The corrupted Dark Paladin towered at the center of the square, its jagged armor a grotesque mass of green veins and pulsing ichor that oozed with malice. The eldritch corruption it radiated warped the air, bending light and sound as if reality itself were unraveling around it. Tendrils of sickly energy lashed out from its form, cracking stone and spreading corruption through the cobbled streets. This place had been prepared for a duel; a demonstration of skill, but now it had become a battleground where survival itself was in question.
Erik stood amidst the chaos, his demonic blade humming faintly in his grasp. Around the edges of the square, adventurers and warriors who had gathered to witness the duel watched in tense silence. They were veterans, seasoned fighters clad in armor bearing scars of past battles—yet their expressions showed hesitation. They had seen monsters before, but nothing like this. A mage in ceremonial robes stumbled back as a stray tendril of energy hissed past him, warping the wooden post he leaned against into a gnarled, blackened husk. The onlookers’ unease was palpable, their whispered prayers and curses almost drowned out by the low hum of the Dark Paladin’s presence.
The Dark Paladin’s head tilted unnaturally, its voice emerging as a layered distortion, part guttural growl, part mocking tenor. “You will kneel before the Great One,” it hissed, the voice reverberating through the square. “My master will see you broken, and to become the conduit for the eldritch to consume all.”
Erik rolled his shoulders, letting the tension ease from his muscles. His lips twisted into a wry smile as he tightened his grip on the demonic blade. “A lot of talk for someone hiding behind green ooze,” he said, his tone casual but edged with sharp defiance. “Let’s see if your bite matches your bark.”
The Dark Paladin lunged, the ground shaking with the weight of its movements. Its corrupted sword came down in a sweeping arc, the air splitting with a deafening crack as eldritch energy surged toward Erik. He dodged with precision, sliding just out of reach as the blade shattered the stones where he’d stood. A wave of green energy rippled outward, twisting and corrupting everything it touched. A warrior nearby shouted a warning, pulling another adventurer back as the corruption spread, but Erik was already moving.
The mouth on Erik’s hand opened wide, a black void against the faint glow of his skin. The eldritch energy surged toward him, but instead of consuming him, it was drawn into the void, the chaotic force spiraling into his core. Erik’s chest glowed faintly as the prismatic energy within him flared, transforming the corruption into something initially crimson then turning faint and then a bright light blue radiant light. His over shield shimmered to life, a dazzling cascade of colors; blue, green, and purple all dancing like refracted light. The energy deflected the remnants of the blast, leaving him unharmed.
“Neat trick,” Erik said, adjusting his grip on his blade. “But it’s not going to save you.”
The Dark Paladin roared, its armor cracking as more eldritch tendrils lashed out. Erik met them head-on, his sword slicing cleanly through the chaotic limbs. Each severed tendril disintegrated into ash, but the energy they left behind was relentless, warping the air in violent spirals. Erik ducked, sidestepped, and countered, his movements fluid and precise, each strike calculated.
The adventurers who had gathered to watch the duel were no longer passive spectators. Some had drawn their weapons, their instincts screaming for them to act, but the sheer scale of the battle held them back. Others stood frozen, their faces pale as they watched Erik fight with a skill and power that defied understanding.
“He’s absorbing it,” one warrior murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. “How is he doing that?”
“It’s not just absorbing,” said a mage, her hands trembling as she clutched her staff. “He’s… changing it.”
Erik’s demonic eye flared, glowing crimson as it tracked the Paladin’s movements. He saw the creature for what it was: a tangled mass of corrupted energy barely held together by its armor. The demon within the blade stirred, its voice cutting through Erik’s focus.
“My brother always did love the theatrics,” it sneered, its tone heavy with disdain. “But don’t underestimate him.”
Erik smirked, sidestepping a massive tendril that slammed into the ground where he had been standing. “Sounds like jealousy,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his stance as the Dark Paladin lunged again.
The fight intensified, the square becoming a storm of light and shadow. The Paladin’s swings grew faster, more erratic, its corrupted blade carving arcs of green fire through the air. Erik parried and dodged, each motion carrying him closer to the edge of the storm. Then the Paladin drove its sword into the ground, and a massive pulse of energy erupted outward, warping the air into a roiling mass of green light.
Erik planted his feet, raising his demonic hand. The mouth widened, drawing in the energy as it rushed toward him. The force slammed into his prismatic core, sending a shockwave through his body, but instead of breaking him, it ignited something new. A single prismatic leaf emerged, glowing softly as it drifted upward. Another followed, then another, until a storm of radiant leaves surrounded him.
