"Mom, am I going to die?" the boy asked.

"No, of course not. A few good nights' sleep and you'll be fine," his mother answered.

"Okay."

Crust kept forming around the boy's eyes until he could barely open them. His fever had refused to break for days, and now he could hardly see.

"Ghhrrk."

Watching her boy foam at the mouth at dawn tore his mother's heart apart. One day, blue spots had begun appearing all over his body, followed by veins bulging purple and swollen in his arms and legs. Then the pain had begun.

'Let me suffer in his place.'

Guardian spirits, ancestral gods, whatever you are, save my child.

She set out before dawn to dig up herbs that would ease his pain.

"It's dangerous to go out now," said a warrior guarding the tents.

Monsters appeared far less frequently in the West than on the continent. But the danger had not gone away. Bad luck could get you killed here just as easily as on the continent.

"I'll be fine."

Sometimes the thought that she would rather die rose unbidden. But she could not even do that.

"Mom, Mom."

Her child was still holding on, still calling for her.

Resentment stirred. A heat rose from her toes to fill her chest, where it blazed.

'Why?'

This was not the natural order. Anyone could die. But surely it was not her child's turn. Why should a child so young have to suffer like this?

The mother drew the short dagger tucked inside her clothes. Its gently curving blade was a handspan long. It was called a karambit.

The dull gray metal blade was not particularly sharp along its outer edge, but the inner edge had been honed well. Sharp enough to slit a young child's throat. Sharp enough to draw across her own.

How long, how much longer did she have to watch her child drowning in a river of pain? Dying by a blade might hurt, but it would not last so long. Even drowning in a river would not torment him for as long as this.

["It will not be easy. We will need a lake greater than a little spring, a river greater than a brook."]

The eldest shaman had said that before closing his eyes, promising to stop the curse. Those had been his last words. He had not opened his eyes since. He had collapsed in a posture of prayer and had yet to awaken.

The flame of hope had gone out. The world had darkened. Everything the mother lived for was dying. She had eyes but could see no light, ears but could hear no birdsong.

The boy was dying in agony, and his mother gathered herbs that could at least soothe his pain. Even that meant all but risking her life.

["Over here, over here."]

Once, during her search, she had encountered a monster. It called to her in a child's voice. The voice of a child in danger. That was how it sounded.

She listened and turned her head toward the sound. Days without proper sleep had left her dazed. Despair and hopelessness had eaten away at her body and mind, too.

'If I save that child, perhaps someone will save mine.'

That empty hope clouded her mind further and blurred her sight. She was among undulating mounds of earth. Just as she started toward the voice, someone caught her shoulder from behind.

["It's a copycat. Surely you know that?"]

She turned to see a man with a square jaw and mean-looking eyes. Five years had passed since her child's father died. Naturally, there had been talk of remarriage. This man had begun hovering around her during that time. Seeing her venture out alone, he had followed.

["It was a child's voice."]

["Have you given up on living, with your child still here? You'll only end up dead. Is that what you want? To die before your child? Don't let yourself weaken."]

At his words, her heart crumbled, and tears streamed down her face.

He was right. A copycat. A mimic cat. The continent had human-faced hounds; here, there were monsters that imitated voices. Most grown men, certainly anyone of the warrior class, could handle one without much trouble.

In her normal state, she would not have fallen prey to it either. But meeting one in her present condition would have been dangerous. It was only relatively weak. A monster was still a monster. Its claws could easily tear through human skin.

["Then do something. Please."]

The mother spoke, and the man said nothing.

If she had to sell her soul, she could. If she had to violate a taboo, she could do that too. If she were told to surrender her chastity, she would. Anything. She could do absolutely anything.

She would offer her life. Take whatever you want, anything at all. A demon would do. A monster would do. A demonic beast would do. Even a cannibal would do. Just save her child. Then she would do whatever you wished.

She made her wish. No one listened.

The boy's mother sank to her knees beneath a wave of despair. There was nothing left to try. The curse cast by the fortune-teller tribe would kill her child. He would go the same way as all those who had already died.

