- A Simple Transaction -
- I -
Here we go again. Once more unto the breach, taking up a backbreaking load of Curses for phenomenal cosmic power, as addictive and far healthier than the substance sharing that acronym. I've missed this.
Every story spoken has been spoken before.
'Nothing new under the sun,' eh? But some stories are worth repeating, AST among them.
The boy from Earth stumbles into another realm. A world of wonder and magic, suffering beneath the Tyrant's cruel yoke. The boy becomes a man, the man becomes a hero, the hero defeats the Tyrant, and all live happily ever after. So destiny has decreed.
So destiny decrees things. We've barely begun and I'm already weighing conspiracy theories.
But the Tyrant is not so easily overcome.
He is wise to destiny's tricks, greater than destiny's stewards. He sets the world spinning to the direction of a new master. Destiny falters; only causality remains. And mere causality does not suffice a hero from coddled Earth to stand against the Tyrant.
The implication's that the Tyrant's the new master, but if destiny has 'stewards' then maybe that's not the case. Anyway, knowing as we do that it's not safe to linger here as a
Combat-type Cursebearer, I'm left to wonder how the hell this happened? What forces would conscript and guide a mortal boy from Earth rather than deal with their own problems, given that power? These hidden masters must be navigating some serious constraints. Perhaps it was partly theater, as with the machinations of the Fates? Or the world's a chessboard used for the conflicts of competing factions. I want Vengeance in part because it comes with answers.
The hero fails, time and again. The people of the world suffer for his impudence. He loses an arm, an eye, half a lung, all the natural vigor of his youth. The companions with which he journeyed become a procession of the dead. His quest, prophesied as the dalliance of a season, becomes a grim slog of years.
Coming off EFB, 'dalliance of a season' has different connotations. Puns aside, this is pretty grim but primes readers to sympathize with the protagonist. We've got a live one here, a proper determinator. Nameless' determination was external, from the threat of death and eternal servitude along with the oath to his mentor. Seram's similar; in the
Game of Thrones Geas of Indenture, you win or you die. Arthur was towed in Imperia's wake. But the Hero's cut from different cloth, battered as it is. The lost limbs are interesting, calling to mind the Mutilating Affliction. No 'free' Remittances for us this time around.
There is no certainty of victory; barely any chance of it. But the hero's heart is full of hate, and it is much too late to stop.
These costs aren't merely sunk, they're buried with honors. The Tyrant's as driven as the Hero and more willing to commit atrocities. Control was hardly cuddly, but he had a forthright cunning you could respect. It's hard to imagine him terrorizing the populace for petty reprisals. It might be the perspective, but the Tyrant seems like a shit.
He learns from his enemy. Mirrors the monster's unmerciful cunning, turns to those forbidden arts his long-dead mentors warned him against. Finds in them, at last, an arena in which his talent exceeds his adversary's.
The mentor occupational hazard's universal. With the mortality rate in these quests it's a wonder anyone but the already-Doomed ever take on apprentices.
Years more of preparation, to realize the power that talent portends. Time bought dearly with the blood of his allies, a patchwork insurgency of the desperate and condemned. In sparse moments, the hero and his surviving companions carve out a life for themselves, stealing what joy they can. The long, bitter path of his journey trudges towards culmination.
'What is not practical, may still be achieved. With ingenuity, cunning, ruthlessness, and hate.'
One final sally against the Tyrant. As before, their powers are unevenly matched. But for the first time, that imbalance is in the hero's favor.
And yet even that is not enough. The gap in power does not suffice to overcome the gulf of skill still between them. There is no more time. There are no more chances.
Same thing that happened with Zang, despite our raw power he was a killer with thousands of years of experience. Nameless had artificial talent and some training with Suizhen. Punching upward's well and good until you break your wrist.
The killing stroke descends. The hero's final companion throws herself into its path. The hero becomes a widower.
Oof. Even knowing nothing of the character, this hurts. She was with him all the way, as his companions died for him left and right over the course of a decade, until she gave her life too. I may prefer raging against the heavens and dislike Lunacy, but if Forsaken Mask wins I'll reconcile myself to it. In the hero's shoes, it would be hard to choose otherwise. If Vendetta wins and we learn more of her through flashbacks or musings, we'll be in for some knife-twisting.
In the Tyrant's implacable guard, a momentary opening appears.
Burning selfhood like tallow, the widower mounts one final onslaught. In his eyes there is no more victory, no dreams more of failure or success. Only the enemy which must be destroyed, no matter the cost.
Nameless' oath carries weight even in his absence. Some pyres are worth the candle.
The widower prevails. The Tyrant is no more. The peoples of the world celebrate their liberation. Joy and adulation rain upon their silent champion, who stares ahead unblinking.
Sparse but powerful description. Short sentences, the hero no longer being referred to as such. You can
see the thousand-yard stare.
After the parade the widower buries his wife and their unborn child. It is eleven years to the day since he arrived in this world.
On the sliding scale of isekai experiences, I give this 4 Subarus, where a Subaru's the SI unit for SI suffering. They couldn't even have a funeral first?
