Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 311: The Abomination (3)

“What exactly am I looking at?” Grombir asked Ketal at last, his face still caught halfway between awe and disbelief.

Ketal explained what Hephaite had done and how their power had acted. Even so, the dwarf’s expression remained clouded.

“How...,” he murmured, as if the single word could carry all the weight of his confusion. A weapon had taken on the form of a human. It was not a puppet or a clever simulacrum. She was truly, undeniably alive.

Grombir was a smith, and not a middling one. He stood among the highest of the Heroes, a craftsman so accomplished that calling him one of the finest in the world would not have been flattery. Yet even he could not trace the method.

“May I touch your arm?” he asked the Holy Sword, his voice gentle in spite of the raging questions behind his eyes.

“Yes,” the Holy Sword said, and she offered her arm without hesitation.

Grombir cupped her forearm and focused, letting Myst rise and settle through his hands until his senses caught the weave beneath the skin. The arm felt soft and warm. It felt like the flesh of a girl in her early teens. That impression clashed with what his Myst told him.

The materials that had once formed the blade had not vanished. They had transformed. Under a god’s authority, those minerals had taken on an organic arrangement. On the surface, the Holy Sword wore skin. Inside that semblance, refined metals of frightening density formed tissues and ligaments far stronger than anything born in a womb.

He released her arm and stepped back with a slow exhale. “I understand,” he said, which meant only that he finally grasped the outline. “Lord Hephaite has done something astonishing.”

He studied the silver-haired girl anew and adjusted what he expected from her. The Holy Sword, now in human form, was powerful. Even if he attacked without warning, he doubted he could scratch her skin. The blade-metals that made her were now skin, bone, and muscle. That skin would turn away a weapon’s kiss the way the old blade had parted armor. She was Hero class in her own right, perhaps beyond, and Grombir said as much to Ketal.

Ketal nodded. “That follows. A person who holds the Holy Sword gains a Hero’s strength. It is only natural that a Holy Sword with a body would hold the same.”

Grombir breathed out a quiet, respectful laugh.

“As expected of Hephaite,” he said. To give a crafted weapon will, then motion, then a body that moved by its own desire was the dream that tugged at every smith’s heart. Hephaite had not stopped at animation. They had completed a transformation so convincing that even Grombir had first taken the girl for an ordinary child. He steadied himself and took charge.

“You both look overwhelmed,” Grombir said, glancing between them. “Hephaite did not linger to explain, did they?”

“Not really,” the Holy Sword admitted, still dazed. She flexed her fingers as if she could not quite believe the way tendons slid beneath the skin.

“Then we will all take a breath,” Grombir said. “Go and get your bearings. We will speak again once my heart slows.”

Ketal guided the Holy Sword out. Dwarves they passed stared openly at the unfamiliar girl beside the towering barbarian, their round eyes widening and widening again.

Back in the lodging, the Holy Sword stood in the doorway for a moment as if listening to the world and then whispered, almost to herself, “I can feel the wind.”

“You could not feel it before?” Ketal asked her.

“No. The stone under my feet is hard, and the cloth on my skin has texture, and I can sense the current of the air when I move my hand,” she said, spreading her fingers and smiling in wonder. “This is remarkable.”

“Then let me say it clearly,” Ketal replied. “Congratulations. You have your freedom.”

The Holy Sword startled, as if the word itself had weight.

“Thank you,” she said quickly, her voice small and sincere.

“What will you do now?” he asked her, not unkindly.

“I do not know,” she admitted.

Hephaite had given her liberty without instruction. Ketal watched her think and then offered a path. “If you want to wander the world, you can. You owe me nothing.”

“Is that truly all right?” she asked him, eyes stretching round. She was, in a strict sense, an item that belonged to Ketal. The idea that he would simply loosen his hand felt absurdly generous.

“It is,” he said. Losing her store of knowledge would be inconvenient, but no disaster. He had no desire to keep a child tethered for the sake of convenience.

“Okay...,” she said, but the word wavered, and a new uncertainty opened beneath it. Absolute freedom sometimes made the ground feel farther away. “How does one live as a human? What should I do first?”

The data poured into her for the sake of war did not cover wages, markets, neighbors, or the small courtesies that knit people to people. She knew little of daily life.

