32 - Make Dark Fantasy Great Again

Dark Fantasy Normalization Chapter 32 (Revised Edition) > Book Hare - Web Novel Archive The current episode has been thoroughly revised from the original Chapter 32. The previously cloying flavor has been removed. ──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────── "What did you do—" Glia was caught off guard. She wanted to ask the same question. What on earth did they do? Inside the vial was the power of Glia, a shaman who aspired to the 5th-tier. That power—had disappeared without a trace. From the mere hand of a 3rd-tier bastard child, no less. "How dare you!" Meltas shouted in a furious voice. Meltas, a wizard from the Kaig Magic Tower, had already engaged in a not-so-brief conversation with Glia. Through their discussion, it became clear that Glia possessed an elegance and mysterious knowledge that didn't befit her status as a barbarian. As a human, he had a good impression of her, and as a scholar, he was intrigued. She wasn't someone a mere bastard could disrespect. Meltas began drawing on his mana. He was intent on retrieving the vial taken from the shaman and teaching the bastard some manners simultaneously. "Sir Meltas." It was Salana's chilling voice that stopped him in his tracks. "I'm sure I mentioned it—Risir is my guest. Would you mind refraining from treating him like a wayward bastard?" Her usual lively demeanor remained, but her eyes and her unyielding attitude did not falter. "..." Meltas was a 6th-tier adept. An elite wizard who commanded respect from the entire Kaig Magic Tower. A mere 5th-tier advanced adventurer had no right to address him so casually. But why was it, then, that he couldn't muster a single word against the woman before him? Unconsciously, Meltas brought his hand to his throat. In that moment, Salana's intensity made him feel as though a blade was pressed against his neck. But only for a moment. "Ahem!" Meltas stood up from his seat. "I understand your point. It seems that, to you, the relationship with that bastard is more important than with me." "Is that what's important right now?" "What?" "Did you not hear what Risir just said? About what was done to the vial—isn't it thrilling? I'm interested in hearing more. But it seems you two might have different thoughts?" "..." Meltas' braided beard trembled slightly. "Fine then. Let's hear it. Whatever nonsense he intends to spout." Meltas sat back down and looked at Risir with eyes filled with the typical obstinacy of old men. "What do you mean by 'what was done to the vial'?" "..." Risir examined the vial for a brief moment before responding. "In truth, I have a unique power." "A unique power?" "My master called it the power of... normalization." "Normalization?" "It is the ability to restore abnormal objects or phenomena to their normal state. From my experience, this normalizing power often reacts to forces that have negative influences. Particularly those of demons or black magic." "Quite a convenient power, that is." Naturally, Meltas didn't believe Risir’s words. He'd never once encountered or heard of such an absurd power in his lifetime, nor could he believe that a mere 3rd-tier bastard possessed such extraordinary ability. "..." Risir seemed to anticipate Meltas' skepticism and pulled something from his belongings. "Wh-What is that...?" Meltas leaned forward, straining his eyes. He recognized what Risir held immediately. "...Could it be the seal of Durayegh?" It was a document that Dares had given to Risir as a token of gratitude. The document bore the seal of Durayegh, and Dares had penned a classical script vouching for Risir. "How do you possess a document bearing the seal of Durayegh?" Durayegh. They were pillars that formed the backbone of flames. No wizard dared to casually treat that name. A glint appeared in Meltas' eyes as he looked at Risir. "It pertains to the power I just mentioned." "The power of... normalizing?" "I provided personal assistance to Sir Dares of Durayegh with my power. This document was a token of his gratitude." "..." Meltas had heard of Dares. Though not personally acquainted, stories about a family like Durayegh would naturally circulate among enthusiasts. 