Dark Fantasy Normalized – Chapter 32

“What did you do?!”

Glia was flustered. She wanted to ask more than anything—what on earth had happened?

The potion held the energy of Glia, a Shaman, at rank 5.

That energy had disappeared without a trace.

Only from the hands of a Bastard at rank 3.

“How dare you!”

A growl erupted from Meltas’ lips.

Meltas, a Mage from the Kaig Mage Tower, had already exchanged not-so-brief conversations with Glia.

From their talks, he had realized that Glia, despite her wild status, possessed an elegance and mystical knowledge that was unmatched.

He had been impressed as a human and intrigued as a scholar. She was definitely not someone a mere Bastard could disrespect.

Meltas summoned his mana.

He intended to retrieve the potion forcibly taken by the Bastard and teach him some manners.

“Meltas.”

It was Salana’s chilling voice that stopped him.

“I clearly said that Ricir is my guest. I’d appreciate it if you treated the lost Bastard accordingly.”

Her usual cheerful demeanor was still present, but her gaze—her reckless attitude—held a different weight.

“…”

Meltas was a rank 6 powerhouse. He was a prestigious Mage esteemed by the Kaig Mage Tower.

He was not someone a mere rank 5 high adventurer could simply disregard.

Yet, why was it that he couldn’t utter a word to the woman before him?

Meltas subconsciously placed his hand on his neck.

In the face of Salana’s fury, he was overwhelmed with the illusion of a blade pressed against his throat.

But that sensation passed quickly.

“Ahem!”

Meltas stood up.

“I understand your stance well. It seems that your relationship with that Bastard is more important than ours.”

“Is that really the priority now?”

“What did you say?”

“Didn’t you just hear what Ricir said? What did they do to the potion—doesn’t that pique your interest? I’d like to hear more about it, but perhaps you both have different thoughts?”

“…”

The ends of Meltas’ braided beard trembled in annoyance.

“Alright, let’s hear it then. I’m curious about what nonsense you’re spouting.”

Meltas resumed his seat and regarded Ricir with a glint of mischief in his old eyes.

“What do you mean by ‘what did you do to the potion’—what’s that supposed to mean?”

“…”

Ricir took a moment to inspect the potion before speaking.

“Actually, I possess a special power.”

“A special power?”

“My Master called it the power of Normalization.”

“Normalization?”

“It’s the power to revert abnormal objects or beings to their normal state. From my experience, this power usually reacts to forces that influence negatively. Most notably, it reacted to powers of demons and Necromancers.”

“What a fine power.”

Naturally, Meltas didn’t believe Ricir’s words.

He had never heard of such a fanciful power in his entire life, and the idea that a mere rank 3 Bastard possessed such immense ability was hard to fathom.

“…”

Ricir seemed to predict Meltas’ reaction as he took out an item he had hidden in his cloak.

“What is that…?”

Meltas leaned closer, straining his eyes. He immediately recognized the identity of the item Ricir had retrieved.

“…It must be the emblem of Durayeg?”

It was a document that Dares had handed to Ricir as a reward for his assistance.

The document bore the emblem of Durayeg, and it contained a statement affirming Ricir, written in Dares’ archaic script.

“Why do you have a document stamped with the emblem of Durayeg?”

Durayeg. They were one of the pillars of flame.

No Mage dared to speak of that name lightly.

Curiosity sparked in Meltas’ eyes as he regarded Ricir.

“Regarding the power I just mentioned.”

“The power of Normalization?”

“I assisted Sir Dares of Durayeg with my abilities. This document is the token I received in return.”

“…”

Meltas was familiar with Dares.

Though he had no personal ties, the name was certainly common among gossipers given the prominence of the Durayeg clan.

‘They say the fiancée of Dares was afflicted with an incurable disease…’

Meltas paused.

Did this Bastard want to suggest that he had cured that incurable disease which even renowned healers couldn’t touch?

It was an unrealistic tale.

However—Durayeg endorsing a Bastard in equal measure was just as unbelievable.

“So you’re saying the power of Normalization reacted to the potion, meaning there was foul energy within that potion?”

“Yes. The fact that Miss Salana trusts me stems from that power. I used it to treat her skin condition.”

“Oh, is that how it turned out?”

As Salana nodded and showed her scar to Meltas, he observed her mark closely.

“…”

Having seen Salana’s scar, Meltas also nodded.

