ISEKAI EXORCIST

My body was sore from Leopold’s abuse of the voodoo doll every time I made a slight error or spoke when he did not want me to speak.

Armen had finished healing my hand, but was still working on the internal parts, regenerating the muscles and joints between bones, so right now it was a hand with its fingers splayed like some creepy mannequin for a glove store. It had not changed from its charcoal-black hue and it was rough and dotted, as though some kind of porous stone. Most unsettlingly, it seemed to occasionally let off a tremendous amount of heat, which was beyond my control.

I’ll have to get a special glove or gauntlet to mitigate its burning touch…

“It may prove a boon if you can learn to master the power it absorbed from Seramosa.”

That was a thought I hadn’t considered. Seeing as the hand was a mix of the Ifrit’s powers and Armen’s, it was quite possible that it could unleash some of her devastating fire. But it was currently a temperamental and uncontrollable thing, just like the Ifrit who was responsible for its appearance. If I did manage to get it under control, my new hand might prove to be a welcome addition to my sorely-lacking offensive arsenal.

While we travelled to Harrlev, I spent most of the time meditating, which Armen had advised me to, since it promoted his healing abilities and accelerated the recovery of my hand, while also expanding my available energy reserves. It seemed to work like a muscle, where, the more you put strain on it, the stronger it became, but excess periods of no training would revert it to a weaker state. I had to remind myself that my S-tier Soul Attribute was only worth something if I actually pushed the limits of its potential.

According to Armen, my Pact Attribute was the only one that I was consistently training, even though it was through no intentional effort on my part, as my bond with him was the catalyst for its growth.

I was broken from my meditative state when the carriage came to a sudden halt and Leopold said, “We have arrived.”

Suddenly, my mind was brought back to what he wanted from me, as well as the very real threat of being disposed of as soon as my job was complete.

I followed him out of the carriage. The two Pridelings manifested and immediately moved to flank me, making any attempt at escape impossible. The shadowy harpy eagle remained on Leopold’s shoulder with its eyes closed. In his right hand was the voodoo doll he had made from my hand. It was clear that he was not taking any chances.

Armen released a sigh of relief, then informed me, “I have completed the healing at last.”

Good timing, I commended him.

I looked down at my charcoal hand and ever-so-cautiously curled the fingers into my palm, forming a fist. My eyes became misty, as the anxiety of permanently losing my hand was eased.

Thank you Armen. Thank you so much.

“Of course. Your focus now should be to learn to wield the power that lies within your Ifrit Claw.”

Ifrit Claw? Is that what my hand has become?

“Given that it bears the same nature as Seramosa, it seems quite likely that it can take on a different shape once fire inhabits it.”

I blinked in surprise. In my mind’s eye I was picturing my right hand turning into a massive flaming claw that could tear through anything. However, I still had no idea how to go about taming the power that now resided within my ‘Ifrit Claw’. While Armen had been working on healing its internal structure, I had accidentally brushed it against my right thigh and burnt a hole through my pants, as well as giving myself a third-degree burn that the Wraith was fortunately quick to heal.

Until I reached a point where I could control its power, I had to be very conscious of how I moved the hand around and what I touched with it. Unfortunately, this meant that it was currently useless for holding anything, and I was relegated to using my left hand, which, despite the many days of relying on it exclusively, was still proving awkward.

“You need to make counter-charm Wards before we approach the Siren’s territory,” Leopold told me.

“I don’t know how to make Wards,” I replied.

He grumbled. “Your teacher was useless!”

“Sorry.”

“I will have to teach you then.”

I looked at him surprised. “You know how to make Wards?”

“They are not difficult to craft, but only an Exorcist and some Advanced Roles have the ability to make them work.”

With a gesture, one of the Pridelings left my side and went to the back of the carriage, where it retrieved a stack of high-grade paper, as well as an inkstone and brushes. The brushes were of varying sizes and levels of craftsmanship, but some reminded me of the calligraphy pens I’d used in the past.

The other Prideling left my side as well, though to compensate for my loosened guard, the enormous spider released itself from the carriage and moved closer to me.

Seramosa, are you there? I need your strength!

