Chương 184: Making A Difference

The two of them made five more month-long trips before the birth of Geral's first child. Each one was a blood bath, and by the time they were done, orcs in the valley were an endangered species, and even goblins were looking a little skinny. +4, 986 Life Force. +106 Less Monster Souls. +34 Monster Souls. +1 Greater Monster Soul.

On one attempt, they even fought a manticore with the heads of a tiger, a rat, and an ox, and a poison breath attack that burned its wielder's lungs with a yellow fog so badly that it took him half a day to heal completely. That was an ugly night full of bloody phlegm, even with the blade's enhanced healing abilities; it was like the magic of Hellfire had leaked into its wielder's body and burned him from the inside out.

By the time it was done, his entire respiratory tract had been replaced, and the flesh was pink and fresh. -1, 798 Life Force. +1 Great Monster Soul. Still, he kept all of those gory details as far from home as possible and spoke only with his weapon about the things he'd seen and done.

"Am I really bringing them peace if I come home with tales nearly as fearful as the monsters themselves?" Geral explained one night when they talked. He didn't attempt to hide anything from the Ebon Blade, treating it as a sort of demigod with a flock of one. Rather than share his pain with those who benefited from it, he came home with nothing but a wide smile and stories about his triumphs. Simone didn't even hear much about those, though. She received only platitudes and caring words.

Geral talked with other men about the bloody present, but he talked with his wife only about the future, and how one day they'd have a fine family and grow old together. All he left out was that he'd be growing old much sooner than she expected as he devoted himself to purging monsters wherever he found them. And to some extent, those efforts proved the blade wrong. It wouldn't have believed it at the start of this. It didn't really.

It recalled its skepticism the prior year, but it turned out that one man could make a difference, even in this miserable situation. He only had a few years left, but he might well improve the conditions in the region for a generation before his hair went white and his strength left him. Its wielder and his wife named the squalling infant Oliven, and for a time, the blade was neglected, but the only time it really cared was when someone suggested that Geral take off the back scabbard that held it and relax.

"At least when you hold your kid for crying out loud," one of the other farmers told him after buying him a drink.

"It's not like we're about to get attacked at any moment here. The village is safe, you can relax now." -74 Life Force. It was a fair point, and a true one, too. Its wielder's wife agreed with it wholeheartedly, and it was the sole point of friction between the two of them, but she no longer tried to argue with him about it. The village was safe, but it wasn't as if Geral could explain his relationship to the blade.

He couldn't exactly tell them that it was draining years of his life and that it would never allow him to put it down. Even if he tried to tell anyone, the Ebon Blade would grip his throat and prevent it. He didn't try, though, because he was a good wielder. Instead of trying to rebel or escape his fate, he accepted it and took solace in his quiet family life before returning to the battlefield. There was nothing. In the upper valley, that could hurt his new family, so they descended to the lower valley once more.

The blade hoped that this trip, they would find another large monster to test Geral, because he was growing too comfortable to learn anything from the smaller pests they encountered as they went. Unfortunately, they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams when two weeks into their trip, they encountered the biggest creature the blade had encountered since it had slain the turtle that wore a mountain as its shell in the sixth circle of hell.

The two of them had been in a series of running battles near the western edge of the toxic valley, following the remnants of a beastman herd that refused to finish things in one climactic battle because of the losses that Geral had already inflicted on them. He'd cut their population in half, and the other half seemed to be more inclined to run than to fight when death descended on them. It caught the blade entirely by surprise.

One minute, they were alone save for the frightened mutated opponents scattering out before them, and then, they weren't, as something large and terrible noticed them. Even before the beast was visible to the eyes, it was visible to the weapon's etheric sight. It hadn't been there a moment before; the blade was quite sure of that much. It was a single point of glowing purple fire, hiding beneath some thick armor. At first, the weapon thought it might be some kind of ambush.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. It actually welcomed, that. It had long sought someone from outside of the valley, and if a haughty errant mage sought to strike it down with a cowardly sneak attack, then the sword would interrogate its soul and learn much about the current state of the world. It almost relished that idea.

Unfortunately, that power manifested, not in a lancing attack of light that it was prepared to dodge, but in spreading out to reveal the outline of something that became increasingly familiar. It was the outline of a dragon, or most of one anyway. We are about to be attacked, the blade whispered in its wielder's ear as it watched the strange sight unfold. It was the first time it had ever said those words without sounding excited, or at least urgent.

