Capítulo Sete: A Maldição

A cruel war of faith came to an end with the collective surrender of the Death’s devotees, leaving Wayne in an unbearable state of uncertainty. He admitted the power of a pistol, but this was simply too much—utterly ruining the atmosphere and wasting all his previous complex mental preparation.

The shameless behavior of the Death’s devotees eroded even the slightest reverence Wayne once held for the gods of this world. Upon reflection, it made sense: the supposed leader was a cross-dressing charlatan, selling personas to reap benefits, a crooked beam above spawning crooked rafters below; one could hardly expect the followers of Death to prefer martyrdom to surrender.

Wayne sighed ruefully. Perhaps this was for the best: he was unremarkable, the world was safe, and so was he.

Nearby, the devotees stood in a row, hands against the wall. William, boasting great strength, greeted each captive with a physical reminder of his power.

Among the faces, Wayne recognized one well: Bruto, the dockworker, whom William had deftly thrown to the ground with a series of smooth moves.

Oyster Sauce Root, Adugen, plus plus Brugen (X)

Left hook, right hook, rising dragon punch (√)

Magic, in truth, is this plain and unadorned!

Only after all had quieted did Veronica begin her interrogation—her typical method, using mushrooms so delicious they induced hallucinations.

Veronica, pursuing the trail of the Death Walker, had not expected such a breakthrough in so short a time: successfully eradicating one of their strongholds. Yet, as the interrogation proceeded, disappointment crept in. The Death Walker had not attended tonight’s gathering; the seeming leader was but a lowly messenger. Not only had Veronica come up empty-handed, she had inadvertently alerted her quarry.

The chances of lying in wait were slim. When Veronica inquired about the Death Walker’s whereabouts, she received an answer: he had returned to his hometown to get married.

Wayne scratched his head—absurd, but... also surprisingly relatable. The enigmatic wizard in his imagination suddenly seemed much more human.

Through further questioning, Veronica obtained the Death Walker’s name and his hometown address.

Mike Nelson, nicknamed “Bloody Mike,” hailed from the village of Kafuno, northwest of Lundan’s outskirts.

Mike was born into a mule-driver’s family, journeyed alone to the big city, and spent years among docks and warehouses. One day, in a scramble for work, he offended a local boss and was beaten bloody, earning his nickname.

He had neither power nor money, was neither clever nor rich—destined never to rise above his station. Barring miracles, he would be wrung dry of value at the docks, returning home one day with meager savings and a body worn by toil and injury.

Yet, somehow, Mike’s fate changed. He became a devotee of the Goddess of Death, learned magic, and gathered a band of followers to carve out a territory in the warehouse district.

Of what had befallen him, Mike spoke not a word. He was fervently devout and his character had changed entirely.

While Veronica gathered intelligence, Wayne could not suppress his curiosity and quietly asked William, “William, as far as you know, is the Goddess of Death male or female?”

“Female,” William replied without hesitation, then added, “At least, externally she appears female.”

“And essentially?”

“That I... Why do you ask?”

“Uh, just now, when I blended into the crowd and pretended to pray, I heard a voice—a deep, unmistakably male voice—ask if I was willing to offer everything. I don’t know if it was the Goddess of Death,” Wayne said seriously.

“That wasn’t the Goddess of Death, but rather one of Death’s three proxies—the Observer, Griou. See that spider sigil over there? That’s his symbol.”

William thus dispelled Wayne’s confusion, then added in surprise, “Death never descends of her own accord. But to have the Observer personally extend you an invitation—consider yourself lucky. It means you are highly attuned to Death.”

William left unsaid that being invited by the Observer made Wayne a likely candidate to become the Goddess of Death’s chosen on earth, potentially gaining great power far surpassing the Death Walker’s lesser disciples.

“Lucky? To be noticed by Death? The Observer, Griou...”

Before Wayne could finish, William clapped a hand over his mouth, his broad face drawing near in warning: “You’ve been marked by the Observer; you can’t speak his name aloud, or he’ll think you’re accepting the invitation. Understand?”

Wayne blinked, pushing away William’s hand, and asked, “If he thinks I accept, what happens?”

“His will descends here and brands you as a Death’s disciple,” William intoned gravely.

“Gulp!”

William’s tone was chilling, utterly unlike his usual optimism—so much so that Wayne instinctively swallowed, realizing how close he’d come to disaster. Had his companion not intervened, the proxy’s will might have descended, and that would have spelled certain doom.

Just then, a sudden anomaly erupted at the warehouse’s center. The inverted triangle, flooded with green vegetation, burst with black light; eight spider legs twisted and writhed in the void, as if, after a moment’s stillness, they sprang back to life.

