Translator: CinderTL
According to Roland's knowledge from ancient texts, the essence of a curse lies in magical energy saturated with malice or intense negative emotions.
A Curse Caster, through willpower, rituals, or special abilities, forcibly imprints this energy onto a target.
The curse typically manifests by forcibly distorting the target's form, abilities, destiny, or state of existence, violating the natural laws of biological growth and the fundamental principles of the world.
Moreover, a curse establishes a supernatural connection between the Curse Caster and the cursed, providing the energy to sustain its effects.
In simpler terms, once entangled with a curse, even across vast stretches of time, the torment and suffering cling like a shadow, relentlessly gnawing at the cursed being.
Yet...
Recalling his knowledge of curses, Roland narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the weapon in his hand.
This Mithril Longsword was the reward he had won by defeating Gondar in the martial tournament hosted by King Monen at Far Ocean Port.
By his reckoning, nearly half a year had passed since then.
Yet throughout this extended period, Roland had never sensed anything unusual about the sword, let alone anything resembling a curse.
"Lord Roland?"
A gentle voice drew Roland back from his thoughts.
He gazed at Estelle, whose expression had returned to its usual serene composure, but didn't immediately respond.
He carefully replayed the circumstances of his encounter with Pixie Tracy and his journey to this place called Stardust Glade.
After pondering for a long while and confirming that nothing seemed amiss, he shook his head slightly, cupped the longsword in both hands, and slowly pushed it forward.
"In that case, I would be grateful if you could remove the curse from this blade."
"It would be my honor."
Estelle didn't take the sword. Instead, she stepped back, her gaze shifting to the tranquil Startear Lake behind her.
With a delicate gesture, countless tiny ripples spread across the lake's surface.
Silver-white motes of light rose from the lake's depths, coalescing into shimmering threads that wrapped around the mithril longsword in Roland's hands.
The blade's silver radiance intensified, emitting a piercing hum.
Bathed in the Lake Essence's glow, grotesque black thorn-like veins instantly surfaced on the sword's surface, radiating an unexpectedly chilling malice and viscous resistance, as if fused to the blade's metallic core.
Seeing this, Estelle's delicate features tightened.
She took a deep breath, and the ancient syllables she chanted suddenly rose in pitch, carrying an undeniable air of authority.
More Lake Essence was forcibly drawn forth, its luminous strands coalescing into a resilient, azure water chain that tightly enveloped the violently trembling longsword. The chain lifted the sword from Roland's hands, suspending it above the lake's surface.
The pure, boundless power of the lake water surged against the Curse's thorns.
The energy tether connecting the Curse to its unknown source emitted an invisible wail under the natural might of Startear Lake, gradually breaking apart inch by inch until it was completely annihilated.
Roland held his breath, watching intently.
He could feel Estelle's life force rapidly draining.
Her slender figure appeared exceptionally frail within the hazy glow, fine beads of sweat forming on her temples like tiny stars reflected in the lake's light.
The Curse's tenacity had clearly exceeded her expectations.
Finally, with a shattering sound that seemed to emanate from the abyss and could only be heard by the soul, the black thorns completely disintegrated within the azure cocoon of light.
The longsword emitted a clear, liberating chime, its blade radiating an unprecedentedly warm, pure radiance.
Estelle's tense posture abruptly relaxed, as if she had shed a thousand-pound burden. She swayed slightly, immediately reaching out to steady herself against the trunk of an ancient tree.
Her face was pale, her breathing slightly labored. The ethereal composure she had displayed earlier had vanished, replaced by the exhaustion of overexerting her strength.
The Pixie Queen closed her eyes and meditated briefly, barely managing to suppress her exhaustion.
When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell upon the floating longsword with a complex expression.
With a gentle wave of her hand, she dispelled the luminous cocoon and water chains surrounding it.
The sword descended, caught by her slightly weakened hand.
Estelle's fingertips brushed across the blade, her touch exceptionally gentle, as if handling something fragile. A flicker of indescribable astonishment, doubt, and solemnity flashed deep within her eyes.
"It's done, Lord Roland," she said, her voice tinged with fatigue, as she returned the sword.
"The waters of Startear Lake... have washed away its cursed mark."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the purified blade once more, and murmured, "Yet... to bear such a curse without showing any outward signs... the sword's inherent energy must be far greater than I imagined."
Roland observed Estelle's pale complexion and weary eyes, his questions coiling in his mind like rampant vines.
What was the true origin of this Mithril Longsword?
How could even a Pixie Queen, capable of casting high-level spells, struggle so greatly to lift its curse?
As he took the sword, his Material Empathy ability instantly activated.
The sword felt heavier and more substantial than ever before.
But what truly surprised Roland was the complete disappearance of the repair marks he had first discovered when he awakened his Material Empathy ability.
Even more peculiar was the "whisper" emanating from the blade.
The gentle hum of the wind element persisted, but now a warm, steadfast energy radiated from the sword's core—an energy that felt both comforting and inviolable.
This energy stood in stark contrast to the icy chill of the Curse, powerful yet utterly foreign.
"Miss Estelle," Roland said slowly, turning to the weakened Estelle. "Is this unfamiliar strength... a blessing you bestowed?"
"No, Lord Roland," Estelle replied, leaning against a tree, her face pale. "That is divine power."
She paused to catch her breath before continuing. "Divine power typically originates from the grace of the gods or supreme sacred oaths. Its essence is pure positive energy, naturally opposed to negative energies like death, evil, and curses."
"Its most notable properties include soothing the suffering of living beings, dispelling darkness and corruption, and... purifying the taint of evil."
Her gaze lingered on the sword, her eyes filled with pure curiosity and a hint of profound contemplation.
"For a weapon to contain such pure divine power is exceedingly rare and worthy of deeper investigation. As for why it's entangled in a curse..."
She shook her head slightly.
"That lies beyond my knowledge."
Estelle's gaze lingered on the warm, smooth blade, as if piercing through the mithril's radiance to touch something deeper. Her pale lips moved slightly, as if weighing her words, before she murmured with a hint of uncertainty:
"It's just... such pure and potent divine power, such a profound presence... reminds me of ancient legends."
"In those tales, such entities were never merely 'weapons.' They were often intimately bound to specific souls or ancient covenants. Their true power... might only manifest when their 'true name' is invoked."
"'True name'... manifest..."
Roland lowered his eyes thoughtfully, his fingertip tracing the warm ridge of the blade once more. The words stirred a memory of an anime he'd encountered before his transmigration.
Estelle continued:
"These 'weapons' are called... Treasure Tools."
(End of the Chapter)
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