Regardless of the prowess of that power, it was clear that Ricir indeed possessed a unique ability.

Meltas’ posture shifted as he wrestled with his thoughts.

He had been on edge, as if ready to bolt from the place any moment, but now he leaned back against the chair, crossing his arms.

“Let me clarify first. I didn’t tamper with the potion at all. To begin with, that potion was something Glia had personally prepared.”

Meltas’ gaze turned to Glia.

Just moments ago, he had defended her, but now he was interrogating her.

“You two. How can you take his word over mine? It’s understandable if Meltas here is doing so since it’s our first meeting, but Salana, shouldn’t you know better? I’ve helped you so much over these past few months.”

The Shaman maintained her composure even in this situation.

It added weight to her words, and yet Salana’s reaction was lukewarm. No, it was frigid.

“Let’s get back to the point. Shall we talk about our potion first?”

“It’s not foul energy. That bastard simply misjudged my Shamanic powers. Tell me, Ricir. What do you know about shamanism? How much do you know about magic and mana?”

The Shaman’s eyes were clear and without a flicker.

Her penetrating gaze was akin to a type of spell.

“…”

“…”

Even Meltas and Salana, who had been listening nearby, were unwittingly captivated by her words.

“May I check what’s inside that at time?”

Yet Ricir was unfazed. His gaze casually shifted from Glia to a bag secured at her waist.

The Shaman’s eyes flickered slightly.

“I refuse. I have no obligation to share the status of my belongings with you.”

Ricir paid no mind and continued speaking, looking at Salana.

“Salana, as I was using the power of Normalization on your skin disease, I got the impression that the illness presented itself like interconnected vessels.”

“Interconnected vessels?”

“When you drain the contents of one vessel, new materials still flow through the interconnected vessels.”

What an apt analogy.

However, while Ricir understood this immediately, Salana and Meltas appeared to be puzzled.

The knowledge Ricir possessed was absent in them.

It was precisely about Shamanism.

Shamanism was the knowledge of savages—merely primitive knowledge.

In general, there were few opportunities to encounter it, and even if one did, few would bother to study it.

One was better off memorizing a history from the noble families.

Even Meltas, as a scholar at the Mage Tower, knew next to nothing about shamanism until he met Glia.

Given his pride as an intellectual, he had steered clear of such lowly knowledge.

And if he hadn’t heard about how useful Glia’s shamanism was from Salana, he would have had no interest in shamanism at all.

On the other hand, there was Ricir.

He had been someone who wandered between bookshelves filled with lowly knowledge in a place called the Annex of the library.

Driven by the desire to escape his life as a Bastard, he voraciously consumed the discarded knowledge available.

Among those were books dealing with the ecology of savages, and some of that content was about shamanism.

While the depth of his knowledge wasn’t profound, it was sufficient for the moment.

“Meltas, is there magic that operates in such a manner among the spells? Working with a base removed while exerting a continuous effect on a specific target?”

“To my knowledge, no such magic exists. Even if it did, it would likely be only transmitted in certain forms to specific Mages.”

“Then what about Shamanism?”

“Shamanism?”

“One of the Shamanistic techniques is the ‘Puppet Curse.’ It creates a doll using a part of the target’s body and exercises a lasting influence through that puppet.”

Ricir felt a significant sense of frustration regarding this matter.

In his previous life, he could have simply dismissed it with the statement, “You mean a cursed doll,” but that wasn’t an option now.

“Is it reasonable for a curse like that to exist? Do you—”

“Ricir? Do you understand shamanism?”

“I’m a Bastard, right? I’ve read plenty of books that fit my status.”

“…”

“…”

The two fell into a solemn silence.

“The reason I tried to examine the Shaman’s belongings was that I felt the same kind of energy I sensed on Salana’s skin in the Shaman’s bag. I believe the ‘puppet’ is probably in there.”

Salana and Meltas focused their gazes on Glia’s bag simultaneously.

“…”

At this moment, Glia’s calm demeanor vanished completely.

Her once-clear eyes were shaking uncontrollably.

It wasn’t unusual for a Mage to suspect the identity of the skin disease as a curse.

Yet the accuracy of identifying the curse as a Puppet Curse was another matter entirely.

With basic knowledge of shamanism, and possessing an exceptional ability to neutralize the evil energy generated by curses, that could only mean one thing.

For Glia, it was akin to a bolt from the blue—

For Ricir, it was an absurd situation that he could define in just two words.

