Bloodstained Blade
Chapter 85 - A Show

For a moment, the world glowed. Not just it, or the reflected light of its ruby but the light of the whole world. Up until now improved senses had allowed it to see who might be a mage and what items were magical, but those glimpses of magic were nothing like this.

The trees and the plants no longer had stiff edges. Instead, they were waving fronds of dim light that did nothing to hide the brighter spots of the birds, squirrels, and rabbits that hid among them.

Everything was connected in the most beautiful of ways, and though the blade couldn’t appreciate a sunset as anything but a tactical concern, it was hard not to see the art in the world when it looked at it this way.

Everything is connected, except for me, it realized as the light began to fade, and its vision returned to normal. Uncharacteristically, the blade found that it missed the sight when it was gone and reactivated it immediately. This time, it wasn’t to study the beauty of the forest, though; it was to look at itself more carefully.

Aethersight Activated.

-1 Life Force.

While nature was a beautiful twisting pattern dotted with the beating hearts of animals that burned like fiery jewels was gorgeous, none of them were particularly bright, and all of them faded into a gray haze as it gazed upon itself, and in particular, the jewel in its hilt.

Even with only 1104/10600 Life Force, it burned brighter than every other light in the grove combined. It now understood why the elven mage had stared at it so often by the campfire. Its wielder might have been smart enough to wrap a rag around its hilt to cover the red light that often leaked from the ruby, but that wouldn’t hide anything from a mage's sight.

It took in every detail, from the swirling souls in its ruby to the faint glowing of the runes along its blade, which clarified a number of things. The first was that while everything else it could see, including Anthel and his horse, was connected to everything else around them, the only thing the blade was connected to was the man who held it. Everything else it sharply rejected, as it should.

And this is with that shroud active, it thought, as the image started to fade a second time. How much brighter had I been at the heart of Stefan’s Ford when I was buying upgrades at random just to avoid overflowing?

It didn’t know, but the next time it was in such a moment, it would. The Ebon Blade spent a long time thinking about that, even after Anthel got moving again a few minutes later. It still had the souls of its last two wielders and a couple more mages that he hadn’t decided how best to interrogate yet, but right now, it was less concerned with them than its own nature. For too long, it had thought itself hidden, but it was a bonfire among candles, and if it held any amount of power, then everyone could see it.

+14 Life Force.

I must get that ability higher, it decided. Compared to that, growing stronger, repairing its soul, or even progressing along the path of vengeance was pointless.

Anthel tried to stop several more times that day, but the blade wouldn’t allow him to do so for very long. The horse was given half an hour to drink or graze, and then they were moving again. The grave robber begged to be allowed to rest, but the blade had no interest in that. The only time he was even allowed to linger for the full thirty minutes was because a traveling peddler happened by, and they got to talking. The blade devoured the man’s life and soul before sending its bearer on his way again.

+68 Life Force.

+1 Human Soul.

You may rest when I am in worthy hands, not before, the blade said. It was the only answer it offered to the man's incessant complaints.

Eventually, after more than a day on the road, they reached their destination the following evening. By then, both man and horse were exhausted, but the blade ignored both and gazed around the small, picturesque town and the aging abomination that was Gilles Hall perched above it. The town seemed neither large nor wealthy, but their soldiers seemed professional enough.

Anthel told the gate guard that he had urgent news for Lord Gilles about the battle of Malden Glade, which was apparently what the place the orcs had met their end at was called. That was enough to get him in the door, at least, for it seemed that the people here were quite anxious about that attack.

After he reached the stables, a chamberlain asked him for an explanation. Anthel relayed a bit of information about where he’d been and what he’d been up to. He claimed to have something that the Baron would want to see but refused to say more because the blade wouldn’t allow it.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Tell only the man himself, the Ebon Blade admonished him.

“In-in private,” the grave robber gasped, doing as he was told. He hadn’t wanted to, despite the blade’s orders, so it had forced him to.

Whether it was because the man didn’t want to be alone with the blade or the man he planned to pawn it off on, the weapon wasn’t sure because he feared both of them. Either way, that was enough to get him into the manor, which was a far cry from a true palace. Even though Anthel had told the man little, it was an intriguing development for such a backwoods barony, and it watched the guards and servants scurry about to the high table as the news was relayed one rung of the social ladder at a time.

Sir Gilles glanced at the dirty old man for only a moment and then nodded. This caused another slow cascade of orders to drift all the way back to the back of the grand hall, which was hardly worthy of the name since it sat less than fifty. Still, Anthel was given a seat at the furthest back table and told, “You’ll be given your private meeting once our Lord is done entertaining his other guests.”

