The OP Lich is a Returnee, Chapter 24 (Patreon)

Chapter 24 – Enchanting

After seeing my unwanted guests off, I turned my attention to the meager spoils of the fight. Well, meager by my standards, at least. However, for this world, the souls of your enemies and the bone ash of an oni was far from meager.

Actually, now that I thought about it, the souls and ash would be very useful in crafting the enchantment for the sword and its sheath. The souls would actually make the enchantment I wanted to put on the sword, to make it live up to its name, easier, since that hint of soul and necromancy magic would be like carving a path for water to flow through. The ash, on the other hand, would be perfect for the saya, since I could use it to impart some aspects of the oni upon the saya itself, as well as the wearer.

I decided to start with the saya. That was the simpler of the two enchantments, after all. Thanks to the bond with the blade, and the bloodforging I had done, the saya would ‘heal’ itself of any damage as the sword drank blood, but it would be better still to keep the saya from being damaged in the first place!

Sitting down at my enchantment bench, I started with taking some diamond dust out of storage. In the other world, the substance had been called adamant, and it was stronger there than in this world, due to having soaked up the earth mana around it as it formed. That made it prized in any enchantment where permanence or immutability was key.

I was really looking at two enchantments on the saya. The first, which I would use the diamond dust for, was to make the saya tough as adamant itself. This would allow the user to do things with the sheath that would be patently foolish, if not downright impossible, without the enchantment, like using it to block an enemy’s strike.

Sprinkling the powdered adamant on the saya, I began concentrating on the enchantment, willing my mana into the piece. I could not engrave the saya, which meant I needed to rely on the imbuement that I’d already done while making the sheath to guide the mana, as well as my own skills. That made the process more difficult, but it was far from impossible, especially for me.

I felt the enchantment begin to sink into the saya, as it should. Normally, my job would be complete there, but I was not yet done. Reaching out with my magic, I held on to the enchantment, keeping it in that half state, between implementation and completion. I would use it as a guide to layer the second, and more important, enchantment on the sheath.

For this, I needed the bone ash. Sprinkling it on top of the powdered adamant, I focused on the qualities of the oni. Not that particular oni, but of the type as a whole. Strength, vitality, toughness. This is what I wanted the saya to convey to the one who held it, or wore it at their side.

The enchantments were simple enough, common ones in the other world. The idea of making a warrior stronger, healthier, and tougher than he naturally was could hardly be called a unique concept, after all, and even the combination of the three in one was not unusual, amongst those who could afford the enchantment. But just because something was simple, did not mean it was weak, or ineffective. The spear was the simplest weapon in human history, save only for picking up a stick or rock off the ground, and yet it endured throughout the ages because it worked.

Of course, just because the pointy stick worked, did not mean it couldn’t be improved, or that all pointy sticks were the same, and this was true when talking about enchantments, as well. Take the Strength enchantment, for instance. ‘Make the wearer stronger’ was a simple concept, but how did it get implemented? There were several ways, of course, each with their own strengths and weaknesses.

The first, and simplest, was to increase the wearer’s strength by a set amount. If it were broken down into numbers, and someone had a strength of 10, and the enchantment added 5, then the swordsman would have an effective strength of 15. But someone who started at 5 would see their strength go to 10, doubling it, while someone with strength 15 would see theirs become 20, making it less effective as the user’s power increased. Oh, it was still good, and still effective, but there were better options out there.

The second way was in granting the mantle of another’s strength. So, if the oni whose bones were used in the enchantment had a strength of 25, then it mattered not whether the wielder had a normal strength of 5 or 15, they would be treated as having a strength of 25 while they wore the blade. The flip side of this, of course, was that, if someone’s strength was 30, it would effectively lower their strength to 25.

Obviously, such an enchantment was really useful for a weaker warrior, like a mage who was forced into a melee, but was ill-suited to most warriors, and actively restricting them when they got too powerful for the mantle. Which was different from saying that it was useless, or harming them. Limiters, like the one I normally wore to keep from overwhelming those around me with my presence, were absolutely useful for the more powerful individuals, as it let them interact with the world around them, without, as one cartoon superhero said, feeling like they were in a world made out of cardboard, where they had to concentrate on constantly holding back, so that they didn’t destroy things, or people, just by a simple pat on the back.

The third way of doing the Strength enchantment was by having it essentially amplify the wearer’s strength by a set percentage. Most enchantments of the type were in the range of 20-50% improvement. So, at the high end, a wearer with a Strength of 10 would have an effective strength of 15, like the first method, but one who had a strength of 5 would only be 7.5, while one at 15 would find themselves at 22.5! This meant that the enchantment, in essence, grew in effectiveness as the wearer gained power and strength.

Those were the three main ways of doing the enchantment, but there was a fourth way, most prized amongst weapons intended to be heirloom blades, passed down from generation to generation. This fourth way began its ‘life’ as one of the first three, but had the option to allow a wearer to infuse some of their own strength into the weapon, so that, as they grew stronger, the enchantment grew stronger as well, in proportion of what they gave to it. Then, when they passed on the blade, the enchantment would be just as strong as it was before the old wielder gave it up.

