An unidentifiable black smog surrounded the seashell.
Not enough that it couldn't be seen, or indeed, stubbornly sparkle. But it was there, nonetheless. An ominous mist which appeared to seep from the gap between the seashell's opening.
I had never seen a cursed object before, although my father often recounted tales of artifacts buried deep within the Royal Villa that were struck from all records. Treasures, mementos and spoils of war seized from those who had once sought to bring calamity to our kingdom.
Looking at the black cloud that surrounded this seashell, I couldn't help but wonder ... why hadn't we sold them yet?!
If a troll was willing to buy a cursed seashell, then surely, they'd be willing to buy a cursed spear or two? What use did we have for them? This wasn't even a weapon. It was a health hazard and nothing else!
Why, if we had cursed swords and spears lying somewhere beneath our beds, then surely, it was prudent to simply off-load them as soon as possible? And if someone would pay us for the privilege, then all the happier for it!
This! This is exactly why the kingdom was failing in its finances! Were we truly going to beggar ourselves before we started selling our treasure trove of useless cursed assets?
As soon as I returned home, I would begin inventorying all of our unusable heirlooms. Someone would buy it. There were oddballs everywhere.
But first—
This thing.
“Indeed, it looks very cursed and unsuitable for my bare hands,” I said, staring pointedly at Coppelia. “You may begin picking it up.”
“That looks more than very cursed. In fact, curses don't usually have such a strong physical manifestation. I can almost feel its malice.”
“Yes, as can I. The more I look upon it, the more malevolent it appears. So, again, you may begin picking it up.”
Coppelia blinked at me in response.
“You do know I'm not actually curse-proof, right?”
“What?”
“I'm fire-proof. Mostly. But curses are different. They target your soul. I'm quite certain that if I touch that, it'll have the same effect as if you did.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Coppelia. If curses target souls, then that means I'm far more susceptible. My soul is exceptionally pure and thus vulnerable to dark magic.”
Coppelia's smile quivered. She tilted her head at me, but said nothing.
That was understandable. My arguments rarely brokered a response other than agreement. Now, as for the matter of the seashell ...
“Very well. I cannot knowingly endanger you, Coppelia. A cursed seashell is an unbecoming way for you to sacrifice yourself. There will be better opportunities to come.”
“I think I've said this before, but I'm not going to sacrifice myself. I'm a spark of joy in this dark, cruel world and can't bear to inflict that sort of pain.”
“Exactly, your sacrifice can wait. For now, we must test the waters.”
“You're going to poke the cursed seashell, aren't you?”
“No, Coppelia. I'm going to carefully assess its level of malevolence, and devise a method to safely extract the cursed object without a need to trigger the curse.”
“My bad. What do you have in mind?”
I leaned down and picked up a twig.
“... I'm going to poke the cursed seashell,” I boldly declared.
“Oooh …” Coppelia broke into light applause. “Such strength of conviction. With purpose like that, you'll hit E-rank in no time.”
I slowly creaked my neck towards Coppelia, weighed by the burden of so many responses to that.
“I will not be ascending the ranks of the Adventurer's Guild,” I said, examining the pokiness of the twig I'd selected. “I will do as little as it takes to empty them of their funds. That is enough for me.”
“Good thing this is strictly off the beaten path then, huh? If they knew you were doing this, they'd fight over who got to promote you. This is definitely the sort of thing you'd find posted up on a wall. Cleaning up cursed seashells is how all plucky new adventurers get themselves killed.”
“I have no intention of either cleaning or dying. Only selling. Do watch when I render the trolls bankrupt, won't you?”
Coppelia nodded fervently.
“Trust me, I'll do nothing else~”
I smiled as I imagined the looks of grief on the trolls' faces, tears strolling down their cheeks as they ransacked their own pockets for loose crowns.
And so with that joyous image in my mind, I carefully made my way over to the seashell, dipping my boots in the shallow stream simply to avoid the worst of the mud. If all went well, I could perhaps construct some basket of twigs to carry this seashell without direct touch.
As I neared, it was evident even without scholarly knowledge that the curse on this object was wildly powerful. I could feel it like a foreboding aura dampening the air.
But that didn't matter.
Frankly, I was used to ominous, impending feelings of doom.
Each time Clarise declared one of her inventions complete, I could feel the air physically quaking with the trepidation of the staff.
This? Please. This was nothing! Why, I didn't even see a single spurt of flame pulsing from the back of a tea cup or some other mundane and perfectly serviceable object which didn't require it. This cursed seashell was utterly pedestrian.
Close to the seashell, I turned back to look at Coppelia. She was sitting on a rock, hands in her cheeks while comfortably watching my cautious approach like an attendee at a circus show.
“You can do it~” she said.
I pursed my lips.
Her supreme confidence in my abilities was heart-warming. But she was my future handmaiden. She should be by my side at all times, ready to swat away any malevolent bees that tried to sting me.
Ugh. Another conversation for later.
Turning back to the cursed seashell, I raised my twig.
Then, I poked it.
Poke. Poke. Poke.
Gently at first, then harder, I pushed the seashell enough to dislodge it from its spot in the mud.
“It can't be that bad,” I instantly declared, feeling my optimism rising by the moment. “Looks can be deceiving. Indeed, the foul smog may very well form the illusion of defence. Just as a honeybee may mimic a wasp, whatever magic that this seashell exudes may mimic that of a curse.”
Saying this, a beautiful butterfly fluttered down and perched atop the seashell. It spread its wings, its delicate blue hue shining like a diamond among the glitter of the stream.
The colour instantly wilted, as did its wings. Its drained and blackened corpse dropped beside the seashell.
Then, the corpse of the butterfly was sucked into the tiny opening of the seashell.
Hmmmmmmmmm.
I took a step away.
And then another.
In brighter news, no twisted, ghoulish arm shot out to grab hold of me. No explosion of darkness swept out to greet my valour or the butterfly's sacrifice.
In fact, what happened was quite the opposite.
The darkness began to dissipate.
Or rather, it began to be sucked back into the seashell.
As though whatever curse that'd consumed this object was now being ritualistically slapped away, all I could witness of the black smog was of it retreating into the shell with its tail between its legs.
I was stunned. All I'd done was poke it with a twig!
Was … Was that it?
Had I cured it? Fixed it? The seashell appeared utterly inert. Perhaps the trolls were merely prone to abundant caution?
I turned to Coppelia.
“Ohhohoho!! Look and bear witness! The presence of my holy stick imbued with the strength of my noble character was enough to lay low the curse that had inhabited this object for so long!”
She smiled, then pointed ahead of me.
I looked back to see that the seashell was shaking.
At first, it began as a slight tremor—
Then, it tipped on its back, rocking from side to side as though whatever pearl that resided in there wished to be free of its clamshell prison. I backed away. Not out of alarm. Or fear. Or confusion. No, no, no. I backed away because Coppelia was sitting on a very nice rock. A rock that I wished to use to smash a possessed seashell.
“W-Why is it doing that?!” I asked, looking in horror at the spasming seashell. “It looks like a dying fish flopping on the floor! It's disgusting!”
Coppelia leaned forwards slightly, both her eyes and smile filled with earnest curiosity.
“Hmm … saying it's dying would imply it's alive. I doubt that's the case.”
“Then, what is it?”
“We can find out. Let's see what's behind door number one, shall we?”
Coppelia held up her hand, then began counting down with her fingers.
“5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … aaaaand~”
The moment she stopped, the seashell opened.
Wooooooooooooooooooooooosh.
A freezing gust of wind blasted us, so cold that I wondered if icicles had begun to form wherever it'd struck. It was a thought that turned out to be partially true. The stream around the seashell suddenly stopped, its current locked as ice began to creep downwards, claiming even the leaves that were in its path.
The gust of wind returned. But not to strike my face.
Instead, it swept over the frozen stream. Icicles flew up, collecting upon itself just over the opened seashell.
In seconds, a clear silhouette could be seen forming. Legs, torso, head …
No, wait, not a head.
A helmet.
And between its visors, forming before anything else, were two blue eyes burning with darkness and murder.
I turned to Coppelia, dropping my holy stick to the ground.
“This is the butterfly's fault.”
An unidentifiable black smog surrounded the seashell.
Not enough that it couldn't be seen, or indeed, stubbornly sparkle. But it was there, nonetheless. An ominous mist which appeared to seep from the gap between the seashell's opening.
I had never seen a cursed object before, although my father often recounted tales of artifacts buried deep within the Royal Villa that were struck from all records. Treasures, mementos and spoils of war seized from those who had once sought to bring calamity to our kingdom.
Looking at the black cloud that surrounded this seashell, I couldn't help but wonder ... why hadn't we sold them yet?!
If a troll was willing to buy a cursed seashell, then surely, they'd be willing to buy a cursed spear or two? What use did we have for them? This wasn't even a weapon. It was a health hazard and nothing else!
Why, if we had cursed swords and spears lying somewhere beneath our beds, then surely, it was prudent to simply off-load them as soon as possible? And if someone would pay us for the privilege, then all the happier for it!
This! This is exactly why the kingdom was failing in its finances! Were we truly going to beggar ourselves before we started selling our treasure trove of useless cursed assets?
As soon as I returned home, I would begin inventorying all of our unusable heirlooms. Someone would buy it. There were oddballs everywhere.
But first—
This thing.
“Indeed, it looks very cursed and unsuitable for my bare hands,” I said, staring pointedly at Coppelia. “You may begin picking it up.”
“That looks more than very cursed. In fact, curses don't usually have such a strong physical manifestation. I can almost feel its malice.”
“Yes, as can I. The more I look upon it, the more malevolent it appears. So, again, you may begin picking it up.”
Coppelia blinked at me in response.
“You do know I'm not actually curse-proof, right?”
“What?”
“I'm fire-proof. Mostly. But curses are different. They target your soul. I'm quite certain that if I touch that, it'll have the same effect as if you did.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Coppelia. If curses target souls, then that means I'm far more susceptible. My soul is exceptionally pure and thus vulnerable to dark magic.”
Coppelia's smile quivered. She tilted her head at me, but said nothing.
That was understandable. My arguments rarely brokered a response other than agreement. Now, as for the matter of the seashell ...
“Very well. I cannot knowingly endanger you, Coppelia. A cursed seashell is an unbecoming way for you to sacrifice yourself. There will be better opportunities to come.”
“I think I've said this before, but I'm not going to sacrifice myself. I'm a spark of joy in this dark, cruel world and can't bear to inflict that sort of pain.”
“Exactly, your sacrifice can wait. For now, we must test the waters.”
“You're going to poke the cursed seashell, aren't you?”
“No, Coppelia. I'm going to carefully assess its level of malevolence, and devise a method to safely extract the cursed object without a need to trigger the curse.”
“My bad. What do you have in mind?”
I leaned down and picked up a twig.
“... I'm going to poke the cursed seashell,” I boldly declared.
“Oooh …” Coppelia broke into light applause. “Such strength of conviction. With purpose like that, you'll hit E-rank in no time.”
I slowly creaked my neck towards Coppelia, weighed by the burden of so many responses to that.
“I will not be ascending the ranks of the Adventurer's Guild,” I said, examining the pokiness of the twig I'd selected. “I will do as little as it takes to empty them of their funds. That is enough for me.”
“Good thing this is strictly off the beaten path then, huh? If they knew you were doing this, they'd fight over who got to promote you. This is definitely the sort of thing you'd find posted up on a wall. Cleaning up cursed seashells is how all plucky new adventurers get themselves killed.”
“I have no intention of either cleaning or dying. Only selling. Do watch when I render the trolls bankrupt, won't you?”
Coppelia nodded fervently.
“Trust me, I'll do nothing else~”
I smiled as I imagined the looks of grief on the trolls' faces, tears strolling down their cheeks as they ransacked their own pockets for loose crowns.
And so with that joyous image in my mind, I carefully made my way over to the seashell, dipping my boots in the shallow stream simply to avoid the worst of the mud. If all went well, I could perhaps construct some basket of twigs to carry this seashell without direct touch.
As I neared, it was evident even without scholarly knowledge that the curse on this object was wildly powerful. I could feel it like a foreboding aura dampening the air.
But that didn't matter.
Frankly, I was used to ominous, impending feelings of doom.
Each time Clarise declared one of her inventions complete, I could feel the air physically quaking with the trepidation of the staff.
This? Please. This was nothing! Why, I didn't even see a single spurt of flame pulsing from the back of a tea cup or some other mundane and perfectly serviceable object which didn't require it. This cursed seashell was utterly pedestrian.
Close to the seashell, I turned back to look at Coppelia. She was sitting on a rock, hands in her cheeks while comfortably watching my cautious approach like an attendee at a circus show.
“You can do it~” she said.
I pursed my lips.
Her supreme confidence in my abilities was heart-warming. But she was my future handmaiden. She should be by my side at all times, ready to swat away any malevolent bees that tried to sting me.
Ugh. Another conversation for later.
Turning back to the cursed seashell, I raised my twig.
Then, I poked it.
Poke. Poke. Poke.
Gently at first, then harder, I pushed the seashell enough to dislodge it from its spot in the mud.
“It can't be that bad,” I instantly declared, feeling my optimism rising by the moment. “Looks can be deceiving. Indeed, the foul smog may very well form the illusion of defence. Just as a honeybee may mimic a wasp, whatever magic that this seashell exudes may mimic that of a curse.”
Saying this, a beautiful butterfly fluttered down and perched atop the seashell. It spread its wings, its delicate blue hue shining like a diamond among the glitter of the stream.
The colour instantly wilted, as did its wings. Its drained and blackened corpse dropped beside the seashell.
Then, the corpse of the butterfly was sucked into the tiny opening of the seashell.
Hmmmmmmmmm.
I took a step away.
And then another.
In brighter news, no twisted, ghoulish arm shot out to grab hold of me. No explosion of darkness swept out to greet my valour or the butterfly's sacrifice.
In fact, what happened was quite the opposite.
The darkness began to dissipate.
Or rather, it began to be sucked back into the seashell.
As though whatever curse that'd consumed this object was now being ritualistically slapped away, all I could witness of the black smog was of it retreating into the shell with its tail between its legs.
I was stunned. All I'd done was poke it with a twig!
Was … Was that it?
Had I cured it? Fixed it? The seashell appeared utterly inert. Perhaps the trolls were merely prone to abundant caution?
I turned to Coppelia.
“Ohhohoho!! Look and bear witness! The presence of my holy stick imbued with the strength of my noble character was enough to lay low the curse that had inhabited this object for so long!”
She smiled, then pointed ahead of me.
I looked back to see that the seashell was shaking.
At first, it began as a slight tremor—
Then, it tipped on its back, rocking from side to side as though whatever pearl that resided in there wished to be free of its clamshell prison. I backed away. Not out of alarm. Or fear. Or confusion. No, no, no. I backed away because Coppelia was sitting on a very nice rock. A rock that I wished to use to smash a possessed seashell.
“W-Why is it doing that?!” I asked, looking in horror at the spasming seashell. “It looks like a dying fish flopping on the floor! It's disgusting!”
Coppelia leaned forwards slightly, both her eyes and smile filled with earnest curiosity.
“Hmm … saying it's dying would imply it's alive. I doubt that's the case.”
“Then, what is it?”
“We can find out. Let's see what's behind door number one, shall we?”
Coppelia held up her hand, then began counting down with her fingers.
“5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … aaaaand~”
The moment she stopped, the seashell opened.
Wooooooooooooooooooooooosh.
A freezing gust of wind blasted us, so cold that I wondered if icicles had begun to form wherever it'd struck. It was a thought that turned out to be partially true. The stream around the seashell suddenly stopped, its current locked as ice began to creep downwards, claiming even the leaves that were in its path.
The gust of wind returned. But not to strike my face.
Instead, it swept over the frozen stream. Icicles flew up, collecting upon itself just over the opened seashell.
In seconds, a clear silhouette could be seen forming. Legs, torso, head …
No, wait, not a head.
A helmet.
And between its visors, forming before anything else, were two blue eyes burning with darkness and murder.
I turned to Coppelia, dropping my holy stick to the ground.
“This is the butterfly's fault.”
