Elysian stood there, a silent sentinel in the dimly lit room, his gaze unwavering, focused upon the young woman before him. Time seemed to stop yet stretched for who knows how long, offering nothing but the quiet comfort of his enduring presence. Holding a silent vigil, he observed every nuance of her form, every tear that traced down her cheek, with a quiet intensity that mirrored the heaviness of his heart under the weight of her sorrow—a reflection of his own. Though words eluded him, their bonds seemed to thicken and bloom in the solemn silence that shrouded them both in gloom.
As her sob ebbed, Amara lifted her gaze to meet the eyes of the young noble. “Thank you for staying by my side during this difficult time,” she said softly, her voice carrying sincerity and gratitude for the boy’s unexpected kindness. “And I apologize for causing you to wait.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do,” Elysian responded, offering a gentle smile. Despite the pleasant facade she maintained, the deep anguish in her eyes cannot be denied. It serves as a poignant reminder that her mourning had only just begun, with no clear ending in sight.
Noticing the dripping blood in the boy’s left hand, Amara’s somber expression was quickly replaced by one of concern. “Young master, your hand is bleeding.”
“Huh?” Elysian glanced down at his hand, still gripping the knife's blade. It appeared he hadn’t noticed, his mind fully absorbed in the situation. Observing the blood dripping from his hand, he seemed indifferent to it. He was neither bothered by the pain nor worry about the injury. Why would he? Upon entering cultivation, he was confident he wouldn’t succumb to blood loss with such a small wound. Though that rationale was logical in some way, that kind of behavior wasn’t like him.
‘Hmm…
Now that I think about it, this kinda feels strange. I seem to be behaving oddly tonight, almost as if I’m not entirely myself. While I would have still dealt with that thug in the same manner regardless, killing him in front of Bran and Osric, though? I’m not too sure about that. I have an image to maintain, after all. Revealing my darkest side, even to those closest to me, without any kind of reason whatsoever, wouldn’t bode well and was simply stupid. Sure, it has some advantages, but the potential troubles and problems that could ensue from such an action aren’t worth the risk.
Why did I continue holding onto that knife by the blade? Even though I’m not in any immediate danger, I still would’ve tended to my injury and not held the edge of this relic, bleeding, while completely consumed by my own thoughts for god knows how long.’
As he grasped the handle of the relic, Elysian paused for a moment, studying the knife closely.
‘Good. The knife seems to have completely repaired itself. I don’t see any rust anymore, and the holes are also completely gone. It hasn’t returned to its pristine form, though. It now resembles a good knife, bearing the nicks and marks of constant use. Nonetheless, it’s a significant improvement from the rust-encrusted blade full of holes this morning.
Odd. How does this relic repair itself this quickly? I have seen plenty of precious artifacts in the past; some of them have self-repairing properties. Considering its terrible state this morning, it still amazes me that it could repair itself this fast.
Hmm… Is this alive?
Weapons with their own will are extremely rare. Despite my influence and power in my past life, I never encountered any living weapons—that’s how rare they are. Well, except for the Eye of Sacraeon, of course.
It isn’t surprising since information about this kind of artifact is scarce, and for good reason. The few cultivators who are lucky enough to possess these rare artifacts don’t advertise that they own them. They’d be stupid if they did; they would be hunted and pursued relentlessly. In short, they simply would not live long, with their prized artifact taken. Throughout the history of the desert, wars have been fought over less valuable than these precious items.
It didn’t help that most of these prized artifacts belonged to powerful ancient families. Well, that is just a rumor, though. They wouldn’t actually disclose that they own one. Despite the lack of confirmation, I believe that if anyone possesses these living artifacts, it’s them.
From my limited knowledge on the subject, it’s my first time seeing something that drinks blood. Even the Eye of Sacraeon doesn’t do this.
Is this normal? The idea of a blood-drinking artifact is pretty ominous.
I’m not really good with these. I wish Nasir was here. He knew more about this stuff than me.’
Elysian suddenly sighed, drained from all that thinking coupled with what happened tonight.
“Are you alright, young master?” Amara asked, concerned in her voice. “You look pale.”
“Huh, yeah, I’m fine,” the boy responded, offering her a smile. He felt a pang of shame that this grieving girl was more concerned about him than the other way around. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just tired.”
‘Hm… Why do I feel dizzy suddenly.’
When his vision suddenly grew dim, Elysian began to worry.
‘What’s happening to me?’
When he looked at his right hand, Elysian saw strange black and red runes that started to spread to his arms. As if on reflex, he tried to throw the knife away; however, he instantly lost control of his hand.
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‘Sh*t! What the hell is this relic doing to me?! Don’t tell me…’
“Young master!” Amara exclaimed, shocked at what she was witnessing.
“Quick, get away from me!” the boy said, trying to stop his right hand with his left. “Get as far away as possible!”
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“Young master, are you alright?!” Amara asked, recoiling in horror when she saw the arm of the noble turning into a blend of ink and blood. Upon closer inspection, she noticed ominous black and red symbols spreading from his right arm towards the rest of his body.
‘What on earth is going on?’
“Quickly, leave this place now!!” Elysian exclaimed urgently, his teeth clenched as the symbols spread to his chest.
Amara hastily scrambled to her feet, swiftly distancing herself from the boy, driven by the young noble’s urgent tone. Instead of immediately fleeing the house as instructed, she hesitated. With a furrowed brow and a heart racing in her chest, she turned back to steal a glance at the young noble.
‘For all that he’d done for me, I can’t just leave him behind.’
“Young master, what should I do?!” Amara asked in a panic, her voice trembling with worry and confusion. “Should I call for help?”
