Make Dark Fantasy Great Again-Chapter 32: Shamans

“What did we do...?”

Glia was flustered. She was the one who wanted to ask what he had done.

The potion had contained the power of Glia, a shaman nearing the 5th rank. But that power had vanished without a trace...at the hands of a mere 3rd rank bastard, no less.

“How dare you!”

Meltas erupted in anger. As a mage of Caig Tower, he had already engaged in a lengthy conversation with Glia.

Through their talk, he’d realized that she possessed an elegant character and mysterious knowledge unbefitting her barbarian status. He had formed a good impression of her as a person and found her intriguing as a scholar.

She wasn’t someone a mere bastard could disrespect so casually.

Meltas began to draw up his mana. He intended to both retrieve the potion the bastard had snatched and teach him some manners in the process.

“Sir Meltas.”

What stopped Meltas was Salana’s chilling voice.

“I believe I made it clear—Risir is my guest. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop treating him like some lost illegitimate child who wandered in here by mistake.”

Her characteristic cheerful demeanor remained. But those eyes, and that overbearing attitude...

“...”

Meltas was a 6th rank practitioner, an elite mage respected by the entire Caig Tower. He wasn’t someone a mere 5th rank high-tier adventurer could address so casually.

Yet for some reason, he found himself unable to say a word to the woman before him.

Meltas subconsciously touched his neck. For a moment, Salana’s anger had made him feel as if a blade was pressed against his throat.

But that feeling passed quickly.

“Ahem!”

Meltas stood up.

“I understand your meaning. It seems your relationship with that bastard outweighs your relationship with me.”

“Is that really what’s important right now?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear what Risir just said? He asked what you two did to the potion. Isn’t that intriguing? I’d like to hear the rest of what this is about, but it seems you two have different ideas?”

“...”

The braids of Meltas’s beard trembled.

“Fine. Let’s hear it then. See what nonsense he’ll spout.”

Meltas sat back down and glared at Risir with eyes full of an old man’s spite.

“What do you mean by asking what we did to the potion?”

“...”

Risir examined the potion for a moment before speaking.

“The truth is, I possess a special power.”

“A special power?”

“My master called it the power of nor...malization.”

“Nor...malization?”

“It’s the power to return abnormal states of objects or subjects to their normal state. In my experience, it mainly reacts to forces that have a negative influence on the surroundings. It’s reacted most notably to the powers of demons and black mages.”

“Oh how very convenient.”

Naturally, Meltas didn’t believe a word Risir said. Not only had he never heard of such an outlandish power in his entire life, but he also found it hard to believe that a mere 3rd rank bastard could possess such an incredible ability.

“...”

As if anticipating Meltas’s reaction, Risir pulled out something he had been keeping close.

“That’s...?”

Meltas leaned forward, his eyes intense. He immediately recognized what Risir had produced.

“...Surely that’s the Durayeg crest?”

It was the note Dares had given Risir as thanks for his help. The paper bore the Durayeg crest, as well as a statement vouching for Risir, written in Dares’ elegant handwriting.

“How did you come to possess a note bearing the Durayeg crest?”

The Durayegs were one of the pillars that embodied the flame. No mage would dare speak their name carelessly.

Meltas’s eyes gleamed as he looked at Risir.

“It’s related to the power I just mentioned.”

“You mean that power of nor...malization?”

“I used it to provide personal assistance to Sir Dares Durayeg. This is what I received as thanks.”

“...”

Meltas knew about Dares. While he didn’t have a personal relationship with him, stories about a family as prominent as the Durayeg were naturally on the lips of gossipmongers.

They say Dares Durayeg’s fiancée has fallen ill with an incurable disease...

Meltas wondered if this bastard was trying to say he cured that incurable disease, which was deemed incurable as even the most renowned healers could do nothing to treat it.

It was an unrealistic story. But the fact that the Durayeg family would vouch for a bastard was equally unbelievable.

“So you’re saying, since your normalization power reacted to the potion, it must have contained some malevolent force?”

“That’s correct. It’s also thanks to this power that Salana trusts me. I used it to treat her skin condition.”

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“Ah, so that’s what happened?”

Salana nodded and showed her scar to Meltas.

“...”

After observing the scar more closely, Meltas also nodded. Regardless of its potency, it seemed certain that Risir possessed some kind of special power.

Meltas’s demeanor changed after some deep thought. He had been tense and ready to storm out at any moment, but now he leaned back in his chair with arms crossed.

“Let me say this first. I didn’t do anything to the potion. To begin with, it was something Glia prepared personally.”

Meltas turned to Glia. Until just moments ago, he had been defending her, but now he was interrogating her.

“You two. How can you trust him over me? Sir Meltas, I can understand since we’ve just met, but Salana. You, of all people, shouldn’t be doing this. After all the help I’ve given you these past few months.”

The shaman maintained her composure even in this situation. This, coupled with her mysterious aura, lent weight to her words, but Salana’s reaction was lukewarm. Cold, actually.

“We’ve strayed from the point. Why don’t we talk about the potion first?”

“It’s not a malevolent force. That man simply made an arbitrary judgment of my shamanistic power. 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. Her piercing gaze was almost like a spell itself.

“...”

“...”

Even Meltas and Salana, who were listening from the side, found themselves unconsciously swayed by her words.

“May I have a moment to check what’s in there?”

But Risir wasn’t fazed at all. His gaze effortlessly broke away from Glia’s and fixed on the pouch tied to her waist.

A slight tremor ran through the shaman’s eyes.

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

Unfazed, Risir continued speaking while looking at Salana.

“Miss Salana. If I may share the impression I got when using my nor...malization power on your skin, I felt it was like a container connected by pipes.”

“A container connected by pipes?”

“Even if one empties the container, it’ll be refilled through the pipes.”

Risir praised himself on the analogy, as he had understood it immediately. Salana and Meltas, on the other hand, seemed unsure.

This was because they lacked the knowledge Risir possessed. Specifically, knowledge about shamanism.

Shamanism was the knowledge of barbarians. In other words, it was inferior knowledge.

Generally, there were no opportunities to encounter it, and even if one did, few bothered to learn it. Rather than learning about shamanism, it was better to memorize one more noble family’s history.

Even Meltas, a scholar from a mage tower, knew next to nothing about shamanism until he met Glia. His pride as an intellectual had actually led him to distance himself from such inferior knowledge.

And if he hadn’t heard from Salana that Glia’s shamanism was useful, he might never have taken an interest in it at all.

On the other hand, Risir was someone who had frequented the storage room called the library annex, which was stocked with books dealing with inferior knowledge.

There, driven by his desire to escape his life as a bastard, Risir had indiscriminately devoured such discarded knowledge.

Among these were books dealing with the ecology of barbarians, some of which touched on shamanism. Though it wasn’t in-depth knowledge, it was enough for this situation.

“Sir Meltas? Is there any magic that works in this way? Continuously affecting a specific target while keeping its source external?”

“As far as I know, such magic doesn’t exist. Even if it did, it would probably be passed down as arcane knowledge to only certain mages.”

“Then what about shamanism?”

“Shamanism?”

“There’s a shamanic practice called the Doppelganger Curse. It involves creating a doppelganger using part of the target’s body, and using it to induce a continuous effect.”

Risir felt considerable frustration at this point. In his previous life, he could have explained it in one phrase: You know, it’s like a voodoo doll.

“...Does such shamanism really exist? To begin with, you—”

“You know about shamanism, Risir?”

“Aren’t I a bastard? I often read books befitting my status.”

“...”

“...”

The two suddenly grew solemn.

“That’s why I wanted to check the shaman’s belongings. I sensed the same kind of energy from her pouch that I felt from Salana’s skin. The ‘doppelganger’ I mentioned is probably in there.”

Salana and Meltas’s gazes simultaneously fixed on Glia’s pouch.

“...”

At this point, Glia’s calm demeanor had completely crumbled. Her clear eyes were trembling uncontrollably.

It was plausible for a mage to guess that the skin condition was caused by shamanism. But to pinpoint it as a Doppelganger Curse so accurately?

This was only possible because Risir not only had basic knowledge of shamanism, but also possessed an extraordinary ability to instantly dispel the malevolent energy created by shamanic practices.

For Glia, it was truly a bolt from the blue—what Risir would have called a ‘life said no’ moment.

