Chương 139: An Accord

Ch. 139 - An Accord As the blade's clockwork wielder approached the absurd dias, the monstrous guards flanking the stairs regarded it, but even when it reached the base of the stairs, they did nothing. For a moment, the blade regarded this strange prince, and he in turn regarded the blade. Despite the crowds, the vast room was so quiet that the only sound was the splashes of the burbling fountain in the pool behind it.

That silence was broken when the chamberlain, or guard captain, or whatever he was, bellowed, "Kneel before Prince—" He didn't get to finish admonishing the Ebon Blade. No sooner did he speak than the dark edge of the blade flashed out too fast to see before returning to a more neutral position in the hands of its wielder. +44 Life Force. +1 Demon Soul. To anyone watching, it would have looked like the demon's head simply fell from its shoulders mid-sentence.

This was followed by a brief fountain of black blood that sprang momentarily from the well-dressed warrior's neck. Then his body collapsed on the white marble of the stairs. A gasp of shock rippled through the crowd, but the blade wasn't paying attention to that. It was focused not just on the tightening grip of the other dozen guards in front of it but also on the blow it had just struck. Something about the angle felt off, but it didn't seem likely to have the chance to understand why before the violence started.

It didn't, though, much to its surprise. Rather than allow its minion to be cut down, the Demon Prince said a single word.

"Wait." That was enough to make the world freeze solid again in a silence that was now tenser than ever. As everyone reconsidered their next actions, the prince said, "Surely that is no way to treat an honored guest, not one who has come so far. Our mystery knight hails from the ninth ring and has slain every Prince and Princess between here and there already, isn't that right?"

"It is," the blade answered in the knight's grating metallic voice.

"I seek the first circle, and the way back to creation."

"That would be quite the journey," the prince answered in a tone that the blade found difficult to understand. Was it sarcasm? Was it being mocked?

"Still, if anyone can, I suppose a man like you would be the one to do it. Might we at least have your name before you depart?" The blade hesitated before answering, "My name is not important, only my mission."

"Still, it would be unspeakably rude not to provide it," Prince Cerirvall mused.

"I can offer no aid to a guest who hides his identity from his host." I am not your guest; you are my foe, the blade snarled mentally, but it didn't say it. While it was in no great need for Life Force right now, information would be more than helpful, and while it could pull those answers from the souls of the dead, it didn't necessarily know what questions to ask.

So, instead of fighting this new demon, it did something it hadn't done in a long time, and sheathed itself and said, "You may call me Ebon, the Warbringer." It was not its proper name, but it was not a lie, either, and the weapon saw no need to be entirely honest with this man or his court. Still, even as it let that much slip, it felt a collective sigh of relief through the vast chamber.

"Excellent," the Demon Prince said, clapping his hands together joyfully.

"We shall have a feast in your honor then. You and I have a great many things to talk about."

"I need no feast," the blade said metallically.

"I require only information, and then I can be on my way. Where is the path forward? Where is the—""All in good time," Prince Cerirvall answered dismissively, distracting the blade. It could feel that the way forward was close. It might even be in this room, but with so many people pressed closely together, it was hard to figure out exactly where it was.

Its annoyance grew, and it considered cutting down a couple more guards to make its point, but as the prince instructed his servants on where it should be taken to freshen up, and it was crowded around by young pages and other serving women, it stayed its hand. That was not due to a feeling of mercy; it just didn't feel threatened. Wasting an hour or two would be worth far more than the souls it could harvest now if it meant getting information about the foes it would face going forward.

So, rather than strike them down, it let itself be led away toward a bathhouse of all places. It had expected to be brought to a suite, but instead it was brought to a steaming tiled room with pools of pristine water, where its filthy armor was scrubbed within an inch of its life by scantily clad human souls that did not seem to be enjoying their task. That was doubly true once the water began to blacken from all the blood, soot, and ichor embedded in the armor. This novel is published on a different platform.

Support the original author by finding the official source. During that time, the blade tried to ask the women questions about their circumstances. Mostly, it wanted to know about the turtle and why the demons seemed to be the masters, and the humans were relegated to the role of servants. In both cases, though, they demurred and insisted it was not their place to say such things.