The leaves moved with purpose, flowing outward in a spiral. They touched the corrupted ground, the twisted tendrils, the jagged remnants of the Dark Paladin’s attacks. Wherever they landed, corruption dissolved, replaced by crystalline purity. The Paladin reeled, its armor crystallizing as the prismatic energy consumed it.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing!” it roared, its voice rising in panic as its movements slowed.
“Oh, I understand just fine,” Erik said, stepping forward. His sword glowed with prismatic light, the energy coursing through him like a living current. With a final, precise strike, he drove the blade into the Dark Paladin’s core. The eldritch creature froze, its body cracking as prismatic leaves burst outward in a blinding explosion.
When the light faded, the Dark Paladin was gone. The square was silent, the air clear and crisp, carrying the faint scent of lilacs. Prismatic energy drifted downward like soft snowfall, and the adventurers stood in stunned silence, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.
Erik lowered his sword, his breathing steady. He turned to the crowd, the faint glow of his prismatic core still pulsing in his chest. For the first time, their eyes weren’t filled with fear; they were filled with something else. Gratitude. Trust. Hope.
Past the stares and multitude of eyes on Erik, the square was a tableau of surreal tranquility, a stark contrast to the chaos moments before. The oppressive hum of the eldritch corruption had faded, replaced by a silence so profound it was almost musical. The air felt clean, impossibly so, with the faint scent of lilacs wafting through it. The prismatic leaves that had once spiraled around Erik now drifted lazily to the ground, their soft glow reflecting in the wide eyes of the onlookers.
The adventurers who had gathered for the duel began to stir, the spell of stunned silence breaking. A warrior clad in dented steel approached, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His face, weathered by years of battle, bore the expression of someone seeing the impossible.
“You...” he began, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied it. “You turned it back. All of it. The corruption, the air, even the land; it’s pure now.”
Erik glanced at the warrior, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp. “Wasn’t planning to leave it worse than I found it.”
Behind the warrior, others began to step forward. A young mage, her robes still singed from a stray tendril of energy, stared at Erik with a mixture of fear and admiration. “That wasn’t divine magic,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was... something else. Something purer.”
The crowd murmured in agreement, their whispers swirling around Erik like the remnants of the battle. Gratitude, awe, and something Erik hadn’t seen in years: acceptance.
A child broke free from the gathering and ran toward him, clutching a flower that had somehow survived the chaos. Erik instinctively knelt, his demonic blade still resting at his side. The child stopped a few paces away, hesitant, but then extended the flower with trembling hands.
“Thank you,” the child said, voice small but resolute.
Erik hesitated, then reached out, taking the flower gently. He nodded to the child, his voice quiet. “You’re welcome.”
As Erik continued through the square, the crowd’s murmur grew louder, rippling outward until voices rose in earnest. People stepped forward cautiously at first, then with growing confidence, their expressions shifting from wary awe to something warmer. A farmer clapped him on the back, a gesture of thanks that quickly spread through the gathering.
“That man saved us!” someone called, their voice ringing clear above the noise. “If not for him, we’d all be dead!”
The applause began slowly, a smattering of hands, before swelling into a wave of cheers. Adventurers who had stood on the sidelines during the battle now nodded in acknowledgment, their respect unspoken but evident in their stances. Children peeked out from behind their parents, wide-eyed as they whispered about the glowing leaves and the man who had made the monster disappear.
For Erik, the sudden attention felt strange, almost unnatural. He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical as he glanced toward the governor’s son, who stood at the edge of the crowd with a small, satisfied smile.
The noble seized the moment, raising his hands to quiet the crowd just enough to make himself heard. “Let this be a day we do not forget,” he announced, his voice smooth and commanding. “A day when we saw strength not born of duty, but of courage. This man; Erik has shown us what it means to stand firm against the darkness.”
The cheers rose again, and this time Erik didn’t try to stop them. He simply stood there, sword resting lightly at his side, his expression unreadable but his presence undeniable. He didn’t need to say anything. The people’s celebration was answer enough.
For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Erik felt something unexpected: a sense of belonging.
The cheers lingered in the air as Erik stepped away from the center of the square, the crowd parting instinctively to let him pass. Their applause had softened into murmurs of admiration and quiet thanks, the energy of the moment settling into something calmer, more reverent. Erik didn’t bask in it; he let their voices fade into the background as he found a quiet corner of the square where the noise couldn’t reach him as easily.