The twisted legs vanished into the void, linking to realms beyond. A deep murmur resonated throughout the warehouse, followed by the violent surge of a black curtain.

A wave of darkness washed over the space, painting everything in shades of grey and white.

Neither Veronica nor William defended themselves; they seemed prepared, or perhaps this was what they had awaited. Not only did they not resist, they calmly received the baptism of black light.

The devotees, too, remained unharmed. The wave, while visually terrifying, caused no physical harm. When the black light faded, the warehouse’s color returned to normal.

Except for Wayne, who felt a strange transformation within his body.

“Veronica, are you all right?” William asked tentatively. Seeing her shake her head, he sighed, “So the curse isn’t so easily undone. Who said two negatives make a positive? Oh, right, that was my guess—never mind, then.”

Veronica merely rolled her eyes in reply.

“If you’ll forgive my interruption, could you explain the curse in more detail? Did the Observer’s will descend?” Wayne asked stiffly, cold sweat soaking his back.

“It has nothing to do with the Observer or with you. The curse comes from another of Death’s proxies—the Judge. Because we disrupted the ritual, we incurred the curse. I’ve cast a spell on you to shield you from harm,” William said, clapping Wayne on the shoulder. Just as he was feeling pleased with his foresight, his eyes widened in shock. “Wait—what happened to my spell? You—you’re cursed?”

“Don’t ask me—I have no idea!” Wayne wailed, though he well knew the answer. But only children admit fault; adults know how to shift blame.

As expected, William assumed it was his own error, leaving Wayne cursed, and became flustered. “Don’t panic—you’re not a mage, so your magic won’t be sealed... Wait, how do you feel? Any changes in your body?”

Even as he spoke, he began to pat Wayne down, but Wayne leapt away in protest.

Where do you think you’re touching? That’s not for men to touch!

“There are some changes,” Wayne admitted, licking his lips, eyes wandering in mild confusion. Half-truthfully, he said, “I’m very hungry. I want to eat something. The more I think about it, the hungrier I get.”

He stared fixedly at Veronica, earning a glare. Sensibly, he shifted his gaze to William.

“Wayne, you don’t mean you want to eat people, do you?” William took a step back.

“Of course not, just ordinary hunger. Food to fill my stomach—except potatoes. And... another kind of hunger.”

Wayne drew a deep breath. “Not physical, but something I can’t quite name. Let’s call it my soul. My soul craves magic—er, magical energy. I’m no expert, I don’t know what to call it.”

“Mana?” William guessed.

“Yes, yes, that’s it. I crave mana.”

Wayne nodded vigorously, certain now. “My soul longs for mana. Without it, my soul will soon starve—yes, that’s it!”

He glanced again at Veronica, who rewarded him with a fierce glare.

“The Judge’s curse is notoriously perverse and unpredictable. It’s possible to require mana as nourishment. But he’s just an ordinary person—no mana to feed his soul. Even if he had any, the curse would have sealed it. If nothing is done...” came a lecture from the corner. Wayne looked over to see Monica the black cat approaching with feline grace.

“The cat—the cat just talked,” Wayne gaped.

Monica leapt onto William’s head and continued, “William, because of your mistake, an ordinary person is now cursed. He will die. You must take responsibility.”

“What can I do? My magic is entirely sealed by the curse. The little I have comes from daily meditation; I can’t help him,” William lamented, glancing with big, pleading eyes at Veronica.

“Ver—”

“Hmph!”

He received only the back of her head.

Resigned, William lifted Monica off his head, grinning mischievously. “You’re lucky your magic wasn’t sealed. How about this—you feed him; I’ll owe you one. From now on, whatever you want to eat, I’ll make for you.”

Monica seemed amenable. A thoughtful expression crossed her feline features. “I could, but I can’t satisfy him forever. Unless he learns to meditate and generate his own mana.”

“But that’s too difficult. He’ll starve before he succeeds,” William shook his head.

“Indeed.” Monica nodded. After a pause, she slipped from William’s grasp and leapt lightly onto Wayne’s shoulder, pressing a soft paw to his cheek.

How cute, such a little paw!

Wayne turned, meeting Monica’s golden eyes. The cat rasped, “I can plant a seed of mana in you, guide and help you become a mage in the shortest possible time. But there’s no such thing as a free lunch. I’ll be your guide, and from now on, you’ll have to worship the Goddess of Moonlight, just like me. Any objections?”

“None,” Wayne replied, elated. By improvising an excuse, he’d become a mage—good fortune born of disaster.

Still, a magical girl and a talking, mana-granting pet—hadn’t he seen this combination somewhere before...?