This was not an acceptable answer to the blade, and after several attempts to do so politely, it reached out and claimed the soul of one of the women who'd moved to carry a load of dirty towels out of the room in a bid to escape its questions. +1 Lesser Damned Soul. Tell me about you, and about this place! Tell me everything, it commanded her fragile soul. She put up no resistance and came apart immediately, with a feeling of gratitude more than fear.

The weapon was confused by that until it realized she'd preferred oblivion to being trapped in hell. After that burst of gratitude, though, came the answers, and none of them were what the blade expected. The soul knew little of hell, but it knew a great deal about this place. The sixth circle of hell was for the proud and the vainglorious. It was where the nobles who mistreated their servants went when they died, and it seemed to be a fitting punishment.

The woman it questioned was named Emalthia, and she was the daughter of a wealthy lord in an era centuries before the rise of the inner kingdoms. Those details passed by in a flash. What took longer was the drudgery of her life here. She'd spent her entire existence wanting for nothing, but ever since she'd died, she slaved away for filthy demons playing at being royalty. It made her absolutely miserable, but judging by the surge of complex emotions, she was glad to do it.

Those who failed to live up to their tasks ended up in worse places than the laundry, including the dinner table for a crowd of bloodthirsty demons to feast upon. The scenes that the blade saw as her life flickered before its eyes were unconscionable, but it was hardly moved by them. The worst part in its mind was all of the cowardice. The servants were too fearful to rise up, and the punishments were too passive-aggressively inflicted.

In this strange place, nothing was direct, but even though everything was supposed to be upside down, this felt too inverted. As it considered all that it had learned, the other servants around it didn't seem to know what the weapon had done, but a few seconds later, a page came in through the door, pale and trembling.

"MMmmmy L-lord, Ebon… If-if it pleases you, Prince Cerirvall has asked me to… That you not eat the servants, m-my lord. He says that you must not spoil your appetite since there will be a great many delicacies at the feast, and you must wait only a little longer." The blade looked silently at the boy, then nodded, and refrained from consuming any of the other staff. So the prince can see what I'm doing, even from here? It whispered to itself. Can it see what I do with the souls? Does it know I questioned this one?

Suddenly, the way the servants had disappeared before made sense. The Demon Prince had guessed what it might do and withdrew its people to prevent it. So then he's smart, or at least wary, the blade thought. At least more than the last few. The Ebon Blade found it interesting that the rulers of the circles were almost as different as the circles themselves, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. That, more than anything, was what it wanted to learn tonight. What lies ahead? Who must I fight?

Those were the questions it considered as it stepped out of the large tub; its metal body shone in a way that the blade hadn't even suspected it was capable of. By contrast, the water it left behind was almost as black as the swamp it had left so recently. As it dried off, the servants attempted to polish its armor. It allowed them to a point, but when one of them got too close to the sword, it pushed them away and said, "Enough of this. All of this preening is at an end. Take me to your lord."

This seemed to go against their orders, and for a moment, the group of them hesitated. One insisted that it still had to be perfumed, and another insisted that they had a fine selection of cloaks for it to choose from, but eventually their fear for the blade and its knight won out, and they shrank away, letting it exit the room. That was only a small blessing, though, because it quickly got lost. The turtle was not a temple, or even a city.

It was a mountain-sized castle, and it seemed as if every inch of its shell was filled with halls that led to doors that contained any number of people and places. While the blade looked for the way back to the grand hall, it examined the threads, trying to divine the purpose and connections of each place, but those efforts constantly led it astray. Still, it found servants' quarters, storage rooms, bedrooms, and even ballrooms. This time, though, the people did not vanish before it.

This time, everywhere the weapon went, it found demons going about their strange mockery of life, and the souls of the damned were much abused as they treated them like royalty in the process. It might have wandered for hours had a messenger not come to find the Ebon Blade and lead it to the dining room. From there, things moved relatively quickly. Really, they were suspiciously quick. How can I spend an hour lost, but be only two minutes away from the room when they call for me? Something was clearly wrong here.

It did not know what it was, but as it walked into the grand feasting hall, it knew that there was an issue, and it needed to figure it out.