"Why?"

She asked the sky. Still no answer.

She had seen a man driven mad by the loss of his lover. There was also a woman left in a daze after losing her mate.

The chieftain had deliberately separated the curse-stricken area from the rest of the tribe. The curse was not a contagious disease, but some believed it could spread. It was also to keep their gloom from infecting the others.

For now, the curse affected only part of the tribe. It was eating away at mere dozens, not hundreds. A small number to the group. To an individual, just one person. That was how it was.

The curse was eating away at the people of the West from within. The mother was one of those it had consumed.

'If my child dies, I won't let anyone get away with it.'

Wicked thoughts welled up inside her. If their enemies had broken a taboo, they should do the same. But the chieftain remained lukewarm.

She would not just stand by. She would never let it go.

Despair, anguish, resentment, and malice grew in the half-mad mother's heart. This was the true curse.

Carrying her herbs, the mother saw children playing. A few days earlier, she would merely have watched with sorrowful eyes, thinking of her own child. Now she was filled with resentment.

Why did it have to be her child? Why were these children laughing so happily? Why was she the only one grieving?

"Move."

She spoke to the children. Barely keeping herself in check, she entered the tent of the cursed and sat beside her son. Those children had done nothing wrong. She tried to steady herself.

Bulging purple veins. Blue spots. Crust covering half his face. Was this her child's face? Was this her child's body?

"Nnngh."

She clenched her teeth and swallowed her sobs. Her child would never see again. And so...

'Chieftain.'

She would ask him. What was the right path? Were they to spend their lives doing nothing but suffering? Why did they only endure what the fortune-teller clan did to them? Strike back against this curse, now. If this was not his responsibility, whose was it?

Resentment within grief. Malice within resentment. Such things filled the entire tent. The air was laden with something unsettling to those who did not understand it, dangerous to those who did.

* * *

Hira the fortune-teller was deeply worried by the damage the curse was doing to the tribe. It was only this limited because the eldest shaman and their foremost warrior had borne the brunt of it themselves. What would they do now?

Dunbachel frowned as she entered the tent. Luagarne thought little of it. Encrid picked up on the malice caught by his Sixth Sense.

What was wrong with the atmosphere in here? That was his thought as he stepped inside. A sour stink and other foul smells assaulted his nose. Naturally, with so many people gathered who could not wash properly.

As he went in, he saw a boy lying near the entrance on a bed made of layered cloth. Why was there so much crust around his eyes? Someone ought to wash it off.

While he watched, the boy waved an arm. He was not asking Encrid to hold his hand. Their hands had simply touched as he passed.

Hearing that it was a curse had not made him worry it would affect him. If it were contagious, they would not have left things like this. It would have spread everywhere and caused havoc already.

For now, it affected only a few people, but it looked like a troublesome problem. That was all.

Then the boy's hand touched his, and he took it. In part because it brought back memories.

["There's nothing we can do."]

The mercenary captain had said that, looking at the victims of an epidemic. It simply could not be helped, he said. A sword could do nothing about it. They had no Krona to pay for even a healer, let alone a priest.

Encrid had done something mad back then, too. There was only one thing he could do with a sword, and he had done it.

["Have you lost your mind?"]

That was what his companion said, having followed him despite being told there was no need. Encrid did not answer. He simply did what he had to.

["Will you die here, or come with me?"]

He was in the home of the healer said to be the most skilled in the area. Unable to be choosy about his methods, he had crept over the wall at night. He spoke with his sword at the healer's throat. The healer had two choices: die right there, or come along.

["I'll come!"]

The greedy healer had yielded to the blade.

["Are you a mercenary or a thief?"]

His companion berated him without pause. He had not even had time to ask why. There had been so much to do afterward.

In any case, he had kidnapped a healer. That was the best he could do with a sword. It had made him a fugitive for a while.

["You're one crazy bastard."]

His companion said that while hiding him for a time. Later, when they parted, she told him why she had helped. He remembered her words, spoken with a show of embarrassment as she wiped her nose.