Ketal answered in a level voice. “Start with what draws you. If you follow that, the rest will come.”

“What draws me...,” she repeated, and then fell quiet long enough to count a dozen breaths. When she looked up again, her gaze held a touch more steadiness. “May I go with you? At least for now?”

Ketal tilted his head. “I do not mind. Are you sure you want that?”

“I do not know what to do on my own,” she admitted. “If I follow you for a time, I can learn how people live. And more than that, I like who you are. Hephaite did not place any conditions on my life. If you do not object, I would prefer to stay close and learn.”

“Do as you like,” Ketal said, as if he were agreeing to have a second cup of tea rather than take custody of a living relic. The Holy Sword brightened at once.

“Thank you,” she said, and an almost giddy excitement rippled through her. “I worried you would find me cumbersome and refuse. I now understand what it means when a heart beats fast.”

“I am used to this,” Ketal said. “It is not a problem.”

On the White Snowfield, Ketal had led a tribe. Guiding and protecting others had been his role. The Holy Sword wore the body of an adolescent, but that did not trouble him. In the Snowfield, no one had been capable of a normal exchange with him.

On many occasions, he had taken promising children aside and tried to teach them one by one, creating the conversation he lacked. Their minds could not reach the place he wanted to share, and every attempt had failed. Even so, he had tried hundreds of times. Escorting and teaching came easily to him now.

They reported their decision to Grombir.

“So you will travel together for a while,” the Dwarf King said. “If you had nowhere to go, I would have told you to stay in our holy land. It seems that will not be necessary.”

He looked from the silver-haired girl to the barbarian who stood three times her breadth and twice her height.

“A peculiar pair,” he said, and the phrase did not hide the fondness in his tone. The combination worked better than it should have. One was a barbarian from the White Snowfield. The other had never been human until an hour ago. Neither fit comfortably with the ordinary. With her pale silver hair, the Holy Sword might look like Ketal’s daughter at a glance. A second look would correct the mistake.

They returned to the lodging, and the Holy Sword bowed deeply. “I look forward to journeying with you. But... may I also ask for a favor?”

“What is it?” Ketal asked her.

“Would you give me a name?” she said. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“A name...,” Ketal repeated. Now that she had a human body, she needed a human name. He took a moment and then said, “How about Serena?”

“Serena,” she tried, and the shape of the word made her smile. “That is good. I like it a great deal. Thank you!”

The Holy Sword, now Serena, spoke her name with quiet pride.

***

Serena announced that she would like to see the city and darted outside. The eagerness on her face made her look even younger, and Ketal suspected that was the point. Hephaite would not have chosen the body’s age by accident. The appearance matched the age of the mind that had just stepped into the world.

I will not be bored for a while, Ketal thought as he remained in the room. He was not entirely alone. The thing inside him never truly slept.

“Hey,” he said inwardly.

“What do you want?” The Abomination’s reply sounded impatient. Ketal lifted the axe and tested its weight.

“Your authority,” he said. “It sits close to death, does it not?”

“You heard what the young one said” it said, too lazy to hide the answer. “Why bother asking me?”

Ketal let the corner of his mouth lift. When he drew Myst into the blade, Raphael had shown fear that did not come from caution or reason. It had been the fear that lived in every creature that breathed, the dread that stirred when it stared at the end. That reaction had told Ketal enough about the Abomination’s authority. Even so, there was more to ask.

“Do you know anything about the Quests?” he asked it.

“I do not,” the Abomination replied at once. “Whatever it is you stare at sometimes, it does not appear to me. I do not see it. I do not feel it.”

If Ketal did not react to them, the Abomination would not know they existed.

“In fact, I would rather ask you,” it added, with a trace of curiosity it failed to hide. “What is it? Even I cannot grasp it from inside you.”

Ketal narrowed his eyes. The Abomination had no tie to the Quests. That isolation mattered.

What are you, he wondered, and the thought was not aimed at the Abomination but at the quiet structure that had been guiding him since the beginning. He wondered why the Quests walked beside him and what they truly wanted.

Time had passed, and he still did not know. It had taken time for him to recognize the Abomination inside him. Perhaps the Quests would also yield their truth when time had worked enough edges smooth.

