The Vengeful Woman (5)

"The Curse of Obsession."

Judging by the circumstances, it was almost certainly the Curse of Obsession.

A curse in which residual thoughts left behind by a grudge at the moment of death take on physical form. Ghosts are born ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the Curse of Obsession roughly ninety-nine percent of the time.

I had only investigated in case it turned out to be something else. Any other curse would have been far too complicated — impossible for me to resolve as I was now.

A few nights ago, when Grat Village lay submerged in darkness, Lana and her husband — worn down by the villagers' hostility — had tried to flee back to the city.

The youth association president happened to be outside at that very hour. He spotted the couple and gave chase at once. They fled into the fields. He caught up to them, and a struggle broke out.

In the tangle of three bodies, the dagger ended up in the youth association president's hand. He murdered the couple. He killed the husband first, then drove the dagger into Lana's back.

It must have been impulsive.

And in that moment, every condition was met. Lana's scream, thick with resentment, became the incantation. The dagger, already inscribed with an empty formula, became the catalyst. The life force saturating the fields became the sacrifice.

The Curse of Obsession was complete, and the ghost appeared.

The youth association president never managed to run. He met his death at the hands of the ash-gray woman.

"Lana's grudge won't be settled until every last resident of Grat has starved to death."

"Young master! That was incredible!"

"…Ah."

Brenden and the men were blinking at me, gathered around in a loose circle. Only Andy was actually cheering me on. I had gotten so absorbed in reconstructing the scene that I had been muttering the whole thing out loud to myself.

It was just a theory I had pieced together — a plausible guess at what might have happened. I knew this world through the lore of Luke's Biography. That did not make me a detective.

"So. Was I wrong?"

Every resident of Grat Village had been assembled in the open square. Men and women, old and young, even the children. I sat in a chair while they all knelt before me — not to project authority, but because I genuinely could no longer stay on my feet. I was exhausted.

"W-we didn't know, sir. We just thought the couple had left. We had no idea they'd died in the fields!"

"Ah. I see."

The village chief bowed his head and delivered the expected line. But he had told me earlier that no one was missing. If he had truly believed the couple had simply left, he should have mentioned them. He had clearly been trying to conceal their very existence from me. He had even asked Father Thomas earlier why city folk would come to a place like this.

"…Come to think of it, where did the priest go?"

"Looked like he headed back to the church. Seemed pretty shaken up."

Just as well. If he had stayed, he would certainly have opposed what I was about to do. Any clergyman worth the title would have.

"Young master! Please, have mercy on us!"

Starting with the village chief, the villagers pressed their faces into the dirt, clasping their hands in desperate entreaty.

"Times were hard in the village!"

"We only took a little charity!"

"We just made them help with the fieldwork, that's all!"

"We never meant for anyone to die!"

"I'm innocent! The chief orchestrated everything!"

"We couldn't go against the youth association president!"

My feelings were hard to pin down. Joy, sorrow, anger, disillusionment — I could sense them, but only faintly. I had expected to be more worked up than this.

The Curse of Emotionlessness, no doubt.

Irritation, at least, came through relatively clearly. Not because of the couple's tragedy. Because these country fools had withheld information and delayed the resolution of the ghost problem. Because even as they bowed their heads before me, it was not me they feared.

That grated.

Until recently, this land had been lawless territory. The man presumed to have murdered the couple was already dead, and handing down a severe punishment over rural bullying was a murky proposition. The reason they trembled with such terror was Baron Manfred.

Long ago, something similar had happened in another village. The baron received the report, declared it had ruined his appetite for drink, and painted an entire village red. He cut every last resident's throat. That was before Christopher Manfred became a lord — knowledge from Luke's Biography, not from Karl's own memories. The story of the father who unleashed the demon-worshipper Karl upon the world was infamous.

"…Everyone, calm down. I won't say a word to my father."

"Brother! These people died unjustly — how can you just—"

I won't say a word, I whispered into Clara's ear. My clever little sister seemed to catch my meaning.

"I only came here to deal with the ghost problem, after all."

The villagers exhaled in relief.

"Now I'm going to perform a ritual… of sorts… to eliminate the ghost. I'll need help. Is there anyone among you willing to enter the fields with me?"

Silence. No one stepped forward. Of course they were afraid — who would willingly walk into the presence of a ghost that hated them? But the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠responsibility for creating that thing lay with all of you.

"No choice, then. The representative will have to go. Village chief."