This was all well and good, if the sword was passed on after death, or when the wielder was too old to fight, and wished to retire, so that the next generation could take up his office. But if the blade was stolen, then the wielder would be robbed not just of the enchantment, but also the strength they had put into it, as that strength was no longer their own, but the enchantment’s. They would not gain it back until the sword was recovered. Worse, if the blade were destroyed, that strength would be lost to them forever.

That kind of enchantment opened doors I thought were best left shut, at least for now. Such weapons inevitably became the source of incredible trouble. Either their wielders got too powerful, without the discipline required to wield such power, or they invested too much of themselves into the blade, becoming shells of their former selves if it was stolen. Not to mention that they had a nasty tendency to develop into cursed weapons, as wielders often infused their hate and anger into them while they gave the blade their strength.

No, I wasn’t going to unleash that kind of weapon into this world, not yet. Not until they were ready for it. I decided to go with the ‘percentage’ option. But I wasn’t going to go for simply increasing the wearer’s strength by half. That may have been the high end of the average, but I was far from average, especially in this.

Using my magic and the bone ash, I began weaving a tripartite enchantment to go with the indestructibility of the saya. The wearer would be twice as strong as they normally were, muscles and bones strengthening together, so that the body didn’t rip itself apart. The vitality of the oni ensured that no natural disease would touch her, and she would have some resilience against those of supernatural origin. And, finally, her skin would be like iron. Oh, it would feel soft, like normal flesh, but it would not tear or cut or bruise unless the blow would mar forged iron, allowing her to shrug off some weapons, or at least lessen their effects. I was sure the idea of being able to survive getting shot would appeal to a Yakuza princess.

Each part of the enchantment was simple, and so, as I wove them into the final form, they took their place easily. Using the powdered adamant and the bone ash together helped tie the two main enchantments together, dust and dust mixing easily, while remaining distinct. The perfect middle ground between complete incompatibility, like oil and water, and complete blending, like salt and water making saltwater. Those had their uses, but weren’t what I wanted, at the moment.

I watched as the melded enchantments settled in. In its final form, just the saya would be enough to make any enchanter proud. Combined with the blood-drinking blade, the one who wielded the sword would be a devilish foe to fight, especially once they learned to fully harness their strength and toughness. But I had yet to properly enchant the blade.

As with the saya, there were multiple parts to the enchantment that I wished to place on the blade. Multiple parts, but I would start with the simplest one. That was to simply put a bit of strength into the blade, allowing it to resist the strength of the wielder so that a single blow did not shatter the blade entirely. Anything else could be healed through blood.

Which brought me to the next part of the enchantment. A blade that healed by drinking the blood of its victims was nice, but it was little good if it was in flawless condition while the one who wielded it fell, succumbing to many wounds. And the protection offered by the saya was not absolute, especially when magic was in play.

Thus, I used one of the two souls I had captured, and added my necromantic might to the blade. This gave the blade a vampiric effect. Essentially, when the blade struck a living foe, it would feed on their life essence, and use it to heal the wielder. And, if the wielder killed someone while she was in full health? Then it would simply add to her life, to the point where she could preserve her youth and beauty indefinitely, if she killed often enough. It gave one the potential for functional immortality, if you had enough enemies to sacrifice.

Those were both passive effects, however. I wanted one effect to be active, one that the wielder would have to consciously choose to use, and power with their own mana. The enchantment would give them the path to use the ability, allowing them to do something they otherwise would be unable to do, but they would have to supply the mana.

This active enchantment was a specialty of the Kingdom of Risen Athelia, as it had its roots in the soul magic areas of necromancy. Namely, it was a technique to allow a warrior to skip silly little interferences like an enemy’s arms and armor, and strike to the soul directly. The technique’s name was Lifestrike, and it clad the blade in brilliant light, causing it to shine like a lit brand.

While lit, the blade would pass through any nonliving material as though it weren’t there, neither contacting or harming it. Only magical barriers, or defenses like a dragon’s toughened hide, could stand in a Lifestrike’s way. This made it extremely useful against the most heavily-armored foes, but utterly useless against nonliving targets, such as undead or constructs. A Lifestrike could not even harm, much less sever, a single mundane thread of spun cotton.

The other drawback to Lifestrike, besides the fact that it was all but useless against certain types of foes or obstacles, was that it was expensive to use. Either the enchanter had to devote multiple souls (or at least a soul of higher quality than the one’s immediately on hand) to complete the enchantment, or it would need to be something that fed on the users own mana to sustain it. This second form was actually less of a downside than it seemed, since it allowed for more variability, and would cause anyone on the wrong side of it a potentially fatal surprise the first time the saw it up close.

When it was finished, and all three enchantments settled into the blade, I sighed in relief. I used a significant amount of mana with this enchantment, but I knew, without a doubt, that it was worthy of being called a masterwork. I was sure that the oyabun and his granddaughter would be pleased.