“Glia.”

Salana reached out to Glia.

As Ricir said, there was indeed a puppet, the origin of the curse, stored in Glia’s bag.

At ordinary times, she would have kept it safe in a secure place—

But today was exceptionally important for Glia.

It was the day she would reap the fruits of her long-wrought labor.

Though the sudden intervention of a Bastard had slightly derailed her plans—she was fine.

It was only a slight acceleration of the timing.

“Salana, please understand this one thing. The Shaman who cast the curse on you is not me.”

Glia took the puppet out of her bag.

Made of straw, it was stained with blood, and strands of dark red hair suspected to be Salana’s were woven throughout.

Glia was about to place it in Salana’s hand when—

Swaack.

Glia slashed the doll open. Gulp, gulp. Blood gushed from the interior, and Glia greedily drank it down.

Gulp.

Gulp.

After finishing her drink with a loud swallow, Glia wiped her lips with the back of her hand and continued speaking.

“I never intended to approach you with such motives. Initially, I intended to brew a potion for you, who was suffering from a skin disease, and receive compensation in return. Also, to build a connection with you—a promising adventurer.”

“Then why…?”

“…I figured out the identity of the skin disease. It was a curse placed on you by a powerful Shaman who sacrificed even his own life.”

“…”

Salana’s pupils dilated and contracted subtly.

A powerful Shaman. Something clicked in her mind.

The foolish yet immensely powerful noble had sought to break the seal of a Necromancer.

As the Master of the Assassin Guild, Salana had executed that Shaman.

That skin disease was the consequence.

She never would have imagined it.

And why would she? This was already over five years in the past.

The outbreak of the skin disease had only occurred a year prior.

“I was captivated by that curse. If I could make it mine, I’d also have you, plagued by that curse, under my control. My intention to meet with you often under the guise of healing was for that reason. I analyzed the curse, uncovered its roots, and ultimately traced that root back to its source.”

Glia shut her eyes tightly and opened them again.

Her transparent irises now glimmered with a sinister darkness.

“Do you remember a Shaman by the name of Balakar? Assassin.”

“…!”

How—?

Salana muttered in shock.

“I spoke with him at the place where I tracked down the origin of that curse.”

A sense of foreboding constricted around Salana’s instincts.

This couldn’t be allowed to continue.

With that immediate thought, Salana activated the poison she had embedded within Glia.

With a pounding heartbeat, Glia’s breath stopped.

“What he said was—”

Even still, Glia’s words continued unabated.

“He promised that if you did not interfere with his plans, he would free you.”

“What the hell—Salana! Glia! What is going on?!”

Meltas gasped for breath.

The malevolent energy emanating from Glia was intense enough to instill primal fear in the rank 6 Mage.

“What will you do, Assassin? Will you make a pledge to him?”

“…Glia, do you even know what you’ve gotten involved in?”

The Master of the Assassin Guild faced her in a moment of unmasking.

“…”

Glia once more tightly shut her eyes.

And when she opened them again, they were hollow like a deep pit.

From there, a bubbling black liquid began to pour out.

“That’s something you need to know. Am I wrong? A dog of the Code.”

Salana realized it then. The entity before her was no longer Glia.

The Shaman had returned from death, a Harbinger of Death who gazes at death while wielding it.

It was the moment another Necromancer was born.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

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■Necromancer Balakar

Level: 63 (2)

Race: Undead

Class: Necromancer

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…

…

…

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[There is a unique entity nearby.]

[You are affected by the target.]

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[There is a unique entity nearby.]

[You are affected by the target.]

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[The target’s influence is too strong.]

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…

…

…

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▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲

That overwhelming presence completely filled their world.

Meltas, forgetting the presence of the other two, concentrated solely on the being before him.

Salana, too, became oblivious to the other two and focused entirely on the entity before her.

…And Balakar.

He too forgot the existence of the two others and fixated on the being before him.

“…”

Ricir.

He faced Balakar with an entirely inappropriate ambiance for the location.

It wasn’t an expression of awe towards the Necromancer.

‘What the hell is this?’

The thought echoed in his mind.

He slowly extended his hand towards Balakar.

“!!!”

Screeeeeam!!!

The scream tore through the space, echoing throughout.

Thud.

Balakar slumped in his seat.

No, Glia.

“?”

Suddenly liberated, her face turned dazed.