'It's said that Dares of Durayegh's fiancée had an incurable disease—' Meltas wondered, is this bastard claiming to have healed that incurable illness? The very illness branded incurable because those renowned healers couldn't treat it? It was an implausible tale. However—the idea that Durayegh would vouch for a bastard using the family name was equally implausible. "So you're saying your normalizing power reacted to the vial, implying the vial contained impure energy—is that it?" "That's correct. It was thanks to that power that Miss Salana chose to trust me. I used it to heal Miss Salana's skin." "Ah. So that's how it is?" Salana nodded, showing the healed scar to Meltas. "..." Meltas scrutinized Salana's scar more closely and nodded himself. Putting aside the magnitude of that power, it was undeniable that Risir possessed some special ability. Reevaluating his stance, Meltas' posture shifted. Previously, strained as if ready to jump out of his seat, his body now leaned back comfortably as he folded his arms. "Let me clarify upfront. I had nothing to do with the vial. Originally, it was an item Glia prepared personally." Meltas turned his gaze to Glia. Though he had defended her moments ago, he now was demanding a response from her. "You two, how can you trust that person more than me? I can understand Sir Meltas since this is our first meeting, but Salana, shouldn't you know better? In the past few months, think of all the help I've provided you." Even in this tense situation, the shaman maintained her composure. That poise, intertwined with her mysterious aura, gave weight to her words, yet Salana's response remained tepid. No, it was cold. "We've steered off track. Let's talk about the vial first, shall we?" "It isn't an impure power. It's just my shamanic energy, irresponsibly dismissed by that one. Tell me, Risir. What do you know about shamanism? How much do you know about magic and mana?" The shaman's eyes were clear and unwavering. They seemed to pierce through to one's very soul, like a form of sorcery themselves. "…" "…" Even Meltas and Salana, who were listening alongside, found themselves intrigued by her words. "May I take a moment to check what's in there?" Risir, however, did not seem affected. His gaze effortlessly slipped past Glia's penetrating eyes, fixating instead on the satchel at her waist. The shaman's eyes quivered subtly. "I must refuse. I am under no obligation to disclose the contents of my belongings to you." Undeterred, Risir looked towards Salana and continued speaking. "Miss Salana, when I used my normalization power on your skin condition, I felt an impression—it felt like a reservoir linked to a conduit." "A reservoir linked to a conduit?" "Even if you empty the contents of the reservoir, new contents just get supplied through the conduit." Oh, that’s a good analogy. Risir felt it made perfect sense, yet Salana and Meltas reacted ambiguously. This was due to their lack of knowledge—knowledge about shamanism. Shamanism was considered the knowledge of barbarians—a primitive knowledge. There were rarely opportunities to learn about it, and even if there were, few desired to do so. Better to memorize another noble family's history than to delve into shamanism. Even Meltas, the scholar of the magic tower, knew nothing about shamanism until meeting Glia. His pride as an intellectual led him to ignore such primitive knowledge. Had he not heard of Glia’s useful shamanism from Salana, he wouldn’t have paid any heed to it. On the other hand, there was Risir. He was someone who wandered the library annex—a repository for those books dealing with lowly knowledge. Risir devoured all kinds of discarded knowledge in his resolve to escape his life as a bastard. Among those were texts detailing the lives of barbarians and, in part, shamanic practices. Though not deeply profound, it was enough for his current needs. "Sir Meltas, is there any magic that functions in such a way? Continually affecting a target while having its core based externally?" "To my knowledge, such magic doesn't exist. If it does, it would likely be a secret kept by select wizards." "Then what about in shamanism?" "Shamanism?" "In shamanism, there’s something called a 'wither curse.' It involves creating an effigy using a part of the target and exerting continuous influence through that effigy." Regarding this, Risir couldn't help but feel a degree of frustration. In his previous life, he might have just said, "You know, like a voodoo doll." "…Does such a shamanistic curse really exist? To begin with, you—" "Risir? You know about shamanism?" "I am a bastard, aren't I? I used to read books suited to my status." "…" "…" The two fell into a contemplative silence. "The reason I wanted to inspect the shaman’s luggage was because of that. From her satchel, I sensed the same ominous energy I felt from Miss Salana's skin condition. I believe the 'effigy' I mentioned is inside." Simultaneously, Salana and Meltas fixed their eyes on Glia's satchel. "…" By now, the shaman’s composed demeanor had entirely unraveled. Her once-clear eyes were now trembling violently. For a wizard to guess that a skin condition might be related to shamanism was plausible. But to pinpoint it as a wither curse? That meant having a basic understanding of shamanistic knowledge and possessing extraordinary power to dispel its malign influence in an instant. For Glia, it was like a bolt from the blue— Had Risir been more adept in technical jargon, it could have been summed up in a couple of words: unreasonable