Chương 173: An Agreement

The Ebon Blade did not recognize the boy who had become a man at first. Grown up he looked more like his father than the shepherd he'd been. His soul hadn't changed, though, and other than the weight of some unknowable sadness that infused it. The other man was a mystery, the blade thought he was the boy that had visited the standing stones with Geral long ago, but it wasn't sure. Regardless the conversation of the two quickly made their purpose known.

"You can't," the other boy pleaded failing to stop his friend from advancing up the mountain.

"This place is cursed. Everyone knows that!"

"The world is cursed," Geral declared continuing toward the blade giving it as much hope as it had in years. It started nibbling on his friend then, and the sheep, so that it wouldn't lose strength until it determined what was going on.

"If our gods won't listen then maybe the ones this place was built for will."

"But the ancestors—" the second young man. Geral was too focused on his own urgent goals to give the blade a second glance, but the his friend did, before quickly looking away.

"Damn the ancestors!" Geral snarled back, moving beyond the outer ring of stones where it rested and toward the long vacant altar.

"They've done nothing to break Simone's fever, so I'll find someone who will."

"I… I can't be a part of this," the second man said as Geral reached his goal and lifted the lamb onto the ancient stone plinth, but Geral said nothing even as the other man retreated. He was too focused on his goals, and was mumbling a prayer and drawing his knife even before the other man cleared the rings. Still, he waited several minutes before actually plunged the knife into the neck of the helpless beast and beseaching unknown gods to heal his sickly wife.

That act was nothing new for this place; old, dark stains hinted at its ritual past, but no one had used it in such a fashion for at least as long as the blade had been here, and it idly wondered what ancients spirits the act might awaken. Nothing happened, though, physically, or etherically. Not after Geral pledged his soul, or gathered firewood and roasted the carcass to complete his burnt offering.

In those intervening hours, the only thing that happened was that the Ebon Blade grew hungrier, and it became more and more difficult not to devour the Life Force of the only living soul in reach. Still, it endured, and was rewarded for its efforts, when the man brushed against it when he left the circle to get another load of wood. The blade lacked the time hold him still because the man was already walking quite quickly, and unlike a hand there was no way it could force a shoulder to grip it's hilt tightly.

Instead, it took that moment to whisper, I can heal her. That stopped the shepherd in his tracks and he looked around.

"Who said that?" he asked, before calling out more loudly a second time. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The blade could not respond, though it wanted to. All it could do was wait patiently for the young man to put things together, which he did a few seconds later when he addressed the blade directly.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked.

"How can a blade save anyone?" The sword answered him only with silence until he reached up and took hold of the hilt. Then, the blade felt a rush of power through it as it connected fully with the another soul for the first time since Lucian. It was a glorious feeling, and the urge to grip it and claim Geral completely was all but overwhelming. Still, it resisted. This was its first wielder in an age, and the blade would not scare him.

A sword is a master of many things, including the Path of Blood, the weapon assured him. I can restore her health at least temporarily. Beyond that, we would need to investigate the source of the malady.

"You speak," the young man whispered, shocked by the revelation. He did not attempt to pull away, though, or pull it from the stone. Instead he shook his head and continued.

"Anything you can do for her… Anything, even if it costs me my soul." I don't want your soul, the blade looked briefly through the man's soul, and examined his status sheet before answering. I want your body and your dedication.

Name: Geral Iveron Occupation: Farmer Toughness: 5+4 Strength: 5+14 Agility: 4+8 Speed: 5+4 Intelligence: 4 Willpower: 6 -1 Morality: Good Bloodlust: Low Status: Normal Martial Skill: Medium Armor Proficiency: Low Dodging: Low Athletics: Medium Goal: To save the woman I love and grow old with her.

"To do what with?" he asked. To be wielded in battle, the blade answered. It felt the next question ripple across the boy's soul, so before he could ask who he was supposed to fight, the blade answered, I long for battle, and I care not who it is against. The beastmen or the goblins that trouble your community, the hellspawn that I believe must lie beyond it, or even the gods themselves. So long as you fight, that is enough.

"I'm not much of a fighter," the young man answered as he pulled the blade from the crack where it had been wedged for decades, "But I'll learn, if that's what it takes to save her."