There was something about this situation that it did not like, but it was only when the dragon's skeleton had fully energized and begun to move that it realized exactly what that was.

"What? Where?" Geral asked, looking around. The blade shared its vision absently as it struggled with what it was seeing. The dragon shape that burned with the strange purple fire was almost certainly the thing that they'd seen from a distance before, but that was the least interesting part. From here, even a quarter of a mile away, it realized where it had seen similar patterns before, and that was in the Warbringer. The creature waking before them wasn't a living thing, but some kind of magical construct.

That should have excited the weapon, but it worried that the Aetharchy had finally found it. For a moment, it considered running, not because it was afraid, but because it might be best to avoid provoking a fight and stay hidden. That was impossible, though. The blade was made for fighting, not avoiding fights, and when the thing stretched its giant wings and took to the sky, it realized there was no way they could outrun it without a horse, and maybe not even then.

"What should we do?" its wielder asked. What would you like to do? The blade countered, responding to his question with a question of its own.

"I want to survive, this," Geral said honestly.

"So, I'm open to ideas." To survive this, you should either run toward battle or away from it, the sword answered after a moment of deliberation. Standing here is certain death. The dragon circled, gaining altitude as it went, as Geral watched slack-jawed. Then it came down like a bolt of damnation, laying down a path of blinding purple fire as it went. Geral had just started to charge the flying beast when the trail of flames suddenly made him strafe left.

However, the dragon adjusted immediately, showing that such a small effort wouldn't be enough to escape its wrath. The blade watched that with interest, but it did not act until the last moment, using Bolt to fling its wielder clear of the wall of fiery death, and leaving Geral only a little singed for his efforts. It circled then, and looped back, preparing to blast them a second time. We'll never get a chance to fight the thing properly from here, the weapon whispered. We'll have to bring the fight to it.

-50 Life Force. It tried to Disrupt the mechanical marvel's flames, but the magic did nothing. Presumably, that was because the distance was too great, but they would soon find out. -50 Life Force.

"The fight to it?" Geral shouted, sensing the weapon's meaning.

"You mean we're going to fight it? In the sky?" The blade's only answer was to Bolt twice more. Once for the height, and another to land astride its back, between its two giant leather wings. While its wielder struggled to reorient itself, the sword took in its surroundings as well as the measure of its opponent. -100 Life Force. The beast was definitely made of the blood and bones of a dragon.

To the blade's eye, it actually looked as if it were made of several smaller dragons that had been pieced together, but they were not alone. There were parts made of steel, bronze, and other stranger metals, too. Its comparison to the Warbringer had been apt; this thing was driven by gears as much as magic. There was a malign intelligence that ran bone deep in this hundred-foot-long monstrosity.

Geral reacted poorly to the sudden relocation, but even with the delay, he still moved fast enough to stab the blade deep into a crevice between two scales. The dragon didn't react immediately, nor should it, since there was nothing to indicate it felt pain. The blade tasted only rust and bone in the strike. Now that it had connected with its opponent, though, it tried to Disrupt it. +64 Life Force. -50 Life Force. Even here, Disrupt didn't work.

So instead, the sword activated the Bug Queen's Severed Thread ability. That did it. The mechanical zombie dragon roared in outrage and performed a barrel roll, sending it and its wielder tumbling toward the ground below. The blade didn't try to stop that, even as Geral screamed in fear. -200 Life Force. It could manage the landing just fine, but trying to stay atop the monstrosity might have ripped it from its wielder's grasp.

It will be better if we fight on the ground, the blade told itself, adjusting its wielder's body as they fell to do as little damage to it on impact as possible. As they fell, though, it was not fear that gripped the weapon, but clarity. Danger heightened its entire experience. This was the first fight in a long time that it might not win. Not because it couldn't slay a dragon, of course, but because its wielder might not survive the experience.

As it reflected on that, though, and how it would do battle with the guardian of the valley, a name drifted out from the dim recesses of its memory. It had heard a name for this when it browsed the memory of the mage who had shown it the book of artifacts. This was another monstrosity from those pages, The Mechanical Drake, and they would have to defeat it, or its wielder at least would have to die in the attempt.