Chapter 32
Chapter 32
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: The Shamans
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"What did you do—"
Glia was flustered. If anything, she wanted to ask him the same thing. What the hell had he done?
The reagent contained Glia's power as a shaman who gazed upon the 5th circle.
That power—had vanished without a trace.
From the hands of a bastard who was merely at the 3rd circle.
"How dare you!"
A roar burst from Meltas's mouth.
Meltas, a mage of Keig Magic Tower, had already shared a not-so-brief conversation with Glia.
From that exchange, he had realized something. Glia possessed an elegant demeanor unfit for a barbarian's status and knowledge shrouded in mystery.
He had taken a favorable impression of her as a fellow human and felt intrigue as a scholar. She was no one a mere bastard could rudely disrespect.
Meltas drew upon his mana.
He intended to reclaim the reagent the bastard had snatched from the shaman while simultaneously teaching him some manners.
"Sir Meltas."
It was Salana's chilling voice that halted Meltas.
"I told you clearly, didn't I? Rishir is my guest. I'd appreciate it if you toned down treating him like some lost bastard."
Her usual cheerful vibe remained intact. But those eyes. That utterly unbridled attitude.
"..."
Meltas was a 6th-circle powerhouse. An elite mage who commanded the respect of Keig Magic Tower.
He was no one for a mere upper-rank 5th-circle adventurer to trifle with.
So why? Right now, he couldn't utter a single word to the woman before him.
Meltas unconsciously brought a hand to his neck.
In his rage, Salana had given him the fleeting illusion that a blade was pressed to his throat.
But that lasted only a moment.
"Ahem!"
Meltas rose from his seat.
"I understand your intent well. It seems to you, your ties to that bastard outweigh your connection to me."
"Is that what's important right now?"
"What?"
"Didn't you hear Rishir just now? What they did to the reagent—doesn't that pique your curiosity? I want to hear the rest of this story, but you two seem to think otherwise?"
"..."
Meltas's braided beard quivered with fury.
"Fine. Let's hear it then. What nonsense is he spouting?"
Meltas sat back down and fixed Rishir with the peevish glare unique to the elderly.
"What did you do to the reagent? What do you mean by that?"
"..."
Rishir examined the reagent briefly from various angles before speaking.
"Truth be told, I possess a special power."
"A special power?"
"My master called it the power of... Normalization."
"Nor...malization?"
"It's the power to return abnormal states of objects or beings to their normal state. From my experience, this normalizing force mainly reacts to powers that exert negative influences around them. For instance, it's reacted to demons and black mages before."
"What a convenient power."
Naturally, Meltas didn't believe a word.
He'd never heard of such an absurd power in his lifetime, and it was even harder to accept that a mere 3rd-circle bastard wielded something so extraordinary.
"..."
Rishir, as if anticipating Meltas's reaction, pulled an item from his bosom.
"What is...?"
Meltas leaned forward, eyes narrowing. He immediately recognized what Rishir had produced.
"...The emblem of Durayeg?"
It was a single document Dares of Durayeg had given Rishir as thanks for his aid.
Stamped with Durayeg's emblem, it bore Dares's ornate script vouching for Rishir.
"Why do you possess a document stamped with Durayeg's emblem?"
Durayeg. They were one of the pillars of the flames.
No mage uttered that name lightly.
A glint of interest entered Meltas's eyes as he regarded Rishir.
"It's related to the power I just mentioned."
"That Normalization power?"
"I provided personal assistance to Sir Dares Durayeg using my power. This is the item I received in return."
"..."
Meltas knew of Dares.
Not personally close, but tales of a house like Durayeg were standard gossip among enthusiasts.
'Dares Durayeg's fiancée was said to have an incurable disease—'
Meltas wondered.
Was this bastard claiming he'd cured that very disease?
The one deemed incurable even by renowned healers?
An unrealistic tale.
Yet Durayeg vouching for a bastard in their house's name was equally implausible.
"So you're saying your Normalization power reacted to the reagent, meaning it contained unclean power?"
"Yes. Salana trusts me thanks to that power as well. I used it to heal her skin."
"Ah, so that's how it was."
Salana nodded and showed Meltas her scar marks.
"..."
Meltas, observing Salana's scars more closely, nodded in agreement.
Setting aside the power's might, it was clear Rishir possessed something special.
Meltas, deep in thought, shifted his posture.
His body, tense as if ready to bolt, now leaned back against the chair with arms crossed.
"Let me say this first. I did nothing to the reagent. From the start, it was something Glia prepared personally."
Meltas's gaze turned to Glia.
He, who had defended her moments ago, now interrogated her.
"You two. How can you believe him over me? Sir Meltas, you're meeting me for the first time, so I'll excuse you, but Salana. Shouldn't you know better? After all the help I've given you these past few months."
The shaman maintained her composure even now.
That mystique lent weight to her words, but Salana's reaction was lukewarm. No, frigid.
"We're veering off topic. Let's start with what happened to our reagent?"
"It's not unclean power. That bastard arbitrarily judged my shamanic power. Tell him, Rishir. What do you know about shamanism? How much about magic and mana?"
The shaman's eyes were clear and unwavering.
Her piercing gaze felt like a spell in itself.
"..."
"..."
Even Meltas and Salana, listening beside her, found themselves swayed despite themselves.
"Mind if I check what's in there?"
But Rishir was unaffected. His gaze casually slipped from Glia's and fixed on the pouch at her waist.
The shaman's eyes trembled faintly.
"I refuse. I have no obligation to share my possessions' status with you."
Rishir ignored her and continued addressing Salana.
"Salana. When I used Normalization on your skin condition, it felt to me like a vat connected by a pipe."
