Chương 179: Welcome to the Wasteland

Over the winter, the weapon tried to figure out exactly how long it had been in hell, but it made no progress. Even after it instructed its wielder to do some asking. This little valley was just too remote. It might only be a few hundred miles from the border of the Inner Kingdoms, but it was worlds removed from civilization. A few weeks after the spring thaw began in earnest, well before Simone was starting to show, Geral went the only direction they hadn't gone up to this point, to the northeast.

He went down the scree-covered slopes with the Ebon Blade into the mostly snow-free valley below. Contrary to what everyone had said about the place, it was far from a hellscape. Once they descended below the thick clouds that separated the two places, the verdant landscape spread out around them far into the distance. In places toward the center of the valley, where the soil was deep enough, the trees were thick. Everywhere else, the land was dominated by endless meadows.

Of course, the blade wasn't limited to looking at things like everyone else, and as soon as it studied the flows of essence through the world, the taint was obvious. The energies of hell pooled in the center, rising to a depth of over a hundred feet, like a sea of invisible evil. From a distance, the blade couldn't be sure that no humans dwelled below that invisible waterline, but it was sure that whoever did wouldn't remain human for long.

Life had clearly adapted and learned to survive in such conditions, but the weapon was sure that it was twisted in any number of ways. Before he left, he took enough supplies for several weeks to avoid hunting and the tainted meat it would provide. He also promised his wife he'd be back within a month, but had no idea if that was true. She hated the idea of losing him for that long, and she'd made no secret of it. Really, she didn't think that he needed to go at all.

"If you've purged the valley… if you've really made it safe here, then why not stay… We could, I don't know, block the entrance or something and let the rest of the world burn for all I care. I just want you with me, forever."

"I want nothing more, my dearest," he agreed.

"Then stay!" she insisted, embracing him.

"Don't bring a son into the world without a father!" While her husband argued that it was impossible, he'd actually considered just that several times. Only the fact that if they collapsed that canyon, they'd be locking themselves in a place that slowly filled with poison prevented them. Once, in the depths of winter, he'd traveled as close to the hellrift as the blade would allow to see what could be done about it, but with his own eyes, all he could really see was a wide clearing without snow and heat shimmer.

With the blade's assistance, he was able to perceive the stream of evil that flowed out, down the slope. Once Geral's gaze looked down to the ashes of his cabin, though, his conviction was renewed. If he couldn't close the breach, then he had to keep it from poisoning the life of his family again.

Even though it might have discouraged the man, the blade considered reaching out to the God Soul that it still held in its heart to ask what might be done, but merely brushing against it was enough to agitate that great power, and the blade was not at all certain it wanted to grapple with her for control; it was better to keep her imprisoned. If I'd just stuck to the Divine Path, I'd probably have powers for dealing with her, but without it… this situation is not dire enough to warrant it, the weapon reflected.

The way down the mountain slopes was an easy one, and at least until they reached vegetation, they saw no signs of monsters or men. That changed shortly thereafter, though. The Ebon Blade was studying a patch of wildflowers that was dyed the same ugly chartreuse as the hellish sun when the first group of infernal orcs made their presence known.

The trio was each a head taller than they were used to, and their green skin had become so dark it was almost black, and their eyes burned with an inner fire that glowed with black flames when viewed through the lens of essence. Be careful, the blade whispered to its wielder. These are stronger than the ones you faced until now. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"I know," its wielder grunted as he dropped his pack and drew the weapon from the crude leather back scabbard it rested in. He then waited just long enough for them to fan out before he charged the one on the left. Presumably, that was because it was the farthest from its friends. The tainted brute raised his crude stone axe to parry, but even without Vorpal Strike, it didn't stand a chance against the blade's black edge.

It cleaved right through the hardwood and the creature's spine, letting the blade taste the difference between a normal orc and a hell tainted one for the first time. +48 Life Force. +1 Monster Soul. While the weapon did not like the sharp acid tang that had crept into the blood and bone of the orc, it wasn't even remotely as bad as a full demon. It was just exotic in a way that it would probably grow accustomed to before this was done.

Geral was on his feet in a flash, but he only barely got the chance to brace himself before the next one was upon him.

"Too fast," he grunted. While the blade agreed the monsters were faster than expected, they weren't too fast for Geralt's current level of skill. So, it didn't use Bolt to reposition him. It just watched the desperate fight that followed. This one had seen him bring down the first warrior and understood the threat that his dark weapon posed. So, he fought more defensively, probing with his fire-hardened spear.

The orc lost the tip of the spear twice for his trouble, but he kept both of his limbs and bought time for the other one to join him. The two of them circled Geral now, each with a reach of almost four feet to either side of him, and they brayed and roared as they did so. While the Ebon could fight a hundred of these at once by using some of its greater powers, its wielder could probably only handle three or four at once. So the blade watched, curious who the caution would benefit more.

The stalemate lasted only another half minute more. Then, when the orc behind Geral charged him, he reversed his grip and impaled the creature through the chest. It roared in outrage and pain as the blade drank deeply of its Life Force and its black blood began to freeze in its veins. It even lifted Geral up by his throat, but the human never released his weapon, and bisected the ribcage, throat, and skull of the surprised enemy. +44 Life Force. -34 Life Force. +1 Monster Soul.

Even while he struggled to breathe, Geral lashed out at the last one. This time his blade arrived second, and he took a blow to his head hard enough to crack his skull, but even as he staggered back, and nearly fell on his ass, the orc paused, wondering how it had been disemboweled, and as it tried to shove its guts back inside its body where they belonged, the warrior brought his blade down one more time, cleaving deep enough into its chest that the orc would never rise again. +83 Life Force. -51 Life Force.

+1 Monster Soul. It was only when his opponents lay dead around him that he collapsed as well. He spent several minutes just catching his breath and letting his body heal.

"There, not so tough," he gasped. The blade offered no commentary. -19 Life Force. They went a ways further after that, and encountered another pair of orcs. Geral made short work of them now that he knew what to expect. One of these eight-foot-tall monsters might crush a dozen men, but their flesh was just as fragile as any other, and they bled out nearly as quickly.

As they made further progress toward the center of the stained valley, the blade saw a few settlements, but all of these were walled enclosures on defensible hills or cliffs. People did live here, but only because they were afraid of the things that lurked in the dark. There were other oddities, too. It spotted miscolored flora and mutated fauna more and more frequently as they descended.

Even knowing that the blade would wake it in case of ambush made its wielder wary of doing more than resting against a tree for a few hours later that evening. Instead, he stayed awake and said, "Show me again, show me how foul this place is?" The blade complied, showing its wielder the vast lake of blackness that swirled only a few miles before them.

"There's so much evil there," he whispered.

"In that scale… how am I to know we are even doing any good?" You can measure the good you do as you have always done so far, the blade suggested. By your body count. Every monster you best is one less that will ever hurt anyone else again. Its wielder nodded at that. It wasn't quite wisdom, but it still rang true. They would kill until there was no more killing to be done or Geral dropped dead from old age. He hadn't started to gray yet, but the blade expected him to sometime this year or next.

He'd been in his early twenties when he'd first lifted the blade, but six months later, he was probably close to thirty, and by the time he closed in on forty, that gap would be impossible to hide. That gave Geral another two or three good years, and while the blade was curious what it would do afterwards, it was even more curious if he'd survive long enough to die of old age. That would be an interesting first in its violent life.