Chapter 15 – The Soulstone Ring

“Seris! Get behind me!” Fominel pointed his manablade at the ground.

“Eeh!” Seris squealed, running over as if she had been harassed by something utterly disgusting.

“What was it, Seris?” Darya asked apprehensively. With the way she was acting, Darya wasn’t even sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“By the light, something grabbed my foot! Ew!” Seris said, hiding behind Fominel while shaking her leg. “I-it was speaking too!”

Fominel scanned the grass with his manablade. Slashed wet grass blades fell as the blue ray of light passed through. He leaned forward, holding Darya tightly to his body with his left arm.

“Do you see anything?” Darya asked, peeking from under his face.

“Something is in the grass!” Fominel said, his frown deepening.

Seris was clinging to his cape from the back. “S-see I told you! It grabbed my ankle!”

Since this thing could talk, Darya wanted to try a different approach than poking it. She gently grabbed Fominel’s forearm before he made kebab out of this possibly sentient being.

“Hello?” She called out loudly. “Who are you? I heard you speak earlier!”

There was no sound.

“Princess! You shouldn’t talk with strange creatures! Who knows what cursed soul this is! This brings misfortune!” Fominel said, trying to shake his hand free.

“Yes! Damned ankle-grabbing pervert! Slice it up, Fomi!” Seris said, hiding behind the cape, keeping her feet well out of sight.

“Wait, if it could talk, we should at least hear it out. Who knows if it’s got something to do with Sarka? Maybe it’s someone he warped here with!” Darya said, narrowing her eyes at the wet grass.

“You have until I count to five to talk. If you don’t, I’m going to let my friends do what they want with you, I’m sure you heard them!” Darya said loudly into the darkness before her.

Seris quietly located her wand with the blue light from Fominel’s manablade. The tip started to glow after she whispered an incantation. This time, the glow was brighter. She had used a more powerful spell with whatever mana remained.

Darya started counting. “One!”

The grass shifted. Fominel gripped the manablade hilt tighter, ready to dice everything in that general direction. Darya held his forearm from springing forth.

“Two!”

The grass shifted again. This time, she caught a glimpse of a dark shape moving. From what she saw, it had tiny limbs and a big, fat tail too heavy to lift.

What the hell was that thing! A spider with a log of a tail?!

It creeped her out, but she had to remind herself that this thing could somehow speak.

“Three!” Darya said. “I changed my mind. I won’t count to five. It’s now or never! I already saw you! Speak up!”

There was no sound.

“Fominel!” Darya said, loosening her grip on his forearm. “You see it too, right?”

“Yes!” Fominel grunted eagerly, staring at the dark shape on the grass.

She held his hand for a moment longer, letting the silence hang as the storm winds blew between them. The dark thing moved when she was just about to let go of Fominel’s hand.

“Fine! I yield!” it said dramatically. “I surrender, fair lady!”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?!” Darya asked, tightening her grip on Fominel’s forearm again. He seemed to want to stab it more after it spoke, not less.

Seris moved from behind Fominel and flicked her wand in the direction. A ball of light detached from the tip of her wand and illuminated the strange shape before them.

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“What the hell!” Darya exclaimed.

“Eeh! Kill it!” Seris screamed as the light flickering as she pointed a panicked hand at it. “Kill it with fire!”

“Let go of my hand, princess!” Fominel hissed.

The thing that stood before them was a hand. It was Sarka’s severed arm. The spider that she saw had its fingers. The tail was the larger muscles of the arm. She had sliced it off above the elbow with the warblade.

“Wait, how the hell is that thing speaking!” Darya asked, still holding Fominel’s hand. There was no plausible way for a hand to make a coherent speech, especially in RLP.

“Doesn’t matter, this is a trap!” Fominel hissed.

“This is no trap, I reassure you, swordsman! If you wish to get rid of this wretched hand, I shall not get in your way!” the voice said again. It was deeper than any of theirs, but it was quiet enough to blend with the wind.

Wretched hand? Why is it insulting itself?