"A vat connected by a pipe?"
"Even if you empty the contents, new ones keep flowing in through the pipe."
A good analogy.
Rishir thought so himself, but unlike his instant understanding, Salana and Meltas looked ambiguous.
It was because they lacked the knowledge Rishir had.
Knowledge of shamanism.
Shamanism was barbarian lore—primitive knowledge.
Few encountered it, and fewer bothered learning it.
Memorizing one more noble house history was preferable.
Even Meltas, a tower scholar, knew next to nothing about shamanism before meeting Glia.
Proud of his intellect, he'd shunned such lowly knowledge.
And without hearing Salana's tales of Glia's useful shamanism, he'd never have cared.
Rishir, on the other hand.
He was the man who roamed a warehouse annex called a library, stuffed with books on crude knowledge.
In his bid to escape bastard life, he'd devoured the discarded tomes haphazardly.
Among them were books on barbarian ecology, some covering shamanism.
Not profound, but sufficient now.
"Sir Meltas? Are there spells that operate that way? Ones that keep affecting a target remotely via an external source."
"Not that I know of. If any exist, they'd be secret arts passed to specific mages."
"What about shamanism?"
"Shamanism?"
"There's a shamanic ritual called the 'Effigy Curse.' You make an effigy using part of the target's body and use it to continuously affect them."
Rishir felt frustration here.
In his past life, it'd be "You know, like a voodoo doll?" Simple.
"...Does such a ritual really exist? To begin with, you—"
"Rishir? You know about shamanism?"
"I'm a bastard, aren't I? I read the books fitting my station."
"..."
"..."
The two fell solemnly silent.
"That's why I wanted to check the shaman's luggage. I sensed the same energy from her pouch as from Salana's skin. Probably the 'effigy' I mentioned is in there."
Salana and Meltas's gazes locked onto Glia's pouch simultaneously.
"..."
By now, Glia's calm demeanor had utterly crumbled.
Her clear eyes shook mercilessly.
A mage guessing a skin condition stemmed from shamanism was plausible.
But pinpointing it as an Effigy Curse?
Only possible with basic shamanic knowledge and an anomalous ability to instantly erase its malevolent aura.
For Glia, it was a bolt from the blue—a textbook unfair situation.
"Glia."
Salana extended a hand to her.
As Rishir said, Glia's pouch held the curse's source: the effigy.
Normally, she'd store it safely elsewhere, but—
Today was crucial for Glia.
The day to reap her long labors.
Rishir's intrusion had shifted plans slightly—but no matter.
Just advanced the timeline a bit.
"Salana. Know this one thing. The shaman who cursed you wasn't me."
Glia pulled the effigy from her pouch.
Crafted of straw, stained with blood, embedded with strands of dark red hair presumed Salana's.
As if placing it in Salana's hand—
Slash.
Glia sliced the straw doll's belly. Blood gushed from the gash, and Glia greedily drank it.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Finishing her draft, Glia wiped her lips with her hand and continued.
"I didn't approach you with that intent from the start. Originally, I planned to brew a reagent from my knowledge for your skin plight and claim reward. Plus, build ties with a promising adventurer like you."
"Then why?"
"...I discovered the truth of your skin condition. It was a curse cast by some mighty shaman who sacrificed even their life for you."
"..."
Salana's pupils dilated subtly then contracted.
A mighty shaman. It rang a bell.
A foolish one with vast power, who'd tried using a noble to unseal a summoner.
As assassin guild master, Salana had executed her.
The skin disease as karma—
Unimaginable.
It had been over five years since then.
The symptoms started just a year ago.
"I was entranced by that curse. If I could claim that ownerless curse, I could make you—who it bound—mine too. My periodic meetings under the guise of healing were for that. I analyzed the curse, traced its roots, and finally reached the source."
Glia closed her eyes gently, then opened them.
Her clear pupils dyed an ominous black.
"Do you remember a shaman named Balaka? The assassin."
"...!"
How.
Salana murmured blankly.
"At the curse's origin, I spoke with her."
An ill foreboding gripped Salana's instincts.
This couldn't stand.
She immediately triggered the poison implanted in Glia.
With a thudding pulse, Glia's breath stopped.
"She said—"
Yet Glia's words continued.
"If you promise not to hinder the grand design, she'll release you."
"Wh-what is this—Salana! Glia! What in the world is happening?!"
Meltas gasped raggedly.
The malevolent aura pouring from Glia now instilled primal terror even in a 6th-circle mage.
"What say you, assassin? Will you pledge to her?"
"...Glia, do you even know what you've gotten involved in?"
The assassin guild master, mask of adventurer shed, faced her.
"..."
Glia closed her eyes once more.
When they reopened, they were empty voids.
Black ichor oozed from them.
"That's for you to learn. Isn't it, hound of rules?"
Salana realized. The being before her was no longer Glia.
The shaman had returned from death. A death-servant wielding death, gazing upon it.
Another necromancer was born.
[Entity's influence too strong]
That overwhelming presence filled their world completely.
Meltas forgot the other two and focused solely on the entity before him.
Salana forgot the other two and focused solely on the entity before her.
...And Balaka.
She too forgot the other two and focused solely on the entity before her.
"..."
Rishir.
He faced Balaka with a lax vibe utterly out of place.
It was no pose of awe toward the necromancer.
'What the hell is this now?'
Such a dumbfounded voice seemed to echo.
He slowly extended a hand toward Balaka.
"!!!"
Screeeeeeeeech!!!
A scream like rending space filled the room.
Thud.
Balaka collapsed in place.
No, Glia.
"?"
Regaining control of her body abruptly, her face turned entranced.