Erik leaned against a scorched stone pillar, letting out a long breath. The flower the child had given him was still in his hand, its delicate petals untouched by the chaos. Vesper approached, her emerald eyes sharp but filled with a rare softness.
“You’ve changed,” she said simply.
Erik raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Before, you fought like you had something to prove,” she said, crossing her arms. “Now... it’s like you’re fighting for something.”
Erik didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at the flower in his hand, its faint scent mingling with the lingering aroma of lilacs. “Maybe,” he said finally.
Berndhardt strode up, his broad frame casting a shadow over both of them. He clapped Erik on the shoulder, grinning. “Whatever it is, I’d say you’ve got yourself a fan club now.”
Erik glanced at the crowd, still lingering on the edges of the square. Their expressions were a mix of awe and gratitude, their whispers carrying words of hope and admiration. For the first time in years, Erik felt a sense of belonging; not as a cursed swordsman, but as someone who mattered.
Oswin joined them, his expression thoughtful. “The road ahead will be dangerous,” he said. “Your power... it will draw attention. From the divine, from the demonic, and from things far worse.”
Erik met his gaze, his expression steady. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got somewhere to be.”
Oswin nodded. “The seaport awaits. But know this: what you’ve done here today changes everything.”
***
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the square, Erik and the group began their preparations to leave. The remnants of the prismatic leaves still glowed faintly, a quiet reminder of the battle that had shaken the town to its core. The crowd began to disperse, though many lingered near the edges of the square, watching Erik and his companions as if uncertain whether to approach or simply marvel from a distance.
“Are we just going to stand here all night?” Berndhardt asked, hefting his pack over his shoulder. “The sooner we get to the seaport, the sooner we find a ship and some ale.” He grinned, though his eyes scanned the horizon warily, his usual humor tinged with vigilance.
Vesper rolled her eyes but gave a small nod. “He’s right. If we linger too long, word of what happened here could spread. That kind of attention isn’t always helpful.”
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Oswin tilted his head slightly, a knowing look in his eyes. “Too late for that, I’d say. What Erik has done here won’t stay quiet, even if we tried. You’re not just a swordsman anymore,” he added, addressing Erik directly. “You’re a symbol now, whether you like it or not.”
Erik frowned, shifting his sword on his back. “Symbols attract trouble,” he muttered.
“And trouble has a way of finding you anyway,” Vesper replied dryly. “We should move.”
The group made their way through the narrow streets leading out of the town. The destruction from the battle was still evident; cracked stones, collapsed walls, but here and there, signs of recovery were already beginning. A baker swept shattered glass from his shop, his gaze lingering on Erik with a mixture of awe and gratitude. A group of children played near a newly restored fountain, their laughter ringing out in stark contrast to the quiet tension that had hung over the town just hours ago.
As they passed, people nodded to Erik, offering quiet thanks. Some brought small offerings, bread, water, even trinkets to leave near his path. Erik’s steps slowed, uncomfortable with the reverence, but he didn’t stop them.
Berndhardt chuckled, leaning over to whisper. “You’re a hero now, whether you like it or not. Try not to look so grim about it.”
Erik’s only response was a faint smirk, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Let’s just get to the seaport.”
By the time they reached the outskirts of the town, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of deep orange and purple. In the distance, Erik could see the faint outline of the seaport’s lights, flickering like stars against the growing darkness. The air carried the scent of salt and the faint call of gulls, though the sound was muted under the heavy weight of the coming night.
Oswin slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the distant harbor. “The ship we’re seeking won’t just be any vessel,” he said. “It’s marked with the provincial emblem, a sign of official passage. If we miss it, the next one may not come for weeks.”
Vesper adjusted her cloak, her expression thoughtful. “And if the ship’s captain hears what happened here? They might be less inclined to take us aboard.”
“We’ll handle that,” Erik said firmly, his voice cutting through the conversation. His steps didn’t falter as he led the way forward, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
The bustling docks unfolded before Erik and his companions like a living tapestry, alive with the shouts of sailors, the creak of ropes, and the faint, salty spray of the ocean breeze. For the first time since the battle, the tension in the air seemed lighter, the pace of life more normal. Erik adjusted the sword on his back and looked ahead, his steps slowing as his gaze fell on a particularly unusual ship.
It was massive, its hull painted in swirling patterns of vibrant blues and golds, with strange symbols Erik didn’t recognize etched along its sides. Banners of deep crimson and purple hung from its masts, flapping lazily in the sea breeze. The deck was crowded with goods and crates overflowing with exotic fruit, glimmering weapons displayed on racks, and chests that spilled with treasures that caught the sunlight like jewels. Sailors darted about, their attire as eclectic as the ship itself: silks and leathers, some adorned with feathers and beads, others with weapons that seemed as much decoration as utility.
