Chapter 708: The Smith’s Folly
<=Kaijin Lord Protocol:[Your Dreams Are Mine] has been initialized. Please proceed to connect the target object to the designated [Chaos] channel, thank you.=>
‘Excellent.’
Technically speaking, Zhen Liu was the least qualified person to be handling a matter such as “curse removal” due to one simple fact: he was literally built different.
Most cursed aether treasures could only get their curses expunged by using rituals and items designed to “purify” the source of the curse, i.e., remove the grudges and desires that tainted them in the first place. One could also get away with using light attributed(Luxarii) aether to do so naturally, but it takes longer and way more aether had to be expended in the process.
Such items and practices though were antithetical to Zhen Liu’s current existence as [Kaijin Lord], someone whose very existence is predicated on [Desire] and its many, many uses. That and it didn’t help that [Chaos] had a tendency to exacerbate desires as opposed to stifling them, meaning whatever curse this hammer carried could become exponentially stronger if Zhen Liu attempted to emulate the traditional methods of curse removal with his abilities.
Keyword: traditional.
Over the course of a short conversation with Logos and Pathos, Zhen Liu learned that the curses in cursed aether treasures functioned very similarly to a [Desire Core], but they lacked the sparks of [Chaos] that made them viable for kaijin creation.
‘Sorry about this, Xiao Guo. I’ll be sure to compensate your manicurist.’
However, this also meant that they could be absorbed like a [Desire Core].
Zhen Liu grabbed on tight to Zhen Guo’s hammer wielding hand and began channeling [Chaos] through his palms. As the [Chaos] flowed, Zhen Liu manipulated it so that it wouldn’t affect his possessed cousin but flow directly into the cursed aether treasure.
‘Tsk! Ow.’
Zhen Liu’s eye twitched as he felt a resistive force coming from the hammer, an obvious attempt to prevent the progression of his [Chaos] probe. from entering it’s inner workings (Un)fortunately, the attempt failed as the aether behind it began to break apart against the encroaching [Chaos].
‘Okay, you funky little hammer. Why don’t you do me a favor and show me kind of story you have…,’ Zhen Liu thought to himself as began to connect with the cursed hammer in earnest.
‘As a trade-off for being able to absorb a curse though, Zhen Liu had to experience the reason why the curse manifested in the first place. All from a first person, firsthand level.
‘Damn…it’s always the ones who just want peace who suffer the most, huh?’
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In order to properly convey the depths to which our protagonist had been exposed to when he connected with the hammer’s curse, it had been decided to try and share the story in a manner practically everyone in the world was familiar with.
As such…
The Library of Nowhere Proudly Presents: The Cursed Smith of Spider Lilly Valley.
…
Once upon a time, back when the sun was much younger, when the valleys were just simple rivers and the world was less documented, there was a little village that was famous for two things.
The first, and most obvious, was its glorious flower fields.
Surrounding the village for miles on end were big, beautiful fields filled with flowers of all shapes, sizes and colors. From mundane daisies to rare medicinal roses that could cure the most virulent of plagues, it was said that if a particular type of flower was found to be extinct in the outside world, it could still be found alive and thriving, hidden in this particular village’s fields. Granted, not many of the residents actually knew about this part, they just thought the flowers were beautiful. Many people from all walks of life would come to the village just to see these gorgeous flower field.
As for the second thing that made the village famous, it was none other than their resident metalsmith that helped to put their name on the map.
The metalsmith was a quiet, simple fellow who was neither ugly nor handsome. He never wanted for anything, but he wasn’t wealthy either. For all intents and purposes, he was someone many people saw as simply being part of the background…most of them.
When the metalsmith of this quiet village finally got to work, got to be behind his favorite anvil and trusty hammer, it was if he was a different man altogether.
From his forge, the metalsmith could produce all sorts of items from copper springs, to silver mirrors to even the most beautiful iron nails one could ever hope to find. It didn’t matter what kind of metal he worked with, he could always turn it into a masterpiece. In fact, it was often speculated that he was the best smith not only in the village, but in the entire world. Although, the metalsmith never believed this statement himself.
He was just a simple metalsmith, after all.
But one day, a strange visitor, wearing simple clothes but bearing the gravitas of a noble, had come to the village, not for the flowers, but for the metalsmith himself.
“I heard that you were a master metalsmith. Can you fix this weapon of mine?,” the visitor had asked the metalsmith. The weapon in question was a strangely shaped sword with a hilt made of a polished white material, all in all, the weapon was something completely foreign to the metalsmith. This didn’t stop him from accepting the job though.
He was a metalsmith, after all.
“I’m not entirely sure if I can accomplish what you ask, but I will do my best. I’m a metalsmith, after all.”
Over the course of a week, the metalsmith had used every trick he learned, every technique he mastered and strained his eyes to the point of breaking, all in service of fixing a strange looking blade. By the time he was done, the blade wasn’t only fixed but it had been improved at some intrinsic level.
“This is amazing! Thank you for fixing it.”
“Anytime.”
“Here is your payment. I hope you live a long and happy life.”
“Thank you!”
And so, after receiving his payment, the metalsmith lived the rest of his days in comfort…at least…that’s how the story should’ve ended.
Days, weeks, months had passed after that strange job, long enough that the metalsmith had practically forgotten all about that strange commission and the one who ordered it in the first place. Which made what happened next, all the more tragic.
The metalsmith had noticed on one fine summer’s day, that he had run out of the firewood necessary to keep the fires of his forge going. As such, he left his home and the village early that day in order to gather up what he needed from a nearby woodland. But while he was away, something terrible happened.
The strange visitor from all those months ago had returned once more, but not in disguised state as he did the first time around. This time around, he was dressed in clothes that clearly denoted his status as nobility, that was emblazoned with an emblem in the shape of a laughing skull. In his hands was the sword the metalsmith had fixed not too long ago, glowing with a sinister aura.
“By order of the King of the Laughing Damned, this village shall be purged for the crime of ‘peace’! Pray for the salvation of a violent death!”
The next thing anyone knew, the warrior wielding the strange sword attacked and slaughtered the metalsmith’s entire village.
But he didn’t know, he was just a metalsmith.
The warrior even burned down the flower fields for another purpose other than, “such disgusting weeds must be burned. Only the truly beautiful flowers are allowed to live and propagate, upon the bodies of the weak.”
But the metalsmith didn’t know, for he was focused on gathering firewood.
When the metalsmith finally returned home, he saw the devastation that had been wrought and the tragic deaths that had occurred while he was gone for just a few scant moments.
Frantically, he searched for a cause, a reason for all this deaths and devastation, a survivor to tell him what happened…until he found it.
Laying admit burning rubble, the metalsmith found a body with a very distinctive slash wound. A wound from a blade he recognized. From a blade, that he had made.
“Oh gods. Dear gods…it was my fault. This was all my fault!,” the metalsmith cried in despair. While he wasn’t truly the one to have swung the blade, to have reaped so many lives, he couldn’t help but to blame himself anyways.
He was the one who had taken the commission, he was the one who had fixed that accursed blade, he was the one who didn’t listen to his gut about the man being suspicious.
But how could he have known any of this?
After all, he was only a simple metalsmith.
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“What’s Zhen Liu doing?”
“I don’t know…but he appears to be crying? I wonder why…”