Crippled by the effulgence of that final strike, the widower is a pale shadow of his prior self. But in the eyes of the people, he is still the hero that was; their protector, their shining knight, their salvation, howsoever delayed though it may have been. And, with the passing of seasons, a glimmer of hope arises in the hero's heart. That, though the cost was ruinous, more than he could bear, there was good in the world still waiting to be fostered.
How long's it been since she died? Seasons implies less than a year. What a short shelf life gratitude has.
Freedom, Justice, Truth. In time, democracy. A society with the power and wherewithal to be organized around its highest ideals, rather than brute necessity. It is what they would have wanted - and if he no longer wields a hero's strength, still he has a hero's influence.
Justice and Truth have a legacy in these quests. It sounds like the hero might've been American originally, if he wanted to import the watered-down democratic ideals? Whatever his origins, idealism without power makes for a bitter brew. In other breaking news, water remains wet.
But the world did not sit idly while he mourned. The kings and dukes who fought aside the hero have filled the vacuum of power left by the Tyrant. And they are content with the system at hand. Theirs is a society of nearly faultless structure, stably and evenly arranged. Their yoke is light, the people are fed. Is that not justice? There is no place here for the instruments of modernity, much less its frivolous ideals.
Nature abhors a power vacuum, so reorganization in the wake of upheaval's standard. Might be the hidden masters moving pieces or just human nature. But given what reforms he was trying for, my sympathy for this shit is subterranean. Basic human rights, protections for the common man, educational opportunities, and a buyout clause for serfs? That's too a high price for salvation? Seriously?
The hero is not dissuaded. Too many have died for him to surrender this dream. In that resolve the nobility see the beginnings of a Tyrant by a different name. They act. Treachery achieves what all the overlord's power could not: the hero undone at last. Discarded by those who had no more use for him.
A shallow grave for a hero's reward, striking after he was crippled in the course of saving them. He was done dirty, no question about it. Whoever selected him withdrew might've withdrawn destiny's protection too, the luck that seems to have kept him alive after all his companions died. The order's kinda suspicious as well, like they were ablative narrative armor.
In the hero's final moments, despair and hate raging equally across his heart, comes a being with the form of a man, offering vengeance in the form of a bargain.
Less credulous than Seram, not taking the Accursed's shape at face value. Fair, since we just learned about the Doom of Lunacy. If you manage to get it into Geas form, do you keep the giant monster transformation? Hope so, if Mask wins.
The being is power beyond measure, beyond the hero's wildest reckonings, the solemn steady heartbeat of all creation, the sword by which all stories would end.
The End of Stories is literally the end of power level debates, that's amazing. The Accursed's origins are all but explicitly confirmed now. Protected from the Brand of the Wretched on the far side of the fourth wall, I can say I'm glad to see him.
The Doom of Repetitive Questions may be a minor Curse, but I imagine he'll be happy to see it go.
The man cuts him off with an upraised hand. "No, I'm not the Devil, nor am I associated with any that claim to be him. There will be no souls, no contracts, no signing in blood. My offer is that of a simple transaction. I am bound by countless Curses, leaving me greatly diminished, a thin figment of what I once was. Take up a portion of my burdens, and in exchange receive a fraction of my power."
He has a textbook pitch! Funnier than it should be, given the context. You've got to wonder how many times he's done this, how many Cursebearers he's creating concurrently? The number likely requires scientific notation.
Power enough to escape this world, or remake it. This he understands without speaking. Even knowing this, he can not help but dislike the being. If this Accursed one had deigned to act sooner, could his wife and son have been saved?
Brand of the Wretched doing its dirty work. The rationalizations people make under its influence are informative, but this is a fair take absent context. Anything omnipotent not laboring under severe restrictions has a lot to answer for.
But it had not, and mere dislike means nothing.
What else is there to say?
"I accept."
Mournfully the being closes its eyes. "So be it."
Still 'the being' and not a man. Our boy's seen some shit, but nobody sane would turn down the Accursed's offer.
"If you wish only to survive," it continued, "I will grant you a modest portion of my burdens, and power enough to be free of this realm and its shackles. But if you seek vengeance against the powers truly responsible for your suffering here, then you must take on a far more onerous burden. In exchange, you will receive the power of unbounded progression, growth without limit or surcease."
'Or surcease' is an interesting way to finish this, and nothing the Accursed does is accidental. With the Apocryphal Curse and Indenture, the hero may well wish for surcease before all is said and done. But I have faith that his will's equal to the monumental task and eons of strife before him. Ultimately, someone must shoulder the weight of the Apocryphal Curse; the hero's compatibility might be lower but his life has prepared him for this. The Accursed would not offer us a burden greater than our ability to bear. It was interesting to learn that - if we tried to take
too many Curses, even for his sake, he'd come out and stop us from doing so. It will end with heroes dead and worlds aflame, but hopefully the journey will be an interesting one.
1046 words for the war chest. Also updating the index, let me know if I've missed anything.
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