Chapter 27 (27) Nah, I’d Win: 01

The wind sweeping down from the northern ridges carried a bitter chill, threading through cloaks and sleeves, fluttering against the barren land like an enemy waitng for attacking. Stark rested heavily in Sein's arms despite the careful distribution of magic reinforcing his muscles. Even so, the boy felt, too warm against the cold air, breath rasping shallow and uneven against Sein's shoulder.

Kraft's spoke, again.

"How did he end up with the curse?"

Sein's frowned. "Who told you it was a curse?" His voice came sharper than he intended, protective instinct rising in a way he didn't want. "And how would you even know that? You sensed something from miles away, you say? How does someone like you know about something like that?"

Kraft didn't flinch. The male elf stood with hands loosely tucked into his sleeves, green hair shifting in the wind. His gaze wasn't accusatory, only contemplative, almost… mournful?

"The miasma clinging to him," Kraft replied, "is so potent that even I could feel it long before I saw you. It coils around the boy like a veil. Very obvious and undoubtedly ancient. It does not feel like one of the ordinary curses."

Fern's brows knit together, she tried to be calmr, yet her eyes sharpened. "Then how come we didn't feel it?" she asked. "If it's that obvious."

Kraft's gaze shifted to her. "You did feel it," he replied without missing a beat. "But you lacked context. When one travels with something long enough, the senses grow accustomed. It becomes background noise. A faint wrongness you dismiss because you don't yet have a name for it."

Sein felt a small sting at that. Had he grown numb to it? Had he been too focused on treatment to truly examine the nature of what lingered in Stark's wounds? But he was with Stark for not long.

"Kraft," Frieren said at last. Her voice was calm, but there was a note in it, measured and cautious. "You seem to know a lot about this… curse."

The elf inclined his head slightly. "I have been around for a long time," he said. "Long enough to see patterns repeat. Long enough to witness things most believe are myths or don't even remember anymore,." His gaze drifted toward Stark's pale face. "And I have encountered this phenomenon… twice before."

Sein's looked at Stark. "Twice?" he repeated then looked at Kraft. "How?"

Kraft's expression did not change, but there was something behind his eyes, something… sorrowful "The specifics are not important," he said. "The important thing is this: why is the boy cursed by the megami?"

The group paused, none spoke for a moment.

"Did he perhaps disrespect a monument?" Kraft continued. "Defile a sacred relic? Or commit some grave offense that drew divine ire—"

"He fought a demon who wounded him," Frieren interrupted, as if she wanted to reach the conclusion of this conversation as soon as possible.

Kraft blinked.

His breathing seemed to still for a moment.

"What?" he said, frowning. Then louder, incredulous. "A demon? A demon inflicted these wounds?"

He stepped closer, boots crunching against the frozen ground. Sein instinctively shifted Stark's weight, positioning himself slightly between the elf and the unconscious boy.

Kraft leaned in, studying the faint discoloration creeping along the bandages, the subtle pulse of something dark beneath Stark's skin. "Is this correct?"

"It is," Frieren said.

"I see," Kraft murmured. "This is certainly… unprecedented."

Fern leaned closer to Frieren and whispered under her breath, "Is it okay to let him know this?"

Frieren didn't hesitate. "He can be trusted."

"How?" Fern asked quietly.

"Trust me," Frieren replied.

The words felt… wrong than they should have.

Fern's eyes shifted to toward Stark. The last time Frieren had spoken with that quiet certainty… about Linie and Lügner… Fern and Stark had trusted her completely. They had gone forward without doubt.

Now Stark was unconscious for days, breath not healthy, life balanced on something they did not understand.

Frieren's face remained unreadable, but something behind her eyes trembled, so faint only someone who had traveled with her long enough would notice.

Kraft straightened.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"Äußerst," Sein answered without hesitation.

"To Serie, I presume?" Kraft said.

"Yes." Sein shifted Stark slightly. "She's the most knowledgeable mage alive. If anyone can understand this corrupted mana, it's her. I thought she could… analyze it. Help us find a way to cleanse it."

Kraft's expression softened into something almost regretful.

"Unfortunately," he said, "she cannot help you."

The words struck harder than any blade.

Fern's eyes widened instantly. "How do you know that?"

Kraft folded his arms loosely. "Serie is undoubtedly the strongest and wisest mage of this era. Perhaps of several eras. But strength and wisdom do not equate to omnipotence. And this…" He gestured towards Stark. "This is not her area of expertise."

Sein felt irritation rise and he felt defensive. "Are you implying you know her capabilities better than we do?"

"I am saying," Kraft replied without getting impatient, "that I know the boundaries of magic. And this is not purely magic."

Frieren's gaze narrowed slightly. "Explain."

Kraft exhaled slowly, as if thinking how much to reveal.

"The miasma around the boy," he said, "is divine in origin. Or rather… it mimics divinity. A perversion of it. The megami's curse is not something that can be dispelled with ordinary spells. Nor even extraordinary ones. It is woven into the target's existence, body and spirit alike."

Sein's heart sank further. "So you're saying Serie can't do anything?"

"I am saying," Kraft corrected gently, "that even she would be unable to remove something designed to transcend conventional magical frameworks."

Fern's hands tightened slightly at her sides. "You're speaking in riddles."

Kraft's gaze moved between them. "Let me put it plainly. The megami's curse is not a spell you dispel. It is a punishment."

The word lingered in the cold air.

"A punishment?" Sein echoed.

"Yes. It binds itself to the 'meaning' of the target's existence. It punishes not flesh, but essence."

Sein's grip trembled slightly. "He's just kid," he said, low and strained. "He didn't offend anyone. He just fought a demon."

"And that," Kraft said quietly, "is precisely why this is unprecedented."

Frieren's eyes flickered. "Demons don't wield divine authority."

"No," Kraft agreed. "They don't. Which means either the demon invoked something it did not fully understand… or something else intervened."

The implications coiled like a serpent.

Fern's voice was steady, but there was a faint tremor beneath it. "You said you encountered this twice before."

"Yes."

"And what happened?" she asked.

Kraft was silent for a long moment.

"One survived," he said at last. "One did not."

Sein's felt sweat forming on his forehead.

"And the one who survived?" Frieren pressed.

"Was freed not by magic," Kraft said, "but by something… else.."

The wind rose again, tugging at cloaks and hair.

Sein swallowed. "You keep speaking like you're not fully saying what you mean."

Kraft gave a faint, almost amused smile. "Perceptive."

"Then say it clearly," Fern said.

Kraft's gaze settled on Stark once more.

"You are traveling north to seek the greatest mage alive," he said. "But this is not a problem of magical understanding. It is a problem of origin."

Sein's frustration broke through. "Then are you saying you are capable of handling it?"

Kraft's smile vanished immediately.

"No," he said firmly. "Never."

Silence.

"But…" Kraft continued.

Sein's eyes narrowed. "But?"

Kraft's expression grew thoughtful and serious.

"I might have an idea."

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