“Now that,” Berndhardt said with a low whistle, “is a ship. Look at it! Like something out of a bloody storybook.”
“Storybook or not,” Vesper replied, narrowing her eyes, “it’s got security tighter than a miser’s purse. Look at those guards.” She nodded toward the heavily armed figures stationed along the gangplank and at key points on the deck. Each one looked disciplined and dangerous, their weapons gleaming and their eyes sharp.
Oswin tilted his head, studying the scene. “A merchant ship from the far reaches. Not common, but not unheard of. They trade in rare goods, some mundane, some magical. I imagine their prices are just as unusual as their wares.”
As they approached, a boisterous man strode down the gangplank to meet the gathering crowd. His outfit was an explosion of color: a long coat embroidered with gold thread, a sash of bright orange, and a feathered hat perched at an absurd angle. His grin was wide, his teeth suspiciously perfect, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to hold a crowd.
“Welcome, welcome!” he called, his voice cutting through the noise of the docks. “To those with coin and curiosity, I present the wonders of the world! Weapons to fell a dragon! Potions to heal the most grievous wounds! Trinkets of beauty to melt the heart of any queen! Step forward, and feast your eyes!”
Berndhardt nudged Erik, his grin wide. “We’ve got time, don’t we? Let’s take a look. Might be something worth picking up.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “You just want an excuse to ogle the shiny things.”
“And you don’t?” Berndhardt shot back. “Come on, what’s the harm?”
Vesper smirked, crossing her arms. “It’s harmless until he decides to trade half his coin on something useless. Remember the ‘infallible compass’ last time that he traded when he was drunk at the inn?”
“It worked!” Berndhardt protested. “It just... needed recalibration.”
“By the stars, you mean.”
“Details,” Berndhardt grumbled, waving her off as he stepped toward the ship.
The group ascended the gangplank, mingling with other curious onlookers drawn to the ship’s allure. The merchant, who introduced himself as Rashaad the Magnificent, welcomed each visitor with grand flourishes and exaggerated bows.
As Erik stepped onto the deck, his eyes were drawn to a rack of weapons glinting in the sunlight. Each blade was uniquely forged, some with strange runes etched along their edges, others shaped in ways that seemed impractical but beautiful.
“That,” Rashaad said, sidling up beside him, “is a blade from the Isles of Shimmerglass. The steel is infused with a rare mineral that makes it nearly indestructible and gives it that faint glow in the moonlight. Perfect for slicing through creatures of shadow.”
“And overpriced,” Vesper muttered, her gaze sweeping over a display of small, jewel-encrusted daggers. “Though I’ll admit, they’re pretty.”
Meanwhile, Berndhardt had found a crate filled with what appeared to be massive gauntlets, each one more ridiculous than the last. “What about these?” he asked, holding up a pair that looked large enough to crush a boulder. “How much for the smashy ones?”
Rashaad’s grin widened. “Ah, the Gauntlets of the Titan! Forged by master smiths from the volcanic forges of the Scarlet Peaks. You won’t find their like anywhere else. Just... don’t wear them near fire, water, or strong winds. Temperamental things.”
Berndhardt raised an eyebrow but chuckled, setting them back down. “Figures.”
As the group browsed, Erik found himself drawn to a display of curiosities: amulets, rings, and other small trinkets arranged under a glass case. One caught his eye, a pendant shaped like a star, its center pulsing faintly with blue light.
Rashaad noticed and leaned in, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “An interesting piece, that one. It resonates with strength. If I were to guess, I’d say you’re not one of the lower ranks, are you?”
Erik frowned slightly. “Ranks?”
Rashaad waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, forgive me. We traders deal with adventurers all over the world, and strength is often categorized. The typical rankings: D, C, B, A, AA, AAA, and of course the rare S, SS, and S+ ranks. Most fighters I meet are lucky to scrape a B. But you...” He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. “You’re something else entirely.”
Berndhardt, overhearing, smirked. “What do you think he is, then? Triple S with a dash of terrifying?”
“Perhaps,” Rashaad replied with a chuckle. “But power like his it’s more than just a letter or a rank. It’s something... different. Rare.”
Erik met Rashaad’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “I’m not interested in ranks,” he said simply, turning away to rejoin the others.
