Puppet Beast (5)
Beneath the claws and fangs of the werewolf, many spilled their blood and fell.
Most of them were not the Baron Manfred's men, but beastfolk.
"You bitch! Why the hell are you attacking us!"
"The enemy's the humans!"
"Gyaaaaagh!"
"Where's the boss!"
The werewolf had flung aside the sword it had been swinging somewhere along the way, and was now simply reveling in slaughter and the feast.
Its once-grey fur was soaked completely red.
The screams of the beastfolk went on without end.
A werewolf returns to its original form once its belly is full. The dark mage must have been deliberately starving it.
A werewolf starved to the brink would lose all reason the moment it tasted meat. Forcing it to fight with a weapon had probably been a way to keep it from simply biting its enemies to death. That was Karl's guess.
A muzzle strong enough to withstand a werewolf's bite force would have been hard to come by, after all.
While the Baron held the werewolf at bay, Cain jammed a wild dog monster's leg into its mouth.
It was foul-tasting and highly toxic — nothing a human could eat. But the werewolf, having once tasted flesh, could no longer restrain itself.
It was that easy to push one past the point of control. Which was precisely why, by the time of Luke's Biography, no dark mages remained who still commanded werewolves through the Curse of the Puppet.
Most of them had ended their lives as meals for the very beasts they had once controlled.
"Cain! Are you all right!"
"I'm fine, Father!"
"Good! Everyone, fall back!"
Under the Baron's command, his men withdrew from the burning forest.
All that remained was to wait until the sated werewolf returned to human form — and then sweep away every last beastfolk left standing.
After pouring everything I had into the altered power of the Curse of Obsession, I emptied my stomach of bile with a sense of grim satisfaction.
I'd known this was coming, so I hadn't eaten a thing today.
A low, wet chittering rose from the ground. The black centipede writhed.
I had made the thing myself, and still it looked revolting. But after spending the entire night crafting it, its performance was beyond question.
Even with a body bound by the Curse of Emotionlessness, I felt a flicker of accomplishment at having taken down the dark mage.
I had gauged his strength during the ambush. I had expected that with enough preparation I could probably win — but I hadn't imagined it would be this straightforward.
The combination of the Curse of Illusion and the Curse of Obsession had performed exactly as I'd hoped. If the Karl of Luke's Biography had known how to use this, it would have been truly despairing for everyone else. Maybe he had known, and simply died before he ever got the chance to show it.
I opened the black book I had found among the dark mage's belongings.
The Curse of the Puppet — a curse that allowed one to control beings of low intelligence who were already under a curse. The process of constructing its magic formula was recorded in exhaustive detail.
He had called the Curse of the Puppet his own creation. So this dark mage was apparently its originator.
By the time of Luke's Biography, users of the Curse of the Puppet were not especially rare. But at this point in time, he seemed to be the only one. There had been no bosses or named characters among its users, so it was hardly surprising I hadn't recognized him.
"The Curse of the Lycanthrope…"
The curse that turned one into a werewolf. I had held out a faint hope, but the book contained nothing on it. It was a fairly common curse — I had hoped something might be written down. Though even if it had been, there wouldn't have been much I could do about it.
Most death magic cannot be cast upon oneself. I could try hiring a dark mage to place the curse on me, but a curse received directly is far too potent to control. That was why I preferred to transfer curses whenever possible.
A curse's formula is tailored to a specific target. Once transferred and the host changed, its potency diminishes. Unlike Maria, who had truly lost all emotion under the Curse of Emotionlessness, I — having received her curse secondhand — had merely grown a little more detached.
So in theory, I could have someone else cursed first and then take it from them. But—
"That's far too much trouble."
Finding a sacrificial lamb would be annoying enough on its own. Constructing a formula tailored to the target, then waiting for the curse to settle into them — it all took far too long. I had no desire to go that far.
According to the dark mage, the werewolf that had appeared in the barony was born with the Curse of the Lycanthrope. Innate curses cannot be transferred. I had set out hoping to claim that curse for myself. A pity.
"Nothing to be done about it."
Still, among curses, the Curse of the Lycanthrope was relatively common. Sooner or later I would encounter someone who had become a werewolf after birth.
Unlike the Curse of the Puppet — freshly created, with no dark mages yet who knew its formula — there were curses famous since ancient times, ones that "relatively" many practitioners knew how to construct. The more often a curse manifested innately, the more true this was. Dark mages had studied such curses and reverse-engineered formulas so they could be used as spells. The Curse of Emotionlessness and the Curse of the Lycanthrope both fell into that category.
The Curse of Illusion was something of a special case. Innate cases were almost unheard of, and yet many dark mages knew its formula. For that matter, I wasn't even sure whether anyone besides Karl had ever been born with it. And the original Curse of Illusion was nowhere near as powerful as the one bound to Karl.
