I Blue : Reincarnated as a Cursed Crit-Based Swordwoman-Chapter 22: Repressed Violence

That night, Noah spent his time reading various things: history books, short stories, adventuring guides. He focused on anything he could read, just to distract his mind from what he had done.

He shivered whenever he thought he heard someone in the corridor. Maybe the resurrected servants were at his door, waiting for an opportunity to exact their revenge on him.

He hadn't expected them to actually lose to him. He had anticipated that they would overpower and kill him somewhere along the way. That was why he let his anger take control—if he was going to lose anyway, he wouldn't go down without a fight.

But somewhere in the middle, it felt as though he was possessed. When his wooden sword broke, he could have given up then and there. He had already defeated more servants than he initially thought possible. That should have been enough, shouldn't it?

Yet, he picked up a sword and stabbed. He stabbed and stabbed.

When the sword broke, he grabbed a knife and continued stabbing. He stabbed again and again until there was no one left.

With each stab, he felt a kind of euphoria. At times, it was as if his entire being was concentrated in the tip of his weapon—focused on a single blue point shining like a star.

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

"... B-Blue?"

An idea struck him. It was just a hunch at this point, but he had to confirm it—he couldn't focus on anything else since the fight.

"(The Blue Path, the Blue Path... Ah! Here!)"

---

[Blue Path]

The power to perceive the points by which every being holds its existence, allowing one to shatter their very essence or enhance it beyond its normal limits.

This power is called Critical.

---

"(Critical? Like... a critical hit?)"

Now that he thought about it, the people he stabbed had mostly died instantly, even when he didn't aim for their heads. Each time it happened, he had the impression he was aiming at something—though he couldn't quite remember.

He did recall that some of his strikes felt more... satisfying than others, as if he had hit a perfect mark.

"Ugh..."

Noah made a gagging noise, but it was futile. He didn't feel like vomiting this time. He wasn't even nauseous. All he felt was the lingering fear of being attacked—no genuine remorse.

"(No, no, they attacked me first! That's why I don't feel bad for killing them! They can be resurrected too, right? So it wasn't wrong! I didn't do anything wrong!)"

Desperately trying to convince himself, he flipped through another book absentmindedly. If the servants didn't attack him directly out of fear, they might resort to less honorable methods.

Yes, he needed more knowledge. Learning about poisons would be a good start—he had to know how he could be poisoned and how to heal himself in the future. In fact, he'd been reading a book about status effects earlier; maybe it could help...

"..."

As he turned the pages, a single word caught his eye, as if fate itself were trying to tell him something.

---

(9) (Terror) tmp; disp; trm

Status effect mostly gained through the Art [Intimidate] or genuine fright. A fear so intense that it prevents rational thought, leaving the affected individual consumed by visions of their death at the user's hands.

Affected individuals often exhibit irrational and violent behavior, acting aggressively at the slightest provocation.

---

"(This...)"

No, it couldn't be.

"(Wait, this is part of a larger effect...)"

Noah flipped back a page until he found the main entry.

---

[Fear] tmp; disp; trm

Status effect mostly gained through the Art [Intimidate] or—

---

"(Wait, what is 'Intimidate' anyway?)"

Didn't he have a book about Arts somewhere? He had to find it. For a while now, his brain had been connecting dots between seemingly unrelated phenomena—just as his instructor had taught him. But this was the first time in months he wished she would scold him for being completely wrong.

---

[Intimidate]

An Art naturally learned by anyone reaching rank Star if not acquired earlier. It allows the user to emit an aura of [Fear] to all beings in their vicinity, frightening them to varying extents depending on the level difference.

This Art is essential for high-level adventurers, enabling them to ward off lower-ranked monsters with their presence alone. It costs only one HP at most.

Traditionally taught to the [Samurai] caste in the Eastern kingdom of Otogi, it is equally effective on humans, causing detrimental effects ranging from [Apprehension] (lowest) to [Awe] (highest).

Note: Using this Art uncontrolled in public spaces is illegal due to its potential to induce harmful [Fear] states in under-leveled citizens.

---

"..."

---

"All began when the Otogi kingdom, a small kingdom in the far east, sent three of its most valorous warriors to retrieve the kingdom's sacred artifacts," Momo said.

---

"There is no need to humiliate me further with your antics, daughter of Otogi," said that woman.

---

"There are weapons that deal more HP damage and Arts that can only be unlocked at certain levels."

---

His brain had connected all the dots. He now had a working theory about what had happened.

"(Momo must have taken that frightening form after being attacked and accidentally—or intentionally—used [Intimidate]. That's why the other servants didn't attack her afterward.

When Momo stopped using [Intimidate], the servants' suppressed fear erupted into violence. That's why they were unusually aggressive this time, even though they could have attacked me earlier.)"

It was a sound analysis. The doodles on his notepad pieced the facts together so intricately that he couldn't think of a single counterargument to disprove it.

"(There's just one thing though... if Momo used [Intimidate], why wasn't I affected?)"

That was the only flaw in his theory, but it could be explained in various ways—perhaps she controlled it to exclude him, or maybe he had been affected by a higher-level status like [Awe]. That would also explain his bloodthirsty state afterward.

"Hmph... (Who am I kidding?)"

Even now, he could still feel traces of the euphoria he had experienced while stabbing those people. He did it for vengeance—nothing more. Even if he could justify it as self-defense, he couldn't lie to himself. He had genuinely felt joy when striking down those who had ignored and mistreated him.

In fact, he deeply regretted not being able to stab Cécile or that Orla woman. They had returned too late—when he could no longer justify his violence.