“Spoken like someone who doesn’t need them,” Rashaad murmured, watching him go.
Erik had barely taken three steps toward the gangplank to leave when Rashaad reappeared, seemingly out of thin air. The merchant’s grin was unrelenting, his colorful coat flaring as he sidestepped in front of Erik like an overeager bird guarding a prize.
“Ah, my good sir!” Rashaad began, spreading his arms wide. “You can’t possibly leave yet. You haven’t even seen my special inventory, reserved only for those with a discerning eye and the means to appreciate such treasures.”
Berndhardt laughed, leaning against a crate. “This guy’s relentless. You should hire him, Erik. He’d chase the eldritch into its own void if it meant selling it something.”
“I’m not interested,” Erik said, stepping around Rashaad with a practiced indifference that barely concealed his irritation.
“But of course you’re not! Not yet!” Rashaad followed, undeterred. “You’ve already bested weapons, trinkets, and baubles that would make lesser men weep. But what of tools that defy explanation? Items of mystery, power, danger?”
At that, Vesper paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Danger, huh? That’s always a fantastic pitch.”
Rashaad clapped his hands, spinning on his heel to produce a long, ornately carved box from a hidden compartment near the ship’s railing. The wood gleamed with a faint, unnatural sheen, as though it had been polished with starlight. Erik’s brow furrowed as the merchant opened it, revealing an object nestled in deep crimson silk.
It was a small, crystalline orb, no larger than a fist, its surface swirling with shadowy tendrils that seemed to reach toward the light, as though alive. The air around it grew heavier, an almost imperceptible hum filling the space.
“This,” Rashaad said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “is a relic from the void-locked lands of Khorvalis. A conduit of forbidden magic, crafted for one purpose: communication with those… not of this world.”
Erik’s hand instinctively twitched toward the hilt of his sword as the faintest pressure built in his mind, like a whisper just out of reach. His demon stirred, its voice sliding into his consciousness with a mix of eagerness and demand.
“Take it. Take it now. This is what I need. What we need.”
“What does it do, exactly?” Vesper asked, stepping closer but keeping her hands firmly at her sides. Her tone was wary, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes.
“Ah, my dear lady,” Rashaad said, bowing slightly. “This orb allows its wielder to communicate with demonic entities, enabling direct discourse without the need for dangerous rituals. It is said that, in rare cases, it can even allow the entity to… manifest. Temporarily, of course. Entirely harmless.”
“Harmless?” Oswin’s voice was sharp as he approached, his expression grim. “You’re holding a cursed object designed to give demons free rein in our world, and you call that harmless?”
“Ah, semantics,” Rashaad said with a dismissive wave. “It is only dangerous in the wrong hands. Or… perhaps, the right ones.” His gaze slid to Erik, his grin widening. “And you, my friend, seem like someone who could handle such a relic.”
Erik stared at the orb, his expression unreadable. The pressure in his mind intensified as his demon’s voice grew more insistent.
“Pick it up. Don’t let this fool keep it. You’ve already seen how these mortals bungle power they don’t understand. With this, I could speak freely. Imagine the advantage.”
“No,” Erik said aloud, shaking his head. He turned to Rashaad, his voice clipped. “I’m not interested.”
“Ah, but…” Rashaad began, then froze, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Erik’s sword. For a moment, all his theatricality vanished, replaced by genuine curiosity.
“That blade…” he murmured, stepping closer, his gaze fixed on the weapon. “That is no ordinary steel. The way it hums, the faint shimmer of its edge... Tell me, where did you acquire such a remarkable piece?”
Erik tensed, his hand tightening on the hilt. “It’s not for sale.”
Rashaad’s grin returned, though his eyes remained calculating. “Oh, I would never dream of asking outright. But a sword like that, it’s a story, isn’t it? And stories have value, too.”
Berndhardt snorted. “The kind of story you don’t want to hear, friend.”
Rashaad chuckled, his grin widening as his eyes remained fixed on Erik’s sword. The usual flamboyance in his voice softened, replaced by something closer to genuine fascination. “Forgive me, but I must insist. A blade like that... it carries a weight. I can feel it even from here. Perhaps, if not its origin, you might share its purpose?”
Erik tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Its purpose is to keep me alive, mostly. And occasionally to make people stop asking annoying questions.”
Rashaad laughed, clapping his hands. “Ah, a practical blade with a practical wielder! But surely, there’s more to it. A weapon like that, so uniquely attuned, so charged with intent..it must have a history.”
Berndhardt leaned in with a smirk. “Oh, it’s got a history, all right. You don’t want to hear it, though. Trust me.”
