WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 58: The Cursed Violin

──────

“This is...”

The moment Rimon saw the Pitch-Black Violin, he let out an involuntary groan.

It was not merely because a far richer scent of magic than what had leaked from the box washed over him.

The spiritual aura flickering around the violin like fireflies beneath the dim lights also made Rimon groan.

Others would not have recognized it.

This was the Iron Age, when even Sword Masters had become relics of the past. Few could identify magical tools, rare even in the Age of Heroes, by their aura alone.

But Rimon, who had lived long years as a Sword Master and encountered every kind of magical tool, recognized it at a glance.

No, he could not have failed to recognize it.

That aura carried a radiance that was, in a sense, more familiar to Rimon than any other.

“Hey, you old man! This is a cursed violin!”

A cursed sword that drank blood.

Cursed armor that turned its wearer into a berserker.

A lamp that granted wishes in exchange for one’s lifespan.

The violin held the same murky aura as those “cursed” treasures that had appeared endlessly whenever he hunted black mages.

Seeing something that would make even adults cry rather than soothe crying children, Rimon snapped.

“Watch your mouth. How can you call a sacred violin made by a priest of Muse cursed?”

“Sacred, my ass. Do you think I don’t know half the cursed junk in the world comes from temples?”

“...Are you a mage?”

“I can’t use magic, but I’ve beaten up plenty of priests and witches.”

Rimon lightly tapped the sword at his waist.

Having spent most of his life fighting, Rimon had made just as many enemies.

And those enemies had not been limited to black mages. There had been priests who brainwashed people to spread their faith, and witches who conducted human experiments.

Black mages were evil by nature.

But those who used white magic authorized by gods were not necessarily good.

The gods granting that authorization all had different standards for what was good.

So it was only natural that Rimon scoffed at the old man calling a cursed violin sacred just because a priest had made it.

“Ahem! Don’t misunderstand me. This really is a proper magical violin.”

“A proper cursed violin, more like.”

“If you really don’t believe me, just hold it first. If anything goes wrong, you can have my head.”

“Hmm...”

Maybe it was because of the sword at his waist.

Or perhaps it was the murderous look in his eyes.

Despite the old man’s desperate insistence that he was innocent, Rimon did not withdraw his distrustful gaze.

Someone who knew how dangerous magic could be could not possibly take “try using this cursed object first” as a reasonable suggestion.

The unexpected person to defend the old man was Li Qing-yu.

“Why not do as he says for now?”

“You want me to try it?”

“Yes. He doesn’t seem to be lying. If it were truly dangerous, it wouldn’t be in a place like this.”

Li Qing-yu spoke with a smile.

Then she glanced behind her and added with a playful expression.

“Besides, if we stay like this, I think the children might start crying.”

“...”

Rimon frowned when he saw the children, who really did look on the verge of bursting into tears.

He did not want to touch something so suspicious, but then he could not stop the children from crying.

Let the children cry with absolute certainty?

Or put up with his unease?

There had never really been a choice to make.

“Fine. Let’s see what is so remarkable about this thing.”

After running both hands over his face once, Rimon grumbled as he finally picked up the Pitch-Black Violin.

It was not just for the children.

Half of his decision came from curiosity about what sort of violin could give off such a powerful aura.

The other half came from confidence that something like this could not do anything to him.

It was an arrogant thought, if one wished to call it that.

But it did not matter.

He was Rimon Aspelder.

The last Sword Master of humanity, who had survived the curse of the Demon God, the ultimate evil of black magic, and severed its head.

Click. Click. Click.

“...”

It happened immediately afterward.

Rimon rested the violin against his shoulder, secured it beneath his chin, picked up the bow, and assumed a playing stance.

The pose looked so natural that not only Li Qing-yu, who had been watching with interest, but even the sniffling children stared at Rimon with wide eyes.

“Sword Duke, you know how to play the violin too?”

“...This is the first time in my life I’ve ever held an instrument.”

“Then what is that posture?”

Li Qing-yu looked puzzled at Rimon’s immaculate stance, convincing enough to make him seem like a violinist who had held a bow his entire life.

Rimon answered flatly.

“What else would it be? Obviously a curse.”

“I told you, it’s magic.”

“Same thing, you old coot. What else would a violin that moves someone’s body however it pleases be if not a cursed instrument?”

“I told you, it’s a sacred violin made by a priest of Muse.”

The old man grinned.

Long ago, there had been a priest who served Muse, goddess of the arts.

Devout in faith, the priest had wanted to offer beautiful music to the beloved goddess.

There was only one problem.

The priest was tone-deaf.

Tormented by an affliction fatal to a follower of Muse, the priest changed their way of thinking.

If they could not play well themselves, they would create an instrument that allowed them to play magnificently instead.

