In simple words, what is termed as “Bladeshine” in Demons Might Weep is analogous to an aethermancer throwing a fireball through the use of some focus or another, merely extrapolated to the connection between a swordsman and their blade. There is also the matter of naturally-occurring Bladeshine-like phenomena such as swordsmen cutting enemies just barely out of their blade’s reach that could be used to explain the feat, but I suffer from the unfortunate plight of feeling the need to justify and explain why my characters are capable of doing what they do; even if both I and (I hope) my esteemed readers are aware that the tales I write are works of fiction intended to hold the bare-minimum realism to facilitate entertainment.

Zel paged through the rest of the book, looking for anything to suggest where or by whom it had been put together. The information she sought was found at the very back, printed on at the bottom of the back of the last page alongside advertisements for other pulps. Besides just the ads and the company’s address, there was also a short blurb.

This anthology and many others proudly printed 

by the Hanging Feudalist Printing Company!

The adverts which took up most of the page were tiny prints of the book’s front cover with its title printed in equally tiny script below - from other fiction anthologies to instructional books on how gunsmithing, the basics of alchemy, or even the verbosely-titled “Thaumaturgy for the Common Man, or why the rituals of our forebears produce tangible results: A household thaumaturge’s grimoire.”

“Hanging Feudalist Printing Company, huh?” she murmured to herself. Clang. Thok. Zef let out a short self-satisfied laugh and put her gun down on the table, curiously responding, “They printed that?”

“Says so right here,” Zel said, putting the pulp in front of Zef so she could see. “Is that strange?”

“Sort of,” Zef said, looking over the back page for her own. “They used to print risky stuff that other printing houses wouldn’t pick up, banned books, political pamphlets mocking this or that noble. Guess they’ve decided to fill the demand for some lighter fiction…”

She paused and a melancholy mood briefly overtook her demeanor. “Can’t blame folks for wanting an escape from reality,” she said, letting out a sigh and allowing the melancholy to leave with it. 

She looked up at Zel, and smiled. Zel smiled back, leaning on her arm… And then she felt a thrum in her fingers, as she had unintentionally touched the Tablet’s edge. It came alive, showing her trait list with two new entries, though they kept flickering in and out of the list and had no text. They weren’t even unnamed, just sort of purple-colored bars where the trait names would be.

“Looks like that stubborn old bear’s Azoth is finally taking,” Zef remarked.

“Guess so,” Zel responded, taking a sip of her citronade. It was slowly getting lukewarm, the glass half-empty. A sigh. “Didn’t you want to go to Collier’s for something to do with Pentacle? There’s only so much lounging around I can take.”

“Bored already? Alright, alright, just don’t go off looking for a fight,” Zef said facetiously, standing up with her glass in hand and finishing its contents. Afterwards she took her gun, fired off the remaining three shots into the log dummy, slid it into the speedloader to load it up properly, put it in its holster, then lifted up her dress to strap the holster to her thigh. 

The sun had moved to just the right spot in the sky to shine down from an angle and paint Zef’s generously-built form in silhouette on the thin fabric of her sundress, and as far as Zelsys was concerned at this very moment, that was the height of art. She really did look perfect in that dress, even the partly cleaned bloodstain somehow contributed, the washed-out rusty-red calling her mind back to those poppies. Hopefully that failed sleeper agent’s corpse wouldn’t end up blockading the road. 

Zelsys, too, finished her drink, and she, too, stood from her seat. She went through her Tablet at a cursory glance, committing to memory an item that she wanted to ask the gunsmith about.

x1 Fulgur-burned Type-2 Shell Casing

There was also the matter of her arm-cannon, but she honestly didn’t want to risk pulling the severed arm out of storage just to try peeling off the harness. For all she knew, the harness might be holding broken bones together and removing it could be like ripping off a splint. 

On their way out, they came across Sig stocking the shelves, mostly with varieties on Liquid Vigor and jars of so-called “Universal Skin Cream”. On the counter were also a few jars of those bright-yellow citron preserves, advertised by a folded-over piece of paper with beautiful calligraphy extolling the preserve as the ideal breakfast spread for any scholar. He regarded them with a smile and asked, “Say, you take one of my pulps? Couldn’t find it this morning,”

“Yeah,” Zef said, straightening out the back page and putting the book on the counter as she walked by. He just nodded back in acknowledgment and kept putting more bottles up on the shelf.

Zel noticed the price tag and asked, “How much does a bottle of this stuff actually cost us?”

“Uh…” Sig trailed off, bottles filling both hands. He stared off into space with his brow furrowed, slowly putting the bottles onto the shelf before he turned around and started counting on his fingers whilst murmuring to himself about plant matter costs, Ignis gem costs, and dilution ratios. “...At the scale we’re distilling Viriditas, just put three gelt a liter in the register if you want to cover yer own consumption. Three and a half at most if you want to count the cost of seals, bottles, corks.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve already taken at least three...” Zel said as she pulled out her tablet, took out a silver and two coppers, put them on the counter, and reached for a bottle. Sig shook his head, picked a different bottle, and handed it to her, “I put the oldest ones in the front, take one from the back if it’s for you to drink.”

She supposed that made sense. Pulling the cork with her teeth to take a sip, she nodded back at him before finally turning to leave with Zef. As she left the door, she heard her counterpart saying that they’ll be back soon.

Akaso

I’d greatly appreciate it if you could leave a review. Reviews weigh heavily in the eyes of the algorithm (not to mention prospective new readers), so that pretty much means they determine the success of my work. A single review or even just a rating can noticeably influence the novel’s performance, especially when it has few ratings overall like this one does as of me posting this.

 

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