F-Rank Soul Eater-Chapter 144: Goldsworth’s Curse

Regardless, Soren’s Dagger came down.

×4 Force.

—coupled with the reenforcement of his muscles, this attack was a brazen devastating one.

Boom.

The force shook the ground, dust rising in the air.

~silence.

The cameras in the arena focused.

Many cadets leaned forward, all hungry to see what had happened.

And then, the wind blew.

It was revealed.

Goldsworth froze, shocked. A drop of sweat sliding down his forehead.

Soren’s attack had reached him. But the edge of the blade hovered mere inches from his face.

The layers of golden strings were just too much.

Soren’s force had exploded a lot if it, but the defence was just too tight.

Like a bow realising an arrow, the arena erupted again.

"The Commoner did not reach him."

"YES. Goldsworth is so strong."

"He is so cool. Oh, I want to have babies with him."

"Goldsworth I love you."

"Damn it. I was sure that attack would hit. What went wrong?"

There was a mix of reactions, but mostly, there was praise.

The Sponsor chats too erupted in cheers. And some even sent points Goldsworth’s way.

Goldsworth smirked, then chuckled.

"...You can never touch me. Trash can never TOUCH ME!"

Boom.

A whip slammed into Soren, sending him hurling through the air.

His insides shook, and blood shot from his mouth.

He fell on the ground bounced once, twice—like a ragged doll, stopping just around the edge of the platform.

Once again, the arena erupted in cheers.

"As expected. The F–rank is all talk and no bite. He is simply trash."

"Goldsworth is the best. Whether offence or defence, nobody can move him. He is just too mighty."

Praises came from all around.

This made Goldsworth laugh even harder—louder.

He enjoyed the attention, the praise.

His hands spread, eyes half closed, absorbing all as he slowly turned around.

The feeling was just out of this world.

’Yes... praise me. I am dignifying. I am incredible...’

Like an elixir, it washed through him.

And he absorbed it all.

However, Soren was on the ground.

It was practically a miracle that he was still alive.

Cough. Cough.

More blood.

His chest felt like it was on fire. His breath refused to come.

And that familiar Metallic taste sat in his throat.

Soren could tell that he had multiple internal injuries.

His muscles and skin stung,—a thin long cut marked his chest diagonally.

His ears rang, and his blackfield automatically turnef off.

He doubted that he could continue the fight. Maybe commiting suicide and starting the day again was the better option.

With this much pain, it felt that way.

With much effort, he raised his eyes.

His sight alternated between clear and blurry.

Goldsworth. He was bathing in the continously praise of the masses.

The point in Goldsworth’s defense Soren had attacked slowly mended itself—golden strings healing as red soul energy fed them.

And then Goldsworth raised his hands higher, and the healing became faster.

A memory flashed in Soren mind.

It was the moment he had come for the attack, dagger raised high.

He remembered the fear in Goldsworth’s eyes. He remembered the glitch.

And then he remembered how the golden strings had gotten brighter when Goldsworth was threatening him.

For a second, his mind snapped from the pain in his body, allowing him the opportunity to think.

Soren’s gaze brightened, "wait a minute!... it can’t be. It can’t..." he paused. "But it is."

Slightly by his side, his fingers moved.

Nothing happened.

In his mind, he concentrated on Goldsworth’s Shade.

He tried again.

Still nothing happened.

Come on Soren, change your perspective. The praises... its all for you.

His mind settled, and he allowed the voices of the crowd to reach his ears.

To lift his heart.

To become his adoration.

The name on their lips was Goldsworth, but in his mind, he made it Soren.

At first, nothing happened.

Then a red spark between his fingers.

Soren’s eyes opened.

Now he understood it.

With much difficulty, he pushed himself to his feet.

Blood fell from his wound. His cadets’ white was stained with a mix of his blood and the dirt from the ground.

Blood slipped from the corner of his mouth. "GOLDSWORTH!"

The name echoed across the arena.

The cheers dulled.

Goldsworth’s smile thinned. "Why are you still standing?"

Soren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at the red smear.

Then he laughed softly.

"Tell me something."

Goldsworth frowned.

"How did it feel?"

"To what?" Goldsworth asked coldly.

Soren tilted his head.

"To kneel."

The word landed quietly.

Goldsworth’s fingers twitched.

Soren took a step forward. It was slow. Measured.

"You remember it, right?" he continued. "Three days ago! Knees on the floor. Head down. In front of everyone.

A faint ripple passed through the golden threads.

"You bowed so fast that day," Soren added. "I almost thought you were trained."

A few scattered murmurs slipped through the crowd.

Goldsworth’s jaw tightened. "Watch your tongue."

Soren smiled — thin and ugly.

"Oh, I am. I’m choosing every word carefully."

Another step.

"You’re strong, Goldsworth. A–rank is strong.Truly." Soren’s eyes flicked to the glowing threads. "But strength didn’t stop you from kneeling."

The light around Goldsworth flickered.

"You didn’t kneel because you were noble that to fulfill the principles of a shitty bet."

A pause.

"You knelt because you were afraid." Soren’s gaze caught Li in the crowd.

The arena grew quieter.

"You call me trash," Soren went on, voice steady despite the blood on his chin. "But that day?"

He leaned slightly forward.

"You were lower than trash."

Goldsworth’s aura trembled.

Soren didn’t stop.

"Do you know what they call you now?"

Silence.

"The first."

Goldsworth’s brows twitched.

"The first noble to bow to a commoner."

A thread snapped with a faint metallic sound.

"You made history."

Another flicker.

"And it’s recorded," Soren said softly. "Archived. And freaking replayed."

His gaze sharpened.

"Every time someone watches it... you kneel again."

The golden strings dimmed — just slightly.

Soren’s voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"You don’t hate me, Goldsworth."

A final step.

"You hate that you had to choose survival over pride."

A pause.

"And you hate that I’m the one who stood above you... As I will now."

The arena was silent now. They were No cheers. No laughter.

Just a different kind of tension.

Soren’s lips curved faintly.

"So tell me."

He locked eyes with him.

"Does all that praise make it go away?"

Goldsworth’s fingers tightened.

The golden strings shook.

Like static.

Every word was a subtle compounding blow.

It felt like Soren had reached deep into the corners of his mind to extract his greatest sin.

Even worse, it had happened only days ago.

Then again, at the time, he had no choice.

Li commanded it.

Still, it crawled at the back of his mind like ants to sugar.

Soren gave a side smile. "Oh, you can’t tell me you don’t know. Everyone of them has been talking about it." Soren pointed at the crowd, fingers hovering slowly as if to tag each and every person in the audience.

All of a sudden, the cheers, the praises, the admiration from earlier, it no longer seemed beautiful.

It no longer seemed like it was for him.

His mind filtered the voices, specifically identifying the whipers. The mocking. The insults.

Again, Soren noticed the golden strings.

Their bright light... it was dimming.

(Author’s note: Tell me, Have you guys figured out Goldsworth’s curse yesterday?)