"The catalyst for the Curse of the Puppet."
I picked up the fang the dark mage had carried. A strand of grey hair was threaded through its center. The werewolf's, no doubt.
Hair symbolized a person's fate, and was frequently used as a material in death magic. With this, I would be able to control that werewolf. Just in case, I had already asked the Baron not to kill it. Originally it had been for the Curse of the Lycanthrope — but I would have to find some other use for it now.
A droplet struck my head. Then another. I looked up. Rain had begun to pour from the grey sky.
I hid the dark mage's book inside my shadow with dark magic. It might prove useful in learning dark arts — best to keep it dry on the way back.
I called the black centipede back to me. Before leaving, I surveyed what I had done.
Fragments of the dark mage and the beastfolk — remains that barely qualified as corpses. I had killed them more cruelly than necessary. Because of the Curse of Emotionlessness, I found it hard to resist anything stimulating. I told myself I would exercise more restraint going forward. But—
"They'd have to cooperate first."
Refusing even a greeting. At least I had spared the one beastfolk who had shown a shred of manners. I had sent him ahead with the dark mage's head and told him to surrender. Given the Baron's temperament, surrender alone probably wouldn't save him — but if Brenden talked him down, he might live.
I reclaimed the illusory beings, dissolving them back into residual thoughts, and returned to Muranan Village.
The village was quiet. The residents had all been evacuated. The Baron's men were all out fighting. Father Thomas was standing by near the battlefield, ready to heal the wounded with life magic.
"How did it go?"
I stepped into the house we were using as temporary lodgings and asked Sophie. I had asked her to cover for me with some vague excuse if anyone came looking.
"Ah — no one came looking at all, young master!"
"That's a relief."
I threw my exhausted body into a chair. Sophie brought a towel and dried my hair. I must have gotten a little wet in the rain.
I still couldn't lie down. I was tired enough to pass out on the spot, but I had to keep up the act a while longer. As far as anyone knew, I had been waiting in the rear this entire time. I couldn't afford to look like I had been anywhere else.
Still — good thing it had started raining. Clara would have an easier time putting out the fire she had set in the forest.
A great cheer rose from outside, thick with joy. They must have been returning victorious from battle.
Moments later the door banged open, and the Baron, Cain, Brenden, and Jaiden piled in.
"My proud son! So this is where you were! I thought you'd be with the priest!"
The Baron spotted me and laughed heartily.
"Welcome back, Father. I was with him at first, but I felt bad leaving Sophie alone."
"Ha! Soft-hearted, just like me!"
"Soft-hearted? The boss?"
Brenden's interjection set the Baron and him to bickering at once. While the two giants squabbled like children, Cain set two heads down on the table with a dull thud.
One was the dark mage's. The other belonged to the beastfolk I had spared. Apparently Brenden hadn't managed to talk the Baron down after all.
"Little brother! We couldn't have won this without you! Our side took barely any losses, and we captured both the werewolf and the dark mage!"
"I didn't do anything. It was all thanks to the blood and sweat you, Father, and everyone else poured out."
"And he talks a fine game too! Truly worthy of being the next Baron!"
"…Excuse me?"
"Hahahaha!"
Had he just said something strange? He must have simply meant I was a credit to the Baron's children.
"…What happened to the werewolf?"
"Ah. I didn't kill it, as you asked. Though even if you hadn't asked, I don't think I could have."
"Why not?"
"You'll understand when you see for yourself. Come along."
The Baron and Brenden had progressed to actual fisticuffs, and Jaiden was trying to pull them apart. I followed Cain outside. Sophie, apparently too frightened to stay behind, trailed after us in a nervous shuffle.
Cain led us to the building where the wounded were being kept. First aid seemed to be finished; Father Thomas was sitting and resting.
"Father! I've brought my little brother!"
"Lord Karl! You've come. I take it you're here to see the werewolf?"
"That's right."
"Lord Karl. I truly believe the Church's assistance is needed this time. But no one else will listen to a word I say…"
"That discussion is over!"
So that was why he had seemed oddly glad to see me. He had been spouting nonsense about bringing in the Lumenic Church again.
"In any case, this way, please."
Thomas led us to the building next door. The Baron's men standing guard opened the door at the sight of us.
Inside, someone who could only be the werewolf was bound and restrained.
"…Don't tell me the werewolf is—"
"That's correct."
I understood the situation the moment I saw her, and still I couldn't skip the process of asking for confirmation.
Because I had never expected the werewolf to be a young girl.
And because I had never expected that face to be one I already knew.
Grey hair. Grey eyes. Animal ears rising from the top of her head — nothing human.
Dorothy, who chased the stars.
A high-ranking officer of the Demon King's army, as she appeared in Luke's Biography.