He put the thought away and reached for something the Abomination could answer.

“There are still groups in this world who worship you,” he said. “Do you know anything about them?”

“You think I would remember every weak thing that scratched at my feet?” it retorted, its tone bored. “But it is possible that some remain. Long ago, there were many who worshipped me. It was a pleasant age.”

Ketal could not tell whether that last sentence was a joke. Before he could ask, the door swung wide and Serena burst in with a face as bright as a lantern.

“I am back!” she announced.

“You look like you enjoyed yourself,” Ketal said.

“The dwarves gave me so much to eat,” she said. “This world is full of flavors. I had no idea. It was a delightful time.”

“I am glad,” Ketal said, and he listened while she bubbled through every dish and every odd kindness. He answered when he should and smiled when that was the right answer. Then, a thought occurred to him.

“The demons’ latest incursion failed,” he said, turning the conversation.

Serena sobered. Raphael had been the strongest hellborn to descend so far. Hell had paid a terrible price to send him. Ketal’s presence had made the loss worse. Raphael had been banished with humiliating ease. Hell had received some ores in return for the attempt, but they likely did not balance the sacrifices required to open the path.

“What will they do now?” Ketal asked Serena.

“I expect Hell took heavy losses,” Serena said, thinking aloud. “To send a demon of that level down, they would have used a significant share of the offerings they had stolen from the Mortal Realm.”

“And?” Ketal prompted.

“They cannot take the world by continuing like this,” she said. “They may win small, local gains, but they will lose in the large view. They will have to choose.”

Her voice dropped. She spoke the kind of choice that marks a turn in a war. Ketal rubbed his chin.

“Something large will come,” he said.

“I think so,” she answered.

***

At that very hour, in Hell, the council of the Four Pillars of Hell held a session. Materia, the Mother of All Demons, leaned back in their chair and asked, “So, what will we do?”

“This is intolerable,” Caliste, the Demon of the Sword, said with narrowed eyes. “I want to remove the irritation at once.”

“It will not be easy,” said a voice that squirmed like a tangled rope of lives. Necrobix, the Writhing Aberration, spoke without heat. “Judging from the fight with Raphael, the barbarian has grown stronger than when he opposed Materia. His power can kill us.”

“What is he?” Materia muttered, clicking her tongue. “He scarred my true body while I descended through an avatar, and he killed a demon who stands in the Mortal Realm. What sort of being is he?”

They had not watched the battle with Raphael. They did not know about the Abomination in Ketal’s depths. They knew only that the facts lay against them.

“What will we do?” Materia asked again. “At this pace, we will never take the Mortal Realm.”

Hell’s resources were not infinite. Each descent consumed something irreplaceable. They had paid dearly to send Raphael because they intended him to hold Mantamia’s mines and pay back the cost. Ketal had ruined that timeline. The demons had to choose. They could continue to bleed out slowly, or they could stake much more on a single effort and roll the dice. The choice was not simple. If the grand attempt failed, they would not have the means to recover quickly.

Silence spread and settled until Necrobix broke it.

“I have decided,” it said. “I will go.”

“Will you send an avatar?” Materia asked it. “That may work, but the cost will not be small.”

“Not an avatar,” Necrobix answered. “I will go myself.”

Materia’s eyes widened.

Necrobix continued in the same calm tone. “If we gather the minerals Raphael brought back and all the artifacts pulled from the Mortal Realm, we can just barely finance my descent.”

“It is possible,” Materia said slowly. “Barely.”

“The barbarian on the White Snowfield exists,” Necrobix said. “Sending down weak ones is meaningless while he walks.”

If the enemy remained what they had become, they needed to meet them with a presence that could stand even when the world tilted. They needed someone who could kill them.

“Raphael fell too easily. It will not be done with ordinary demons,” Necrobix said.

Ketal’s death would require a being with an authority that could meet what he carried. One of the Four Pillars of Hell answered to that requirement. Necrobix, founder of all dark magic, declared its conclusion.

“I will descend,” it said, and the words slid through Hell like the first edge of a blade. “I will go to the Mortal Realm myself and kill the barbarian.”