situation. "Glia." Salana extended her hand toward Glia. As Risir had discerned, in her satchel lay the true effigy behind the curse. Under normal circumstances, she would have safeguarded it in a secure location— However, today was exceptionally significant for Glia. It was the day to harvest the fruit of all her efforts. The sudden intervention of a bastard had altered her plans slightly—but it was fine. The timeline was simply expedited. "Salana. Know this. I am not the shaman who cursed you." Glia retrieved the effigy from her satchel. The straw figure was stained with blood and had strands of dark red hair, presumably Salana's, embedded along its length. Glia placed it into Salana's hands, and then— Ssshhh. She tore open the straw effigy’s belly. Blood gushed out, and Glia ravenously drank it up. Gulp. Gulp. After quenching her thirst, Glia wiped her lips with the back of her hand and continued speaking. "I didn't approach you with such intentions from the beginning. Initially, I meant to brew a remedy for your skin ailment for a reward. And, while I was at it, forge ties with you—a promising adventurer." "Then why?" "…I discovered the true nature of the skin ailment. It was a curse cast by a formidable shaman, who even sacrificed their life to curse you." "…" Salana's pupils subtly widened and contracted. A formidable shaman. She had an inkling. The shaman had once attempted to exploit a foolish yet immensely powerful noble to unseal a necromancer. Salana, as the master of the Assassin’s Guild, had dealt with that shaman. Who would have thought the skin condition was the retribution for that? No one could have imagined it, especially since it was an incident more than five years old. The skin ailment had only begun to manifest a year ago. "I became fascinated by the curse. If I could claim that ownerless curse as my own, I could also claim you, its victim. Our periodic meetings under the pretext of healing were part of this plan. I analyzed the curse, traced its roots, and ultimately reached the source." Glia slowly closed her eyes and reopened them. Her previously transparent eyes had turned a sinister black. "Do you remember a shaman by the name of Valaka? Assassin." "...!" How could this be? Salana whispered, stunned. "At the source of the curse, I had a conversation with him." A chilling intuition gripped Salana's instincts. She couldn't let this continue. Immediately, Salana activated the poison she had implanted in Glia. With a pounding heartbeat, Glia's breath ceased. "But he said—" Nonetheless, Glia's words kept flowing. "If I pledged not to interfere with the grand design, he said I would be liberated." "W-What is this—Salana! Glia! What in the world is happening?" YW9peUx5cktZYXhyU2hzY1VsMkQ0VXVlS3k5cFVPeSt1U2JPVHgrem9TVlZGUW1JOVkzN1JzTllrRUlSRG1DMA Meltas gasped with labored breath. The malevolent aura emanating from Glia was enough to evoke instinctual terror in a 6th-tier wizard. "What will you do, Assassin? Will you make a pact with him?" "...Glia, do you realize what you’ve become involved in?" The master of the Assassin's Guild, stripped off her adventurer’s mask, faced her. "…" Glia closed her eyes again. When she opened them once more, they were like bottomless voids. From within, a sticky black substance began to pour out. "That’s for you to ponder, isn’t it? Slave to the order." Salana realized it then. Whoever stood before her was no longer Glia. The shaman had returned from the dead—a servant of death who conjured death, desiring death. A new necromancer was born in that moment. ▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼ ────────── ■ Necromancer Valaka Level: 63(2) Race: Undead Occupation: Necromancer ────────── ... ... ... ────────── [An unusual presence is detected nearby] [Influence of the target is felt] ────────── ────────── [An unusual presence is detected nearby] [Influence of the target is felt] ────────── ────────── [Target’s influence is overwhelming] ────────── ... ... ... ────────── ▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲ The formidable presence completely filled their world. Meltas forgot the existence of the other two and focused solely on the presence before him. Salana, too, forgot the others and concentrated on the entity in her view. …and Valaka. It, too, forgot the presence of the other two and focused entirely on the one before it. "…" Risir. His demeanor was completely out of place—a calm, almost lazy air surrounded him as he faced Valaka. There was no sign of reverence for the necromancer. 'What on earth is this now?' It was as if an absent-minded voice echoed around him. He slowly extended his hand toward Valaka. "!!!" SHAAAAAAAAA!!! A scream that seemed to tear through the fabric of space filled the room. Thud. Valaka collapsed to the ground. No—Glia did. "?" Suddenly freed from her own body’s constraints, she wore a dazed expression.