Chương 175: The Gift of Life

They were almost back to the village before Geral wondered why he didn't have a wound on his body, and after the blade explained that he'd been healed almost as quickly as he'd been hurt, the man worried he'd squandered the gift meant for his wife, but the blade disabused him of that notion, as it had over 1, 700 Life Force.

That would only have been enough to hold the failing warbringer together for three or four seconds in creation, or a minute or two in hell's fiery heart, but with a wielder once again, it represented an incalculable bounty. The blade could have killed an army or sacked a city with that much power, and while it was not in the business of healing people normally, for the man who had saved it from an endless purgatory on the mountain slope, it could do at least this much.

After she was well, it could focus on teaching Geral what he needed to know before they faced harder threats, though it would prefer practice to actual fighting. It would much prefer to keep itself in the hands of a man a while longer than be taken by the first orc capable of ripping its wielder's arms off, but in the end, that would be decided by the farmer. Anyone is better than another demon, it whispered to itself. Even before they arrived in the man's modest cottage, though, the blade saw the problem.

Geral's home was built amidst the steady flow of evil that came from the hellrift higher on the slope. His fields were bathed in the stuff, and though not so badly stained as it was, the taint was noticeable to the blade immediately. The weapon kept that from him, too, for the moment, not wanting to spoil the reunion between him and his wife. She was in bad shape, though, and barely stirred when Geral kissed her forehead and told her that she was home.

The blade started to heal her immediately, because she was on death's door, but told its wielder, You should change before she wakes or explaining this will be much harder. While Geral removed his shredded green clothing, the blade bore into Simone's soul, noting just how much the taint of this place had damaged her. Though it was no expert on deaths not caused by violence, to the weapon, it looked like the infernal energies that had built up inside her for years had metastasized into a dark cancer.

I wonder if I can even heal such a thing? It wondered. The blade had saved orcs from bleeding out and cured burns and infections, but this was something new. To get a better understanding of what it was dealing with, it reached out, looking at other members of the village. They were all in better shape, but none of them were dramatically so. Out of all of them, Geral was about he closest to pure that there was. Did your father advise you against building a home here?

It asked its wielder when he was dressed once more and sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his beloved's hand. It had looked everywhere for the man who had advised young Geral to stay away from the henge where the blade had lain for so long. The fact that it couldn't find the man almost certainly meant that he'd passed away, which lined up neatly with the rest of the timeline it had seen.

"He would have," Geral answered.

"If he were still alive, but he was like that about most things; he said half of everything was cursed. That's why we came up from the lower valleys." He was right, the blade answered. It had planned to delay this conversation until the man had spoken with his wife, but since she was slow in waking, it started now. The energies of hell permeate this whole side of the settlement. They have soaked into your land, your home; they are also what sickens your wife.

"What? Really?" the man asked. His skepticism was obvious, but after all he'd seen that day, he seemed to treat the blade as a minor god.

"Actual hell? Where?" Up on the slope, on the far side of the lake, the weapon answered. It oozes evil like an open wound. It's worse when it rains, but if you want her to live a long, healthy life, then you should move. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Geral was obviously about to ask where, but when his wife started to stir in her sickbed, the weapon lost all of its wielder's focus. Do not mention me to her, the blade whispered in his ear.

We will deal with that another time. The young man didn't need to be reminded. While the blade still lay by his side, he'd all but forgotten it as he descended into his love-struck moment. The blade tuned that out as much as possible, though it was forced to pay attention at least a little bit, to make sure he said nothing inappropriate. Simone didn't stay awake for long.

She smiled and told her husband that she felt better than she had in weeks, but she was still weak, and almost as soon as the blade stopped healing her, she lapsed into unconsciousness again. The weapon noticed her life begin to weaken almost immediately, and noted that it would probably take a dozen Life Force a day just to keep her at her current level of strength. Its wielder didn't ask it about that, though; he only thanked the blade and then asked it, "What do we have to do to fix this?

Can we close the rift and stem the pollution at its source?" It is not impossible, but at this point, I do not think it wise, the blade answered. We should stay as far away from hell as we can.

"That's a big ask in Golenden," its wielder answered, "The lowlands are foul, and the highlands all belong to some warlord or another." As its wielder spoke, the blade got a vague impression of the wider world and some of the monsters contained within it. They weren't anything it had seen before, implying mutations or worse. I thought I'd left demons behind, the blade sighed to itself. It queried its wielder more on the subject, but the man had little information to offer.

He was young when he was brought here, sometime after his father had built the first cabin of their little village. It was a hard life, but apparently still preferable to fog-shrouded wastes to the northwest. Geral was able to confirm that the home of the gods was only a few leagues away.

"We can see the lights from their peak some nights," he explained. The townsfolk didn't know what they did those nights either, but they were considered ill omens, and people mostly stayed indoors. Surely you want the Gods to intervene in your life, the blade countered. With the state of this place, I'm surprised they don't burn away the region with cleansing fire.

"They have before," the young man nodded.

"More than once, but that was long ago. These days, they seem to care more about the evil that escapes the valley than the evil that is trapped inside of it. They have set some terrible guard dogs to that task, making escape all but impossible." The weapon enquired about that, but its wielder had few answers since the the stories varied so much. Some seemed to describe champions like avatars, and others claimed that dragons or worse guarded the exits of the region tot he wider world.

Their conversation was interrupted periodically by his wife waking now and again. Once, he was up for hours making her soup and telling her that the worst of her sickness was passed. It would have been adorable if the blade cared about such things. Despite those interruptions, though, both of them learned a lot. The blade learned that the world was about how it had imagined in this region, only worse than it would have ever guessed, and its wielder learned that his father was more right than he was superstitious.

When it got too late, Geral fell asleep next to his wife, and in the morning, he gathered the men and women of his village together to share what he'd learned.

"All the land from there, down is poison, and must be abandoned," he declared. He did not say that the blade had told him, though that probably wouldn't have made him seem much crazier. Everyone certainly saw the giant black claymore strapped to his back. Not everyone disagreed with the message, but there were endless complaints.

"All of the most fertile land is in that part of this valley," one man complained.

"If we listened to your dad when he said this kind of shite, we'd all still be eating stone soup!"

"Your cottage is in that area too," another man said.

"And a field you just finished clearing! What are you going to do about that?"

"I'm going to burn it all down," he said.

"I might as well, it's killing my wife." That brought the temperature of the conversation down, but only a little. In the end, no one besides Geral seemed likely to change their ways. At least, not until he vowed to purge the valley of monsters. That got people's attention, but mostly people tried to convince him not to throw his life away.

"It's our only choice," the blade's wielder shot back with finality.

"As long as we have to cower behind our palisade by night… as long as we have to fear the darkness, nothing will change." The blade didn't disagree with any of that. It hadn't even had to influence the man. While he hadn't done much with his life up until now, he seemed ready to do anything to save his dark-haired Simone; everyone else was just along for the ride.