Lars walked over to one of the nearby walls, gesturing for me to follow. “I’ve got just the thing.” He lifted an axe off of where it hung on the wall, running a hand affectional over the surface of the grip. “This here is Maverly. She got me through some of my toughest scrapes. Did I tell you about the time with the Baren Hydra on the third floor?” He swept the blade through the air, just a few inches from me. “There I was, neck-deep in goblins, when suddenly—”
I smiled, but waved my hands for him to stop. I actually enjoyed Lars’ stories, but I knew that one.
Also, he was trying to sell me on one of the worst items in the shop.
And it was out of my price range.
“Nothing against Maverly, but I’ve heard that one. Also, I’ve already got a magic weapon, and I’m getting rather attached to it.”
I patted the hilt of the sword on my hip. Lars looked at it, his eyes nearly squinting, then flashing wide open with surprise. “That isn’t... Show me the blade on that, lad.”
He hung Maverly back on the wall as I drew the weapon. I held it up for him to see.
“Well, now there’s something I never thought to see. Selys-Lyann, the Goddess’ Tears.”
My eyes went from him to the sword and back. “You recognize this thing?”
He sucked a breath in through his teeth, nodding. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.” He himself was standing a cautious distance from its reach.
I sheathed the sword carefully. “...What can you tell me about it?”
I briefly entertained the idea that I was holding some sort of legendary sword that could only be wielded by a chosen hero.
“That sword is marked with a terrible curse.”
Yeah, that sounds more like my luck. Of course it is.
“What sort of curse?” I asked, shoulders slumped in resignation.
“Once, that sword was wielded by a great warrior, who loved the goddess deeply. And the goddess loved her in return, although the warrior would never know it. The warrior sought the apex of the towers, as many do, to pray to the goddess to descend from the sky so they might be together.”
I listened carefully.
Lars leaned up against a nearby table. “The warrior was a Soulblade, one of the attunements from the north. She was unparalleled in skill and grace, able to achieve marvels with even a humble blade. The warrior made her way to near the top of the tower and stood against her final foe, Mizuchi, a child of the God Serpent itself.”
The Hero’s End.
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“The warrior’s battle against Mizuchi raged for hours, but though the warrior was greatly skilled, she was of humble birth. Her sword, a simple thing of iron, could not pierce Mizuchi’s scales, and though she tried to strike for a weakness, she could find none. Finally, she sought to block a blow from the guardian beast, but her blade snapped in twain. Mizuchi’s fangs pierced her heart. As the warrior lay dying, she called out to the goddess, the only being she had ever loved.”
“The goddess descended from the skies, but the warrior’s eyes were already closed.”
I lowered my eyes. The story didn’t sound true — how would anyone know the tale if the warrior had died alone atop the tower — but it still affected me.
“As Selys held the warrior’s body, the goddess cried for the loss of a champion, slain by the weakness of her weapon. The goddess’ tears flowed to the blade, mingling with the hero’s blood, and forging the blade anew.”
I glanced down at the hilt of the sword, then back to Lars.
“They say that the sword has passed through many hands over time, each pursuing a worthy goal. Selys-Lyann’s blade will never break again, and she cuts with the ice of Selys’ tears, but beware: she is a traitorous blade. Each time a hero wielding Selys-Lyann’s has come a hair’s breadth from their goal, they have failed — often betrayed by one of their trusted companions. And so Selys will descend again from the sky, and her tears will wipe the blade clean... until it is claimed by the next hero, destined to die by their own blade’s curse.”
I nearly took the sword off my belt and abandoned it that very moment.
“So,” he continued, drawing that one word out in a low voice, “if you’ll be needing an anti-curse sigil, I’ve got a few for sale at very reasonable—” He stopped, interrupted by the single raised finger I’d held in front of him.
I took a moment to fix him with a disbelieving stare. Then, “...Did you just make that entire thing up in order to sell me an anti-curse item?”
Lars let out another deep laugh, slapping me on the arm. “Not all of it, lad. Not all of it. It really is cursed, or so they say. But I don’t put too much stock into curses. They rarely work the way people think. Never can be too safe, though...”
And that’s how I spent nearly half my savings on an anti-curse trinket that I suspected had no function at all.
***
I returned home a little bit shaken from the story, but considerably better equipped. The anti-curse trinket was a feather, supposedly taken from a gryphon, which I attached to the Selys-Lyann’s hilt. I’d look the weapon up later to see if I could verify which parts of the story, if any, were real.
Beyond that, I’d found several things I wanted at the shop, including a bag that diminished the weight of objects inside, a pair of boots that would increase the height of my jumps, a bracelet of shielding that would recharge itself over time, and a dueling cane that was enchanted to project lightning rather than gray mana.
I could afford precisely zero of those things.
The boots were the cheapest at only two hundred silver sigils.
I had seventeen silver sigils left after purchasing the anti-curse trinket. I quickly found that any permanent magical item was out of my price range — but that had some advantages, too. As soon as I could make permanent magical items, I could probably sell them for a handy profit.
I decided I wanted to try to make a permanent item, and thus, I needed materials.
I had a few things I could already work with: two lesser gray crystals from the slimes; one lesser earth crystal from the barghensi; and the one large crystal of unknown function that Professor Orden had given me.