“Bide your time a while longer,” Armen advised.

I bit my lip, but followed his advice. Regardless, attempting to flee was meaningless if the Ifrit did not wish to manifest to my beckoning call.

The second Prideling brought something like a low table from the back of the carriage, which it placed before Leopold, before returning to my side. The first Prideling placed the papers, inkstone, and brushes on the table, then came to stand next to me as well.

“Come closer,” Leopold told me. “I will only show you once.”

I stepped up next to the low table and knelt down next to him. He brought out a waterskin, this one containing actual water and not the bitter wine he fancied, and dribbled a bit of the liquid onto the inkstone, before using one of the brushes to reactivate the ink and coat the fine hairs at its end.

One of the Pridelings walked over and took a sheet of paper, which it sliced into three long strips with deft swipes of its rending claws. It was easy to forget that the imps were dangerous despite their diminutive frames, so it was a sobering reminder.

Leopold took one of the strips, placed it in front of him, holding the top with his left hand, while adopting a proper calligraphy posture. Then he started dragging the brush along the paper-strip, making a complex series of continuous movements. As I watched him, I was brought back to a memory of middle-school, when I’d observed my Calligraphy teacher and marvelled at the ease with which he worked a brush.

As he finished and lifted the brush away, the strip was covered in what looked like a complex sigil. The design made no sense to me, just like the scribbles I’d seen on Owl’s Wards. Nevertheless, I had somehow memorised every movement he’d made, which surprised me.

“Memorisation is a side-effect of high Intelligence,” Armen told me. “Those with an S-tier have perfect recall and are unable to forget anything.”

That sounds horrible, I thought. Although I would have loved such a skill for exams. But a B-tier Intelligence isn’t that high, is it?

“B-tier is considered near the peak of human capabilities, with A being the peak, and S being superhuman. In many worlds, a B-tier intellect would make you a genius.”

I hadn’t realised it was that high. When I thought back to my life on earth, I had always been quite good at memorisation, but never to this extent. Although my few friends had said it was like a superpower, the fact that I could remember anyone’s name, even after hearing it just once. That being said, I had never been a genius, not even close. If someone like Einstein had his Intelligence measured, I wondered what tier it would’ve been.

“Your turn,” Leopold told me, breaking me from my train of thought.

“Should I just copy you?”

He gave me a look like I was an idiot. “No. As you work the pen, you feed the paper and the ink with your energy.”

“Is that it?”

“It is harder than it sounds,” he replied. “I will be surprised if you master it on your first attempt.”

He handed me the brush and I took it with my right hand. Instantly the pen burst into flames and fell apart in two pieces, scattering hot ash all over my legs. I quickly wiped it off with my left hand.

“Your new hand is troublesome,” Leopold remarked. I noticed that he had shifted and moved away, such that I could not easily reach for him, and I felt a faint pressure as his grip was back on the hand doll and preparing to squeeze it firmly if I tried anything.

The large shadowy bird on his shoulder turned towards me and opened its eyes, which shone like bright headlights and stung my eyes with their glare. Armen vanished as its gaze fell on me, but I could also tell that the heat in my hand dissipated.

“Nirvah has blocked the Ifrit’s powers that occupy your hand. Now, proceed with the Ward.”

I frowned, but took a new brush with my ‘claw’, this time not causing a sudden combustion. I hated to be separated from Armen, but I would follow his advice and bide my time.

After dipping the brush on the inkstone, I perfectly mirrored Leopold’s movements, while imagining that the light in my body was steadily flowing along my hand, down the pen, and into the ink.

When I finished copying the drawing, I could sense a faint power emanating from the paper-strip.

Leopold nodded.

“Now make another one,” he said and took the strip. Although he hadn’t said anything, I could tell I had made it correctly. He was not one for praise, but he would complain every time I made a mistake, so the omission spoke volumes. I was proud to have pulled it off, despite still not comprehending what exactly the sigil meant.

After I repeated the motions on the second paper-strip, I felt very exhausted. It had taken a lot more energy than expected to make the wards.

“Attach that to your clothes or put it in a pocket,” Leopold told me. “We are now prepared to track down the Siren.”