That was the Pitch-Black Violin.

It was the masterpiece the priest had spent a lifetime creating, blessed by Muse.

“It’s a wonderful thing that lets even someone holding a violin for the first time play it.”

“...But you can’t put it down until you finish the performance?”

“Oh, how did you know that?”

“That is what you call a cursed item, you senile old man!”

Rimon snapped at him.

He could roughly guess how the Pitch-Black Violin had been made.

‘In short, it’s the musical equivalent of a cursed sword.’

Among cursed swords that moved their owners’ bodies against their will and made them attack anyone nearby, there were surprisingly many that let whoever held them use swordsmanship.

After all, they needed swordsmanship to cut down more people.

The Pitch-Black Violin worked on a similar principle.

The difference was only between a sword and an instrument.

Between swordsmanship and performance.

Both forcibly moved the user’s body and made them use implanted techniques toward a fixed purpose.

‘The idea is genius, though.’

Rimon was honestly impressed.

Even he had never seen an instrument that used a curse like this to make up for poor musical ability.

Not only did the proper posture and finger placements come naturally to mind, but so did how to produce each note on the violin and even the score itself.

And since the curse ended after merely playing the piece, it could certainly be called a magical instrument.

“What are you waiting for? Hurry and play it.”

Even so, Rimon looked displeased.

It was not merely because the old man’s amused insistence that he play felt suspicious.

If the Pitch-Black Violin was such a fine instrument, Rimon had to wonder why it was rotting in a corner of the Magic Hall in this old amusement park.

It was strange from the start that a cursed instrument could be so refined.

‘Something’s fishy about this old man.’

Still, despite his suspicions, Rimon did not shake off the curse.

He simply placed the bow against the violin’s strings.

The children had stopped crying and were watching him, and he was confident he could throw off a curse like this whenever something felt wrong.

So, half resigned, Rimon moved the bow as the violin’s curse guided him.

* * *

‘Heh heh, another poor victim of the curse.’

The old man smiled in satisfaction.

Then he looked at Rimon with playful eyes.

‘What kind of ridiculous performance will he give us this time?’

It was not as though he had lied to Rimon.

The Pitch-Black Violin truly was a proper magical instrument, and it truly had been made by a priest of Muse.

But he had not told him everything.

For example, the priest of Muse had not been able to produce a proper performance even with this violin.

In a way, that was only natural.

A priest who had been tone-deaf from the start could not possibly have placed a perfect performance into the violin.

Of course, the priest of Muse had known about that problem too.

That was why the priest had imitated the techniques of dozens of the greatest musicians of the age, added Muse’s blessing, and tried to create the ideal harmonies of heaven.

Amazingly, the attempt succeeded.

It had been possible because, despite being tone-deaf, the priest had possessed an innate talent for magic.

There was only one problem.

No one could actually perform it.

‘Heavenly music can only be performed by heavenly beings.’

Even when playing the same instrument, a performance changed drastically depending on small differences in arm and finger length, senses, and sensibility.

Yet the priest had ignored those differences and melted the playing methods of dozens of musicians into a single curse.

It became impossible for a human body to perform.

Even first-rate violinists had their technique and senses scrambled by the curse, producing an absolute mess of a performance.

‘This violin is pitiful too.’

In the end, the Saint of Muse could not bear the frustration and committed suicide.

The Pitch-Black Violin truly deserved to be called a cursed instrument, having driven a being who would have stood as an absolute being in the Silver Age to death.

That was why the violin, which should have been treated as a holy relic, was rotting in a place like this.

Not only was a proper performance impossible, no one would like an artifact with such an ominous origin.

Of course, that could not be blamed on the violin.

But it could not be helped.

People only looked at the result.

‘If it had found the right master, it would not be treated like a children’s toy.’

The old man sometimes wondered.

A perfect body capable of handling any performance technique.

Absolute senses beyond those of a human.

And innate artistic sensibility.

If it met an ideal master possessing every talent required of a musician, perhaps the Pitch-Black Violin could become a magnificent magical instrument.

An instrument that played heavenly harmonies capable of moving even gods.

‘Well, no such human exists.’

Of course, the old man knew better than anyone that this was a ridiculous fantasy.

He had watched over the Magic Hall for decades.

From grandmaster-class martial artists who had mastered the Seven Dragons Society’s ultimate arts to high-level Players with performance-type Skills, even those who could be considered superhuman had failed to endure the violin’s curse.

That was why the old man looked forward to it.

What amusing performance would he hear this time?

And as an added bonus, whether Rimon would buy the recording made by the cameras installed in the Magic Hall, or ask him to erase it.

Then Rimon raised the bow.

Lightly set it against the violin’s strings.

And smoothly drew it across them.

Kiiing.

The old man’s smile vanished.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried