Curselock

Chapter 62: Hunter

The Huntress watched the boy for several long minutes as he searched his own mind. She knew asking Leland, a relative baby, to look internally was asking a lot. Many, many years of practice with one’s Legacy was needed for such control as she was implying, yet, for some reason, she felt it important to place him on this path.

Without her interfering, Leland would solve the mystery of Legacies on his own, but frankly she didn’t want to wait around for years. So, she cheated, and hopefully Leland would be able to make waves.

“That’s enough,” she spouted. “Keep practicing, soon you will decipher things you didn’t know were possible.”

Leland’s head suddenly flopped forward. He shifted with a heavy blink, pain assaulting his temples like a hammer to hot iron. He groaned, signaling a response from the Huntress.

“Take it slow. Those headaches are no joke.”

“Wha—” his words died in his throat. “How—”

“You are searching for knowledge you have no right to be researching. Yet. Of course it was going to be painful.”

A bubble of anger flared in Leland’s mind, and for a moment, out blazed the pain. “Why not say something beforehand then?” Quickly he regretted his words, finding the sarcasm filled words only exacerbated the shocking ebbs.

The Huntress mused upon the boy’s agony for a moment. Did she like seeing children in pain? No, no she did not. Did she like seeing those who annoyed her blunted? Yes, very much so.

“Because I’ve always found that practical examples are the best learning tool.” Isobel stalked toward the window, opening it with a gentle push. “With that said, come on. I want to see your spells in action.”

Robotically, Leland moved to his jacket. His arms and feet fell into familiar habit, the fog in his mind making thought fleeting. He paused as he began to step to the window, and like a lighthouse in the dead of night, he asked himself why.

“Why?” he eventually asked aloud.

Frowning, the Huntress squinted at the boy. “Why what?”

“Why should I follow you, and why do you want to see my spells? You already have. Several times, in fact.”

She rolled her eyes. “Because,” she stated slowly with oozing blame, “you need to rank up. And yes, I’ve seen your spells, but never felt them.”

All the pain in Leland’s mind disappeared with that last sentence. “Does that mean—”

“Yes, you will be attacking me. I won’t attack back.”

That settled it. Leland quickly placed his jacket on and bounded for the window. He stepped through without warning, and started scaling the inn. Internally he smiled, finding the chance to strike at a Royal Inquisitor without punishment to be a once in a lifetime opportunity. The fact that it was his team’s crazy stalker was all the more appreciated.

The Huntress led him to an open clearing at the edge of the town. They were within the walls, however, just off to the side hidden behind a barn and plenty of shadows. She stopped a few dozen paces away from him and set her feet.

“Start with those crow summons,” she yelled.

Not wanting to give the Huntress time to change her mind, Leland drew upon the mana and lifeforce necessary to cast Crow Massacre. Purple energies and magics floated his vision, circling around his lips. He whistled, starting the curse off with a shriek foretelling.

“Maul,” he whispered, ending the curse with a promise.

Fourteen ethereal blue crows phased through the boundary between realms. They appeared mid flight before falling like rocket-less missiles. They screeched through the air, fulfilling their master’s will with a deafening presence. The mass of blue collapsed into their target, scratching, biting, pecking, tearing, blinding, and maiming.

For an entire minute the crows worked to silence their kill-target before fading back to their true home. For a moment Leland felt sick, that he had actually caused harm to the Huntress… but his worries were starkly slashed the moment no red dripped from the woman’s bare skin.

Sure, there were thin red marks along her skin, a kind similar to an irritated pimple rather than a laceration. Isobel took the moment to check herself over. She hummed and mused at the “injuries,” muttering about certain marks “almost creating a real scratch.”

Leland felt humiliated.

“Bones next!”

A faint snarl found his face and he quickly acted upon his mentor’s orders. Mana and lifeforce drew into his hand and finger before a loud snap filled the relatively silent air. “Fracture,” he whispered, adding his raw irritant to the curse.

There was no snap, no shatter of bone. Leland knew the sound quite well. It was sickening and vile, a sound he was perfectly fine with never hearing again. But as he looked at the Huntress’ diabolical smirk, all he wanted in life at that moment was to hear the sound.

“One of my ribs tickles,” she called. “Was that you?”