“Glia.”

Salana held her hand out to Glia.

As Risir said, the doppelganger, the source of the curse, was indeed stored in Glia’s pouch.

Normally, she would have kept it in a separate, secure location...but today was an exceptionally important day for Glia. The day to reap the fruits of all her efforts.

Though the bastard’s sudden intervention had disrupted her plans, it was fine. It simply sped up the execution time a bit.

“Salana, I want you to know one thing—I’m not the shaman who placed the curse on you.”

Glia took out the aforementioned doppelganger from her pouch. Made of straw, it was stained with blood and had strands of dark red hair, presumably Salana’s, embedded in various places.

Just as Glia was about to place it in Salana’s hand...

Slash.

Glia tore open the straw doll’s belly. Glug glug. Blood poured out, and she greedily drank it.

Gulp, gulp.

Finally, after finishing her binge, Glia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and continued speaking.

“I didn’t approach you with that intention from the start. I was going to brew a potion for your skin condition and receive compensation. While I was at it, I also wanted to build connections with you, a promising adventurer.”

“Then why?”

“...I discovered the true nature of your condition. It was a curse placed on you by a powerful shaman who had sacrificed their own life.”

“...”

Salana’s pupils subtly dilated for a second. A powerful shaman...she had an inkling of who it was.

It was the shaman who had tried to break the seal of a necromancer by manipulating a foolish but powerful nobleman.

As a master of the Assassin’s Guild, Salana had eliminated that shaman. She never imagined that her skin condition was the karmic retribution for that...

After all, that incident had happened over 5 years ago, whereas her condition had only manifested a year ago.

“I was fascinated by that curse. If I could make that masterless curse my own, I could make you mine as well. That’s why I arranged regular meetings with you under the pretext of treatment. I analyzed the curse, found its roots, and finally traced those roots to reach its source.”

Glia shut her eyes tightly. The next time she opened them, her clear eyes were tinted with an ominous black.

“Do you remember a shaman named Balaka, assassin?”

Salana quietly exclaimed in bewilderment.

“How...?!”

“At the source of the curse, I conversed with her.”

An ominous sensation gripped Salana’s instincts. It warned her against letting the shaman continue.

Immediately, she activated the phantom poison she had planted in Glia.

The shaman’s heart thumped violently, and she ceased to breathe.

“She said...”

Yet, her words continued.

“If you promise not to interfere with her grand plan, she will liberate you.”

“W-what is—Salana! Glia! What on blazes is going on here?!”

Meltas gasped for breath. The malevolent energy emanating from Glia was intense enough to instill instinctive fear even in a 6th rank mage.

“What will you do, assassin? Will you make the promise?”

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

The adventurer mask had fallen off, revealing the master assassin underneath.

“...”

Glia shut her eyes tightly once more. When she opened them again, they were as empty as deep pits, a viscous black substance pouring out from them.

“That’s for you to know, isn’t it? You lapdog of order.”

Salana realized she was no longer facing Glia.

The shaman had returned from the afterlife—as a servant of death, desiring death, and wielding its power.

In that moment, another necromancer was born.

▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼▼

***

■Necromancer Balaka

Level: 63(2)

Race: Undead

Job: Necromancer

***...

...

...

***

[There is a unique entity nearby]

[You are affected by the entity]

***

[There is a unique entity nearby]

[You are affected by the entity]

***

[The entity’s influence is too strong]

***...

...

...

***▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲▲

Her overwhelming presence consumed their entire world.

Meltas forgot the other two entirely, his attention fixated on the dark being before him. Salana was no different.

...And Balaka? She, too, was oblivious to the rest, her focus locked on a single figure.

“...”

Risir stood before Balaka, his demeanor relaxed, completely out of place in the tense atmosphere. There was no trace of reverence toward the necromancer in his posture—if anything, it seemed as though he was dumbly questioning what was unfolding.

The next moment, he slowly extended a hand toward Balaka.

“!!!”

Screeeeeeeeech!!!

The air was torn apart by a scream that seemed to shred the fabric of space itself.

Balaka—no, Glia collapsed to the floor with a thud.

“?”

She blinked in a daze, having suddenly regained control of her body.