“Psh, look at you, trying to act all cool and shit. Bet that sword’s the source of all that confidence,” the man said.
Ah. So he’d noticed the dumb sword.
The source of my confidence? The source of all evil, more like!
“Heh heh! Don’t get cocky just because of some aethereal garbage you found somewhere,” he sneered.
Cocky? Me? Trust me, I’d like nothing more than to drop the damn thing.
Also, the only reason my body wasn’t moving was because the demonic sword was busy getting a read on the situation. It hadn’t killed the dude with that first thrust, so this time it was focusing its strength.
In fact, it was pushing my feet so hard against the ground my bones were creaking. Guess it’s getting ready to swoop in and one-hit kill this guy, I thought.
“Too bad for you that aethereal arms have different power levels! And Dáinsleif here is better!” he bragged, lifting his huge crimson sword as some kind of red, bloodlike phosphorescence oozed from its blade.
“Geh heh heh! Look how it overflows with magic power! Your dinky little sword doesn’t even glow! Poor baby found himself a shit-tier weapon!” said the dark magus, cackling.
I glanced at the village chief, who knew a lot about that kinda stuff. He was hanging his head dejectedly.
Oh, I see. So this weapon is shit-tier. And it curses its wielder on top of that. Cool, cool. I couldn’t have chosen a worse weapon to pick up. But you know what?
“Silence, filth,” I said, sounding as assertive and confident as I could manage.
“What was that?!”
It wasn’t like I could just apologize to that guy and we’d just kiss and make up, anyway. Besides, the sword in my right hand was raring to go. At that point, one of us wasn’t gonna make it out alive.
“You damn punk! That’s it! Get him, goblins! Get his ass!” yelled the dark magus. He’d finally snapped.
Obeying his command, the vicious green creatures let out a roar and rushed toward me, like ants swarming their prey.
Honestly, I was terrified.
But, if I was going to hide the fact I was cursed and, more importantly, get myself out of that situation, I had no choice but to fight. I had to become a paragon of justice. A condemner of evil.
“Embrace your doom, vile fiend!”
As I uttered those words, I stopped trying to resist the sword’s influence.
“Fine! Use me, but do it well, you hear?”
For the sake of the future, for the sake of peace, I surrendered myself fully to the black blade of death. And, in that moment, a voice reverberated deep within my soul.
“MY PUPPET. SAY MY NAME. CARVE IT INTO YOUR SOUL.”
“Muramasa, the Black Reaper!”
The moment I uttered those words, my movements transcended the limits of human ability. Running so fast the ground cracked open beneath my feet, I closed the distance between myself and the goblin horde in an instant.
“Die.”
With one flash of the sword, so blindingly fast that sound itself couldn’t keep up, I cut multiple enemies in half.
The remaining goblins froze in place. Whether they stopped from the shock of their fellows’ deaths or in an attempt to preserve their lives, I don’t know, but it left their guard wide open for me. And with the level of power I had, they didn’t stand a chance.
Two, four, six, eight more flashes. My arms moved in every direction with each step forward, reducing the goblin horde to chunks of flesh and blood, cutting through hundreds of them in mere seconds.
“Wh-What the hell are you?! Stay away! Stay the hell away from me!” yelled the dark magus as I drew closer. He brandished his crimson-red blade, sending a powerful blood-hued streak flying in my direction. “Die! Die! Die die diiie!”
He kept slashing, and arc after reddish arc flew toward me. It looked like a wall of blood closing in on me and was, frankly, horrifying. Which was exactly why I chose to do absolutely nothing.
As I cried internally, keenly aware of just how much exhaustion was setting in, my body filled with even more power. Muramasa made short work of the curtain of red blades hurtling at me, and my feet finally closed the distance between myself and the dark magus. I was right up in his face.
“Wh-What?!” he yelled, his eyes wide. Reflected in them, I stood, blade in hand, a veritable god of war.
I wondered if this was what I looked like to other people. I didn’t want to fight—and that just happened to also be the reason I was strong. It was only when I’d completely given up control of my body that the Black Reaper’s power over it had reached its apex. My elite warrior-level movements had become even more precise, and despite not having any special abilities, I’d cornered the black magus.
C’mon! My muscles are falling apart! Just die already!
“Eeek! I’m sorry! Forgive me!”
Just as he was about to meet his end, the man finally broke down. The overflowing malice from when he’d first attacked the village, or when he destroyed my hometown, was nowhere to be found. He was crying, frantically babbling, begging for his life.
“I-I-I didn’t mean to do any of those evil things! I was being controlled by this weapon! You’ve heard about things that curse people and drive them mad, right?! Yeah! That’s what this was! My body just moved on its own!”
Uh, sorry, bud. I don’t think any of that makes a difference. I’m cursed, you see.
“Enough. Die.”
“Eeeeek!”
And then, with one final flash, the black blade sliced through the man’s neck, cutting his head clean off. It was done.
✦ ✦ ✦
Now, for a brief interlude, allow me to explain how our strategic decision-making went.
I was like, “I’ll do my best to stare off into the distance during combat!”
And the sword was like, “...”
Yeah, our strategy was garbage.