain that I hadn't noticed at all.

...Wait, could I use this to my advantage? If she realized I had zero romantic interest in her, maybe she'd finally give up on me.

"If she went through the trouble of seducing me and I just ignored it, that was rather rude of me. Guess I should go have that tea after all—"

"Where do you think you're going? Not a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chance in hell."

Growling and baring her teeth like a fierce little tiger, Tsarkhella cut off my path. Her aura was so terrifyingly resolute and lethal that my limbs froze and my mouth snapped shut.

"Look only upon me, Husband."

"I'd really rather not..."

As I waved my hands in polite refusal with a dry grimace, she shot me a murderous glare.

"Hmph, no matter. You'll fall head over heels for me soon enough anyway... Regardless, now that the price has been paid, shouldn't we get down to serious business?"

"Are you talking about discussing how to wipe out the tribe backed by demons?"

"Huh? No? With you guys around, that'll work itself out. That sort of thing isn't our most urgent priority right now."

"...Then what is?"

An ominous shiver raced up the back of my neck, making me involuntarily swallow hard.

"Our wedding, obviously! As fast as possible! That way we can get the wedding night over with and get me pregnant!"

"......"

A dizzying headache struck me so hard that my hand automatically clamped over my forehead.

"...Just shut up."

"What do you mean by that?! This is important, so stop talking nonsense and lend a hand! At any rate, we have a war to fight, so I'm planning to keep the ceremony simple."

"Please, I'm begging you, shut up."

"As for the date... Maybe two days from now? Besides, we have plenty of meat and booze, so there's no problem! Let's get it done quickly!"

"......"

"You can look forward to our first night! We barbarians have an ancient recipe passed down through generations—the 'Elixir of the Night'! I've never used it myself, but they say drinking it turns you into a complete beast! And the babies born from it are said to be far healthier!"

"......"

She was dead serious. This woman was genuinely, unreservedly preparing to marry me. Regardless of what I thought or felt, she was dead set on ramming through a fait accompli.

Is this... true madness? Was I the fake psycho all along...? This was enough to make me reflect on my life choices.

"...I was wrong. Please, just cut me some slack."

"Huh? For what? Ah, trying to cheat on me? Don't worry about that. I've had a bit of a change of heart. Come to think of it, I don't really need to monopolize you. Of course, I'm the primary wife... but you're welcome to take as many concubines as you like! Ah, not just anyone, of course—only with my permission!"

"Please stop..."

Even as I buried my face in my hands and pleaded, she showed zero sign of stopping.

"...Muriel. Cut down this lunatic."

"Hmm. Marriage, is it...? Perhaps securing the concubine position early on would not be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an entirely bad move..."

"Muriel?"

"Yes, Lord Alzen."

"I told you to cut down this crazy woman."

"You joke too much, Milord."

"I'm not joking?"

"Hahaha."

Offering a completely dry chuckle, Muriel lapsed into silence.

"......"

Am I genuinely screwed here? I have absolutely no clue what to do.

The next day.

Unexpectedly, Weller came looking for me. Knowing she had been actively avoiding me, I wondered if she had finally steeled herself for a confrontation... but that wasn't what brought her here.

"Hey, are you seriously thinking of marrying Sister Lindel?! Are you insane?! Tell her right this second that you won't do it!"

"......"

Yeah. Now that's a normal reaction. Both Weller and I were just amateur posers in the face of true insanity.

"...Sister."

"What?!"

"I don't want to get married either..."

"...!!"

Seeing the sheer despondency and desperation written across my face, Weller's complexion drained bone-white.