Chapter 1: Chapter 1 – Mud and Blood

The first thing any young man noticed when he started doing this job was the smell.

It’s hard to describe to someone who’s never smelled it themselves. How many people could earnestly say that they’d spent a long time around the bodies of the dead? In muddy fields where the blood has been spilled such that puddles gathered on the ground like rainwater. Iron and rot intertwining into a distinct stench that clung to the back of the nostrils, no matter how many scented candles you buy using your meagre pay.

I preferred to be the one picking through the remains to the ones doing the dying though. I was good at it, had a sharp eye. I could spot a wedding ring or a valuable piece of equipment from a mile away. This was the last thing I expected to be doing when I found myself in this world. A wretched thief who followed war wherever it travelled, a storm watcher who profited off the suffering of others.

I didn’t have any support. I wasn’t born into a noble family and given a great purpose by a benevolent goddess. For all I knew it was a mistake. A flip of the coin that landed on an upright edge and sent me here, into the arms of a poor local orphanage. I toiled away, took every opportunity I had and tried to use my knowledge to get somewhere. But why would they have any reason to listen to me? I was a stupid kid who didn’t know anything.

And I didn’t. I couldn’t replicate the brilliance of others and make a profit from it.

Back to square one. Scraping by on what little money I earned from selling my ill-gotten gains. A thousand faces frozen in stone, a last moment of agony and regret for what they left behind. This was a particularly bloody one. The ground beneath was blanketed by armoured bodies. Banners drifted softly in the wind, tattered and muddied. The only company I had was the crows and the two other scroungers who had followed me here, picking out their own ‘gardens’ to search through.

For a brief moment a flash of pale skin caught my attention. When I looked in the direction where it came from, there was nothing there. I returned to my work, trying to pry a tightly bound ring from a rigor-mortis afflicted finger. “Fuck this,” I silently broiled, “Stupid fucking finger.” I was growing more frustrated by the moment. Luckily nobody here knew my language, so I could swear and shout as I pleased without offending anyone.

“An outworlder,” she cackled, “Now that is interesting.”

My head snapped up once again. Someone was watching me. I scanned the horizon, finding nothing out of place. As my eyelids snapped down and opened again, that changed. Sat atop a mound of entangled bodies was a woman, naked as the day she was born, her privates only covered by her long, black hair. Her red eyes locked onto me. Surely, I had gone mad. A naked woman? Here?

My curiosity got the better of me. I abandoned my grim task for the moment and headed to the pile of bodies that she lounged upon like a throne. Sticking from one of the bodies was a blade that forebode bad tidings. It’s twisted, black blade reminded me of a tree’s branch. Rivets of red energy ran between the grooves like veins in an arm. No ordinary mercenary should have had a weapon like this.

She studied me impassively. I knew better than to touch the blade, lest my own life be forfeit. I would die for certain. This was a [Cursed Weapon]. It offered incredible power at a steep price. If the side-effects didn’t kill you, the Inquisitors would. I had seen one of these before. In the hands of a man dragged into the streets of a small town and cut down where he stood. Rendered limb from limb by the zealous knights in red.

I turned to the woman. She was beautiful, but her sudden appearance and attempts to beckon me closer had already made one thing clear – she did not have good intentions. Like a deadly flower luring in its prey, she took advantage of what people desired most, and in turn forced them to touch the blade and become its slave. I shivered as the cold bite of the wind slipped through the gaps in my coat.

“A cursed blade?” I asked, “He must not have lasted long.”

Knowing the gig was up, she laughed, “He found me in a nearby ruin, believed I’d bring him good luck in the upcoming battle.” She leaned over and pressed the tip of her finger against a soldier’s bent and battered breastplate, “Not so. I can grant you power, but lady luck is beyond my domain.”

You are reading story Knight of Corruption at novel35.com

“How am I seeing you if I’m not bound?”

“I can project myself, to some extent. After feasting on this man’s soul – I had just enough to lure in a cute young boy like yourself.”

Twenty years back home, twenty-two years here. “Technically I’m forty-two.”

She shrugged, “Men don’t change. They’re a boiling cauldron of lust and desire from cradle to grave. You’re the first to realize what I am, or to put up any kind of resistance.”

I looked over the battlefield. “In a darker time, I might have just picked you up and gotten it over with.”

“Is this not a dark time? Picking through the corpses of men for their belongings?” Her every word hung in the air with a seductive purr. A calculated and intentional attempt to seduce the heart of whoever found the blade.

“I’ve done worse. Everyone does what they have to do to survive out here.”

“As do I,” she agreed, “To be truthful – the kind of person who take up my offers are… not the most noble or well-meaning. Amoral to a fault, but still unwilling to do what needs to be done. I do the world a favour by consuming them.”

I [Inspected] the weapon. One of the few spells that I knew, handy for finding things of value. In this world ‘concepts’ had power. The world was weaved from these strands of thought and desire, and you could manipulate them as you pleased to some extent. It was a rather exhausting thing to do, and I’d burned one of my precious charges on a sword I had no intention of picking up.

---