By then the sun had fully set. Without the torches Brenden and Clara carried, we would not have been able to see an inch ahead. We returned to the fields. The village chief trudged in front, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trembling violently. Brenden followed right behind him with his sword drawn, while Clara and I brought up the rear.

…I was being carried on Andy's back. This frail body had completely run out of power. Walking was simply not an option.

A bone-deep chill that raised the hair on my arms. The ghost's presence. No form had appeared yet, but it had clearly sensed us.

"Let's stop here. Any closer and it'll attack."

Andy set me down. Clara drew up her mana, ready to defend the moment the ghost struck. I took the silver dagger — the catalyst of the Curse of Obsession — in both hands and stepped in front of the village chief.

"My name is Karl Manfred."

"The master of the land that binds you is Baron Christopher Manfred. I am his son."

"As the lord's son, I express my deepest regret for the tragedy you suffered on this land."

"Quench your thirst with the blood of the one you resent, and answer me."

With a wet sound, the silver dagger sank into the village chief's forearm. The blade was so sharp it went in more smoothly than I expected.

"Ghhhk…! Y-young master…! Wh-why…!"

The village chief asked in a shaking voice, but I felt no particular need to answer him.

I had always assumed that if I ever harmed another person, I would be crushed by guilt. Reality proved otherwise. A stimulus I had never felt before tried to drive itself into my mind.

Dangerous.

This was the Curse of Emotionlessness. By dulling every sensation, it made the host easy to addict to strong stimuli, easy to bore of them, and desperate for something even stronger. If I surrendered to this feeling, I would destroy myself — just as Maria had in Luke's Biography, when she became the Demon King.

I had to keep my head clear. The curse had been necessary to withstand the terror of the Curse of Illusion, and its effects had weakened when it transferred from Maria to me — but it was still nothing to take lightly.

The ash-gray woman took form and addressed me. Sensing the village chief's blood soaking into the earth must have restored a fragment of the reason she had possessed in life.

"Lana. I want to lift your curse. Tell me what you desire. Their apology? Or their deaths?"

The ghost regarded the village chief in silence. He could only clutch the arm with the dagger still buried in it and shake.

"Very well."

"I swear it."

A ghost born from a single instant of hatred might have wanted to drink the blood of every resident of Grat on the spot. But with her reason restored, all she wanted now was to leave for wherever her husband had gone. Her revenge was already half complete the moment she killed the fields. Denied the baron's aid, the people of Grat would starve on their own. That would be enough.

"I know."

With those final words, the ash-gray woman drifted toward the place where her husband's corpse lay. The body had been torn into several pieces, and fragments of the youth association president's remains were mixed among them — but the ghost settled into something like an embrace, then crumbled away like mist ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and vanished.

"Let's head back."

"Quit whining and get up, you old bastard."

"Ghhhk!"

Brenden hauled the collapsed village chief roughly to his feet. We had all turned to leave the fields when a voice reached me.

No one else reacted. It seemed I alone had heard it.

Under Brenden's command, the men set the fields ablaze. The acrid stench of smoke replaced the rural reek of fertilizer. The cold air grew warm, and every breath came heated. A light so bright it stung the eyes — red as a sunset — drove back the darkness that had settled over the land.

"I did as you said, Brother."

Clara stirred the wind with sky magic, guiding the flames. She spread the fire across the fields in an instant while keeping it from leaping anywhere else.

"Thank you. You worked hard today."

"You worked harder than anyone, Brother. Are you all right?"

"Not even close… I can barely keep my eyes open."

"Then let's get back and rest. The ghost problem is solved — Cain will be pleased."

"Y-young master… what… what becomes of us now…?"

The village chief approached, his arm wrapped in bandages.

"Didn't you hear what my brother promised the ghost? Whatever happens to you from now on is none of our concern."

I was too tired even to bother answering, so it was a relief that Clara handled him for me.

"W-we'll starve to death! The other fields are all failing too!"

"Hunt in the forest. Forage for mushrooms. Figure it out yourselves."

"These woods are full of bears and magical beasts — how are we supposed to go in there?!"

"Which is exactly why I said it's none of our business."

Yes. This village's problems were no longer mine.

While Clara wrangled with the village chief, I looked down at the silver dagger. It was the only thing that held my interest now. Truthfully, it always had been.

As the fields burned and the promise to the ghost was fulfilled, I could feel the formula remaining in the dagger beginning to collapse. I couldn't dismantle formulas the way Maria could — but a formula already falling apart on its own was something I might be able to interfere with, and claim for myself.