That annoyed the blade. It was obviously the most important thing in this room, or even this town, and should be made the priority. Only its need to hide its power and existence kept it from lashing out violently and making that known. When it had a wielder, it would abide by their wishes, but while it was still being carried by trash, it would make the decisions.

So, the Ebon Blade endured the paltry dining conversation as Anthel ate ravenously for the first time in over a day. As it did so, though, it nibbled at the souls of everyone in the room. Before it had transformed its Aura of Hunger from a weapon into a tool, it could have drained everyone in here dry before the dinner had gotten cold.

+102 Life Force.

Now, it still fed well, though, and devoured more than a hundred Life Force while it judged the man that might be its next wielder from a distance. He was cruel and strong. The blade could see that much from here. He liked to drink too much, too, and the way that his young wife flinched at his touch was rather telling. Even the worst man would be less monstrous than the orc it had been wielded by for the last two months, though, so the blade withheld judgment.

When the gathering had wound down, and everyone but Lord Gilles and his guards had vacated the room, the coward that carried it was finally allowed to rise and approach the high table. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite rat,” the noble said with a sneer. “Find some trinket on the battlefield that you think I might favor? My wife Serra has enough jewelry, I think.”

“No, no, my Lord, this isn’t something for her; it’s for you,” Anthel said, clearing his throat before he continued. “A-a sword of immense power. It’s some kind of hexblade, I think that I found among the orcs.”

Anthel drew it then, and even though that made the guards stiffen, it did not react in any way. “You see the ruby here, it glows in battle, and the runes, sometimes too… its, I haven’t had a lot of experience with it.”

“Go on then, show us this magical sword of yours,” the noble laughed, obviously entertained. “If it does what you say, I’ll give you its weight in gold.”

“Go on? Why don’t you hold it? It will talk to you, and you can ask it whatever you want,” the grave robber added with obvious confusion. “I just said, I’m not a warrior. I don’t know the first thing about—”

“Hold? Talk? I have my own hexblade, I’m afraid, and I’m not in the habit of buying magic orcish voodoo just because it's got ugly markings on it,” The noble interrupted before gesturing to one of his guards before issuing the command, “Kill him, or at least try to. I want to see if it does anything.”

The man hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he swallowed hard and drew his blade. The blade assessed the opponent. The man was younger and in better shape. He was even wearing armor, which would have been enough to guarantee a victory in any other fight. The blade wanted to strike the man down just to disprove the smug noble’s attitude, but as it was, he did nothing.

This man is not my wielder; I owe him nothing, the blade told itself, as Anthel held it in a half-hearted defensive posture. The man really didn't want to fight, but as little interest as he had in that, the blade had even less interest in saving him. It was not in the habit of deciding the first fights of its wielders. While it couldn’t withdraw all the strength and speed, or even the raw regeneration that the man received simply for holding it, it could deny him everything else, including its knowledge.

Still, its appearance alone was enough to make the young guard cautious, and he wisely opened up with a few feints. The blade could appreciate that, just like it could appreciate the mortal fear of the man who held it. He managed to deflect the first blow that came with his name on it, and as the clash intensified, Anthel was able to escape any serious harm. He only received a cut on the arm. The wound was fairly deep, but even though it healed almost instantly, the man still screamed and nearly dropped it.

-11 Life Force.

For a moment, as the grave robber swung with real anger, the Ebon Blade thought he might have a chance, but that ended seconds later when the guard ran him through. Even a wound that nicked the heart would have been entirely survivable, of course, but the fool dropped it, and for once, the weapon didn’t force the issue. It was happy to be free of such a wretched old man, and it snatched up his soul and devoured it as soon as it left his body. There was nothing to be learned from him.

Almost immediately, the guard that had killed Anthel leaned down to pick up the blade, and it was looking forward to studying his soul for better options. Before that could happen, though, a command rang out.

“No, don’t touch it,” Lord Gilles cried, looking at it with a strange intensity. “Marks like that in the company of orcs? It's clearly cursed. Fetch a pair of blacksmith’s tongs and put the thing in the chapel without touching it, then send for a priest to inspect it in the morning. If it’s an evil artifact, they’ll pay me to take it away, and if not, well, it will look good on my wall, I think…”

-4 Life Force.

The blade was horrified by those words. It had expected a selfish man, and perhaps even a cruel one, but not an intelligent one, and with its arrogance at its newfound power, it had fallen into a trap of its own making.

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