["Watching you reminded me of the little brother I left back home."]

She was a female mercenary at least ten years his senior.

["I never saw you as a man, you little shit."]

It had been a matter-of-fact farewell. After that, he had wandered the continent for a while.

He remembered the body of the child he had buried, who had died despite the healer he kidnapped. The boy whose hand had touched his now was alive.

Then there was no reason to give up. Curse or not, there would be a way to save him. Even if there was not, they had to do everything they could until the end. Only then could those left behind go on living. Even if they ultimately had to let him go, knowing they had done something would allow the survivors to carry on.

Holding the boy's hand, he gave the back of it two light pats with his other hand. It was meant to say that things would be all right. He felt an effort in the boy's hand. The child tried to grip his, but lacked the strength. His grasp was faint.

Encrid held his hand in return, taking care not to hurt him. Was he even ten years old?

He saw the boy's mother in front of him. She was the woman who had passed through the children in the village clearing earlier. She had looked fierce-tempered. She had not shouted at the children, but hadn't he glimpsed something like razor-sharp killing intent?

The woman wiped the boy's face with a damp cloth. The crust came away easily. Why had she waited until now to clean it off?

As he watched, the boy opened his eyes. Hira cried out, and the twins approached.

A moment later, Rem entered with that wife of his. Behind them, Juol could only blink.

"What did you do?" Rem asked.

Encrid lifted his hand and looked at it. Had it been his left? No, his right. He raised the other hand instead and looked back at Rem.

Encrid was quick on the uptake. He understood the situation. His hand had done this.

"I think I've awakened divine power," he whispered as Rem approached.

Of course, he did not actually believe that. It was just a silly Fairy-style joke.

"Looks like this one's cursed too?" Rem asked gravely over his shoulder.

"That is not how the curse works, you source of all evil."

Rem's wife wielded the blade of reproach without hesitation, though her gaze never left the boy. Ayul's eyes, too, were wide with astonishment.

"I see," Rem said, nodding.

"Then what is it?" he asked again.

"I don't know either."

Encrid shrugged. He honestly had no idea.

But there was someone here to whom that did not matter now.

Hira stood lost in thought, her eyes astonished. How was this possible? Hadn't he said they needed a lake greater than a little spring?

Beside her stood the boy's mother, her eyes shining like stars. The veins bulging from her child's body had visibly subsided. The spots had faded too.

"You," she called to Encrid.

"Hm?"

He responded, though he did not actually know what he had done. From the situation, it seemed to have happened because his hand touched the boy. Whether it was coincidence or something more, he did not know, but that was how it looked. The mother seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

She sank to her knees, turned her palms toward the sky, and pressed her forehead to the ground. The tent floor was covered with that familiar thick cloth, but it was far from clean. It bore clear traces of blood, sweat, and pus. Even so, she knelt and bowed her head without hesitation.

"I'll do anything you want, so please, stay beside my child..."

She could barely get the words out. She was trembling.

"Fuck, what did you actually do? Do you know what that means? She's offering you everything, her body included," Rem whispered urgently.

Quite literally, if Encrid told her to come naked to his tent that very day, she would come smiling. That was what it meant. Naturally, Encrid had no way of knowing.

Then Hira raised her head and examined Encrid slowly but thoroughly from head to toe. Why had this happened? She could not say. But one thing was certain.

Hira was both a shaman and a fortune-teller, but healing was her specialty. Most of her healing arts were based on spells, making her adept at removing curses and the side effects of misused spells.

Those senses told her that the curse cast through the fortune-teller tribe's collective ritual had weakened. All because of one man's arrival.

She could not identify the exact cause, but she could roughly guess the mechanism. That man dispelled curses around him. Which meant...

"I would beg you as well," Hira said hurriedly.

This curse was dangerous. She had been unable to tell the whole tribe, but Hira had foreseen its end. That premonition had been overturned.

"Everyone, hold on a moment."

Rem stepped in to mediate. Encrid merely stood there blankly. He truly had no idea what was going on.