Erik waved a hand, dismissing the exchange. “Look, it’s a sword. I swing it. Things stop trying to kill me. That’s the whole story. Riveting, isn’t it?”
The merchant’s gaze flicked to the blade again, his grin turning sly. “Fair enough, fair enough. I didn’t mean to overstep. Though, if you ever reconsider…” He wiggled his fingers theatrically. “A blade like that deserves to be remembered. Perhaps even... showcased.”
Erik’s laugh was dry, his hand resting lightly on the hilt. “I think it’s already got plenty of attention. Thanks, though.”
Rashaad made a dramatic show of stepping back, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Very well, my pragmatic friend. Let’s turn our attention to... other matters.” His gaze shifted toward the box holding the strange crystalline orb, and his grin turned mischievous. “Perhaps you’d care to test your mettle with something a bit... different?”
Rashaad stepped closer to the box, lifting it carefully as though it might bite. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, though it carried a theatrical flair. “The orb I showed you earlier, such items are not without their quirks. They respond differently to each individual. Some find themselves overwhelmed by its energy. Others, however...” He glanced meaningfully at Erik. “...are left untouched. A sign of resilience. Strength.”
Vesper raised an eyebrow. “Or pure dumb luck.”
“Semantics,” Rashaad said with a dismissive wave. He extended the box toward Erik, his grin widening. “Shall we see which applies to you?”
Erik stared at the box for a long moment, the swirling shadows within the orb almost hypnotic. In the back of his mind, the demon stirred again, its voice slithering into his consciousness like smoke.
“Do it. Touch it. You’ll see. I’ll see.”
Berndhardt crossed his arms, clearly enjoying the show. “This should be good. Go on, Erik. Show the spooky thing who’s boss.”
Oswin frowned, his expression wary. “I wouldn’t recommend this.”
“Noted,” Erik replied dryly, before reaching out to take the box from Rashaad. The merchant’s eyes gleamed with anticipation as Erik carefully wrapped his fingers around it, the smooth wood cool against his palms. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the shadows in the orb began to twist and churn faster, as though agitated by his touch.
“Well,” Erik said, holding the box up to eye level, “it’s not trying to kill me. That’s a good start.”
The demon, however, was far less calm. Its voice hissed, its usual smooth tone cracking with eagerness. “Yes. YES. Do you feel it? The connection, the potential? This is what we need!”
Erik tilted the box slightly, peering into the orb. “Honestly? Feels like a paperweight with a bad attitude.”
Rashaad blinked, his grin faltering for the first time. “Curious. Most people feel at least... some reaction. Tremors. Nausea. Perhaps an overwhelming sense of doom?”
“How much?” Erik asked suddenly, cutting off Rashaad mid-pitch. The merchant blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before recovering with practiced ease.
“For you, my friend?” Rashaad rubbed his chin theatrically. “Let’s say... a mere 5 gold pieces.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “You must think I’m made of coin.”
“Well,” Rashaad said, grinning, “you did just save an entire town. Surely they rewarded you handsomely?”
“They didn’t,” Erik deadpanned. “But I’ll give you 3.”
“4, and I’ll throw in a pouch of rare herbs for stress relief.”
“Three,” Erik countered. “And I’ll let you keep your dignity.”
Rashaad’s laugh was genuine this time. “3 gold and 50 silver, and that’s my final offer.”
Erik sighed, reaching into his pouch and counting out the coins. He handed them over, ignoring Berndhardt’s whistle of surprise and Vesper’s muttered, “Oh, this’ll end well.” Rashaad passed the box to Erik with a flourish, his grin practically splitting his face.
“A wise choice!” he declared. “I guarantee you won’t regret it.”
Erik held the box carefully, the hum of the orb intensifying for a moment as he felt the weight of it. His demon’s voice practically purred in his mind. “Excellent. Now you’re starting to listen.”
“Do you even know what you just bought?” Vesper asked as they descended the gangplank.
“Sure,” Erik replied, his tone light. “A bargain.”
“A bargain for disaster,” Oswin muttered, his frown deepening as he glanced at the box. “That thing’s power isn’t something to take lightly. What’s your plan? Give your demon a voice and let it start debating with the rest of us?”
“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Erik said with a smirk. “Think of all the moral dilemmas we could solve.”
Berndhardt laughed, clapping Erik on the back. “Well, if it turns out to be cursed, at least it’ll keep things interesting.”
Vesper groaned, shaking her head. “You’re all impossible.”