CHAPTER 15: A CURSED BLADE’S TEMPTATION

Time seemed to stretch.

The flat of Chris’s practice sword descended towards Edward’s face. The jeering crowd. The instructor’s indifferent gaze. Chris’s triumphant sneer. A single, perfect moment of absolute humiliation.

This was the end. Beaten. Disgraced. Utterly powerless.

But in the silent, invisible world of his vision, a transaction was taking place. A final, desperate gamble.

`[Purchase Cursed Soulblade Scroll for 300 SP? Y/N]`

Yes. The thought was a cold, firm whisper.

`[SP: 300 - 0]`

`[Cursed Soulblade Scroll added to Inventory.]`

As Chris’s sword was an inch from his head, Edward’s free hand shot out. It slapped the ground. "Activate," he rasped. A choked, desperate prayer.

The scroll in his inventory dissolved into motes of red light.

An eruption of power, raw and visceral, tore through the arena. Not the clean, holy light of a Paladin. Not the crackling energy of a mage.

This was a dark, hungry power. A wave of palpable malice. The air grew heavy and cold. The cheering died. Replaced by a collective, fearful gasp.

In Edward’s hand, a new weapon materialized.

A sword, but like no sword they had ever seen. Semi-translucent. Forged not of steel, but of shimmering, blood-red energy. It gave off a profound, soul-deep chill. Dark, corrupted runes swirled within its depths. It thrummed with a low, hungry hum.

A terrible, agonizing sensation flooded Edward’s body.

His very life force was being siphoned away. The Cursed Soulblade was feeding. On him.

His vision flared with frantic, crimson warnings.

`[Cursed Soulblade Activated!]`

`[Temporary Stat Boost Applied: +15 STR, +15 SPD]`

`[Warning: User’s life force is being consumed. -1 VIT per second.]`

He looked at his stats. A terrifying contract written in his own blood.

[Edward Ross]

Class: [Void Eater]

Level: 5

HP: 90/100 (Decreasing...)

MP: 30/50

SP: 0

[Stats]

STR: 11 - 26

VIT: 9 (Decreasing...)

DEX: 16

INT: 12

WIS: 12

LCK: ?

SPD: 10 - 25

His Speed, once crippled at 10, was now a staggering 25. His Strength was superhuman.

He had power. More power than he had ever wielded. But the price was displayed in the grim, ticking countdown of his Vitality. `VIT: 9... 8...`

He was literally burning his life away for a few moments of strength.

He got to his feet.

The movement was no longer sluggish. It was a fluid, explosive motion. The leaden weight was gone. Replaced by a manic, exhilarating energy.

He felt light. Fast. Powerful.

Chris, who had recoiled from the dark energy, stared at the blood-red sword. His face was a mask of disbelief and a dawning horror. "What... what is that? What forbidden art is this?"

Edward didn’t answer. He didn’t have time. `VIT: 7...`

He re-engaged.

If the first part was a beating, this was a whirlwind.

Edward was a phantom. A blur of motion Chris’s eyes could barely track. The Cursed Soulblade moved with a speed that seemed to tear the air.

Clang!

Their swords met. This time, it was Chris who was sent stumbling backward. His arm vibrated from the sheer, unnatural force. He stared at Edward. His arrogance was shattered. Replaced by a raw, desperate confusion.

How? How was this weak, Rankless trash suddenly so strong?

Edward didn’t give him time to think. He pressed the attack. A relentless, furious storm of strikes.

Not the cold, efficient combat of the grotto. This was a frantic, desperate race against the clock of his own mortality. His movements were fueled by a reckless, almost suicidal abandon. He didn’t bother with defense. He just needed to end this. Now.

`VIT: 6...`

Chris was forced into a desperate, clumsy defense. He was completely outmatched. He was an S-Rank prodigy. But he was fighting a force of nature. Trying to parry a hurricane.

The students watched in stunned, terrified silence. The jeers were long forgotten. They were witnessing something forbidden. Something that defied the ordered rules of their world.

Sarah watched from the edge of the crowd. Her hands were pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear. She saw a boy in desperate, agonizing pain. A boy willing to destroy himself just to fight back.

`VIT: 5...`

A wave of dizziness washed over Edward. His vision began to swim. The blade was taking its toll. His body was starting to fail. He was running out of time.

He saw an opening. Chris overextended on a parry. His right side was exposed for a fraction of a second.

Edward didn’t hesitate. He took the opening. But not with an attack.

He deliberately lowered his guard. He allowed Chris’s follow-up strike to connect. The flat of the practice sword slammed into his ribs. The pain was immense. A calculated sacrifice.

The blow sent him staggering. But it also put him inside Chris’s guard.

A move of pure, desperate insanity.

He brought the Cursed Soulblade up in a tight, vicious arc. The blood-red energy met the solid steel of Chris’s sword hilt.

A sound like shattering crystal.

The practice sword exploded into a dozen pieces. The force of the impact sent a shockwave up Chris’s arm. It left him disarmed. His hand was numb.

The roles were now perfectly, terribly reversed.

Edward stood before Chris. His body trembled with exhaustion and pain. But he was the one left standing.

He raised the Cursed Soulblade. Its shimmering, blood-red point now rested against Chris’s throat. The spectral blade hummed. Its hunger was palpable. It wanted to feed.

Silence. The entire arena held its breath.

Chris stared at the cursed blade. At the boy who held it. And for the first time in his pampered life, he felt the cold, undeniable touch of mortal terror.

Edward had won.

But the victory was a pyrrhic one.

The moment he had broken Chris’s sword, the Cursed Soulblade dissolved in his hand. It vanished into a wisp of red smoke.

The artificial strength vanished with it. `STR: 26 - 11`. `SPD: 25 - 10`. The full, crushing weight of his crippled stats and the cost of the cursed power came crashing down.

`VIT: 4...`

An agonizing weakness, a hundred times worse than before, flooded his system. He swayed on his feet. His vision tunneled.

He doubled over, coughing violently. A spray of blood, dark and viscous, spattered onto the white sand of the arena floor.

He had won the duel. But he had lost the war against his own body.

His vision, a silent, cruel witness, flashed a final, grim warning. The text glowed with a malevolent authority.

`[Vitality critically low. Soul Corruption has increased by 5%.]`