“No, don’t!” the boy responded, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” His expression hardened with resolve on his face as he clenched his teeth, stabbing the dagger into his thigh with the help of his left hand. Grunting in pain, he cursed, “F*ck, that hurts!”
Instead of finding relief from his assurance, Amara was now even more alarmed when he saw the boy stabbing himself in the leg, causing him to fall to one knee. Unsure what to do, she walked back and forth, her mind racing with uncertainty.
When she thought that the worst had come to pass, Amara saw that the runes had now spread all over his body, and they were now creeping up his neck, about to spread on his head. Seeing this, she panicked and went against the orders of the young noble, trying to approach him.
Before Amara could take another step closer, a hand abruptly grabbed her shoulder. “Ah!” she shrieked, startled, and frightened, causing her to stumble and fall to the floor. When she looked up, she found herself face-to-face with the old man —the killer. Instead of finding relief in seeing a familiar face, she panicked and pushed herself away from him, fully aware of the danger he posed.
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‘What on the god's t*t is that?!’
Squinting his eyes, the old man observed the boy intently. With his years of experience and mastery of runes, this was the first time that he witnessed runes spreading like a disease, seemingly alive.
‘I ain’t seen or heard anything like this before. Should be damn impossible. Runes are nothing but symbols of power, basic truths you mash together to create glyphs. Not somethin’ that creeps on your sleep like a fuckin’ nightmare.’
What the old man was witnessing defied all logic and reason, presenting a grim spectacle that shattered the boundaries of possibility. Yet, there it was, unfolding before him—stark and undeniable.
When Jareth tried to examine the runes closely, he could only identify the red ones, which symbolized blood. The black ones bore similarities to darkness or, more closely, to shadow, yet they differed in some way. It was the first time that he had encountered them. Though he prided himself on his knowledge of runes and glyphs, it wasn’t surprising that he did not know, since he wasn’t an authority on the subject.
“Calm yourself, girl. I’m not here to hurt you or your master,” Jareth stated, his voice lacking its usual mirth. As he continued to study the boy, he noticed the dagger stabbed into his thigh. He suddenly sighed, immediately realizing the problem. “Hey, boy! What the heck have you done this time?! What did you do with the relic?”
Slowly opening his eyes, the first thing Elysian noticed was the concerned expression on the mercenary’s face. It brought a smile to his lips. “Nothing, old man. It seems you’ve given me a defective product,” he quipped, smirking as he gave his response.
‘This damn brat!’
“You think this is a good time to be funny, you cheeky brat?!” Jareth retorted, his brows furrowing in frustration as he scowled at the boy’s apparent lack of seriousness in the face of his dire situation. “I don’t know what you’ve done, kid. I don’t even know how to help you.”
“I know. I’m not certain what’s happening either, old man,” Elysian remarked, panting hard from his exertion as he tried to push back against the relentless spread of the runes.
‘I should’ve made sure the dagger wasn’t cursed before handin’ it off to the boy. If somethin’ happens to this damned brat…
No, ain’t letting that happen!
Damn it all, do I even know what to do?!’
“That relic might be cursed, boy,” Jareth stated, exhaling deeply as guilt weighed heavily on him for giving the artifact to the young noble. “I’m not an expert on this matter. And honestly, I’ve never even seen a cursed artifact before. I’ve only heard of them. I don’t really know how to counter it, but perhaps…” he remarked, his voice trailing off from uncertainty. “Maybe I just need to take that dagger away from you. It might solve this problem…”
“No. Don’t,” Elysian interjected, gritting his teeth as the relic’s influence loomed dangerously close. He had a keen understanding of cursed artifacts, having encountered several in his past life. He was sure this wasn’t it. “This isn’t a cursed relic, old man.”
“How would you know? Given your age, I highly doubt you’ve stumbled upon one before,” Jareth retorted, his frustration clear in his tone.
“I just know. Can you trust me with this?” Elysian directly stated, not wanting to waste any more time.
Upon hearing the boy’s response, the mercenary’s interest was piqued, his eyes widening in realization.
‘This brat seems to think he’s got it all figured out, too damn relaxed in this precarious situation. Does he know somethin’?
Hmm…
Of course, he does. When he first saw the relic, he took an immediate interest in it.’
“If you know somethin’, brat, quit playin’ around and spit it out!” Jareth barked, irritated with all the games. “Be straight with me, do you know what’s goin’ on with you?”
“I don’t.”
‘I don’t fuckin’ believe it.’
“Then, do you have any idea what to do?” Jareth asked. Ignoring his words, he focused instead on his eyes, staring straight at them to know the truth.
“I don’t,” Elysian reiterated, a wary smile tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the situation. “Maybe I’ll be praying to the gods.”
‘This irritating brat!’
“It seems like you’re tryin’ to keep me out of this mess. If that’s the case, do you need somethin’ from me?”
Elysian’s humor vanished, replaced by a grave tone. “Don’t let Amara come near me. Or anyone, not even you. Soon, I won’t have control over my own body. If you know of anything that can stop me from leaving this spot, then do it,” he requested. Suddenly, a sad smile crossed his lips, and deep sorrow filled his eyes. “If I fail in this, tell my brother I’m sorry for everything. And that no matter what, he should protect our sister.”
Suddenly, the runes covered Elysian’s entire head, shrouding him completely, as an eerie silence filled the room.
Jareth and Amara remained silent for a while, observing the boy intently.
Uncertain about what to do next, Amara glanced at the mercenary and broke the silence with a question, “Sir, what do we do?”
Elysian’s lips suddenly twisted into a sinister grin. “Greetings,” he uttered in a voice dripping with the allure of a female predator—thirsty and cruel.