Leland’s nose and lip twitched. Again mana and lifeforce came to him, this time amplified by his anger rather than simply supplemented. He snapped his overcharged fingers together and let loose a boisterous, “Fracture!”

Idly the Huntress’ eyes widened, but as the spell failed to produce results, she frowned. “Quiet down now. Don’t want to wake up the whole town.”

The causal response defeated Leland and his ever growing ego. He, Jude, and Glenny had helped save a city! They had helped defeat the cult leader who dared bring a horrid monster to their land. And now? Now, he couldn’t even touch his opponent with the very curses that he had used in Shoutwell.

“If it’s any consolation, I felt the second one. My bones are simply too dense.”

The Huntress’ words only punched Leland down more.

“It comes with the rank,” she continued. “I’m a rank four, of course you wouldn’t be able to harm me. You should be proud that you could harm that cultist woman. I’m not sure what rank she was, but I wouldn’t doubt it was peak rank two or low rank three.”

Leland didn’t know what was more depressing. That he was weaker than he had previously assumed or that he was being consoled by her. He shivered at the realization and was promptly proud that his parents never grew to be like the Huntress.

“What else do you have?” Isobel asked.

“A slow and the purple fire circle.”

“Try the slow.”

And Leland did, but not with the expectancy from before. He simply pooled the mana and lifeforce around his heart and connected his own to hers. For a moment Leland saw the world differently.

Everything was dark, blue, and overcast. There was a cynical call in the air, one that gleamed with faltering importance and lost ambition. There was no proper action, only baseless redundant rules that some fake politician set after years of safety behind money and power. Yet, for some reason, Leland also felt a simple warmth. More specifically, he felt three warmths.

They lit up the connection, fueling his ambitions for years to come.

Then the curse’s effect ended, and Leland was briefly sent heaving in tight cold breaths. He eyed the source of his mania, finding the Huntress transfixed with her own hand. She moved it back and forth with simple speed, finding the odd motion gripping.

“How much should this spell slow me ?” she asked, oblivious to Leland’s fleeting heartbeat.

“fifty percent!” he choked out.

The Huntress snorted at that. “Yeah, it's nowhere close to that.”

Feeling like he should have defeated her, Leland instead thought about his shared connection with Isobel. He looked at her in a different light, finding her stalking slightly more understandable than before. But still, how did one get to that state of mind? Did he dare to ask? Yes, he decided.

“Um, Isobel? That spell has—”

“I think I’ve seen enough,” she announced, glossing over his attempted question. “Legacy of Despair?”

The sudden question made Leland stumble. “No—” he stated frankly. “Is that a thing?”

“Yeah,” she answered before flipping through a small notebook.

“Oh…”

“If you were, I’d have to kill you.”

Leland jolted at the statement and found two piercing slitted eyes staring at him. The world seemed to mute, shifting in color until nothing but two golden orbs remained. They remained unblinking for what felt like a long while as Leland forced himself to look away. Yet, he couldn’t. Not really. He was prey to the Huntress, nothing more than a deer before a set of unbridled headlights of true might.

She finally looked away, sending the world back to a state of life. She marked something in her booklet. “Legacy of… Rituals?”

It took Leland a moment to realize she was asking him a question. “No…”

She tsked. “I thought not.” In a single smooth motion she flipped the notes closed and deposited them into her pocket. “I’ll have more guesses later. But for now you should get to bed. What are you three’s plans for the immediate future?”

“I uh— We are just going to do more quests. Nothing we can accept is a real challenge, so we are mainly going off of reward.”

The Huntress hummed at that. “Rewards, huh?”

Leland nodded along. “We were told about a herbology competition in the town of Frostford. Didn’t seem like something we’d normally be interested in, but the rewards caught our eye.”

Even the Royal Inquisitor didn’t seem to be impressed by such an event. “Frostford? Is that the town with the magical bear and festival?”

“Magical bear? Oh, you mean the Guardian Spirit Beast? Then yes.”

That received some consideration from the Huntress. “Go there. If anything, it would be a nice trip for you three. The festival is supposed to bring in plenty of tourism and merchants. At the very least you three might be able to upgrade your equipment.”

“I’ll bring up your advice to the others.”