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“Ritual of Remembrance. Memorial Day is long over.”

And Coldon has become rather quiet.

This is because nearly all the foreign workers who remained until the end managed to escape, except for a handful.

But that was only for a moment.

Preparations for the winter have begun.

Amidst the bustling movement of Coldon’s people, villagers from nearby areas began to pour in, and naturally, as merchants tangled together like flowers and honey, the streets started to buzz once more.

However, Winterhome was relatively calm.

Most of the castle’s members both enjoyed and questioned the situation.

One might wonder if it was merely a sense of déjà vu for just one person.

Is it really possible for so many to feel this way at a time when they should be busy?

Before long, those who realized the reason one by one chuckled with a deep sense of emptiness.

After all, it must have been busy during Wintersend, the grandest holiday in Iceland.

Moreover, Alfred had begun launching consecutive business ventures afterwards, right?

Naturally, the subordinates were quite busy as well.

When those ventures stabilized in the fall, they naturally returned to their past routine.

But they still did not know.

The existence of the workload Catherine brought with the flag announcing the end of late autumn.

But that was no concern of Olivier’s.

As soon as Catherine returned from her business trip, Olivier, who had been grinding away at it, rushed down the tower with a rough gait that would make one worry about his health, if they didn’t know him.

And just in time, he ran into his companions entering the tower.

“This wretched brat should know to respect the skies, but…?”

“…Don’t say a word. Old man.”

Mary, who came in together, discreetly slipped away.

More than that, work was important. Work. First, let’s organize the luggage.

Noticing it could become quite noisy, Gordon also stealthily backed out. What fun could there be in this? More important was taking a nap.

Meanwhile, Karem just stood awkwardly beside Catherine as Olivier raised an eyebrow and looked her over. He then shook his head and made a circle with his fingers to examine her.

“The balance of magical power is this disrupted?”

Olivier raised one eyebrow.

“What on earth did you do this time?”

“As soon as the old man saw me, he started slandering me with nonsense.”

“Slandering? You have quite the history—”

“Who are you talking about? Who?”

“Who do you think? You, that wretched Catherine. You’ve made some chimera with inanimate objects again—”

“That was a result of you not properly teaching me how to handle it back when I was supposed to do math! Seriously, isn’t it absurd for someone who claims to be a master to leave their disciple with a failed potion production?”

Catherine snapped her fingers in annoyance.

“Hm? Ah.”

And nothing happened.

Catherine sighed. The heat had risen to her head momentarily, causing her to forget her condition. Right then, she clicked her tongue, as if to show someone.

“I simply exerted myself in a futile effort.”

“Futile effort? Territorial dominance? Heh, that’s a rare occasion. So how long did the opponent hold out?”

“About ten days.”

“Huh?”

A playful glint washed off Olivier’s face, replaced with horror.

‘Did you just commit another absurd act, my apprentice?’

Olivier let out a deep sigh as though the ground was falling beneath him.

This was the first time Karem had seen Olivier, who was usually so carefree and playful, expressing genuine lamentation.

“Olivier, is it really that serious?”

“Indeed. The chaotic antics of that talented one have continued since I graduated. At this point, I lament my own talents.”

“Really? To that extent?”

“No, on the contrary, just how… ah.”

Haah. The weariness of his wrinkled skin and faded beard trickled down like raindrops of despair. How does one explain this to a mere chef who is not a wizard?

…

Olivier reached a conclusion.

Nope, not gonna do it. Let’s just give up. Whatever happens, happens.

Olivier shook his head.

“Ah, the cold wind is coming in, let’s step inside.”

“Ah. Just a moment.”

Catherine reached out towards the wagon visible beyond the wide-open front door. Mary, unloading from the wagon, sidestepped slightly.

“…Huh?”

There was no sign of the staff flying through the air.

“Didn’t you say you can’t use magic right now?”

“Ah, right.”

Catherine slapped her forehead. Before she could move herself, Karem stopped her and brought the lavish staff that had been laid beside where she’d been seated.

“Huh? It’s lighter than I thought.”

The amberstone, the size of a grown man’s fist, the eagle-shaped metal ornament, gold finishing, adamantium engraving, and items that all felt hefty in their own right somehow weren’t as heavy as Karem had expected.

Generally, the gem tends to be small for that reason. But it’s still a stone. Bigger means heavier, no matter what. Not to mention metals or wood.

“The weight distribution is just really good.”

Catherine accepted the staff Karem offered and snapped her fingers in another way.

“Old master. Since it turned out this way, check on the kid instead.”

“Even putting aside your manners for a moment, to examine? Is he under some curse or something?”

“Probably.”

“Huh? Even without sensing any curses or energy?”

Karem, compelled by Olivier’s raised eyebrows, hesitantly approached. Olivier stroked his beard, observing the boy’s body closely.

“Not even a hint of a curse detected, yet you say this?”

“He blocked the last black magic cast by the enemy in my stead. The power was such that it could break shields, and the art and thoughts deployed must have been nothing but a curse.”

Catherine’s level of skill.

A force capable of breaking shields.

A curse, and a black one at that.

With those three elements combined, Olivier could no longer afford to be relaxed. If it were just a curse, perhaps it could be brushed aside. But the treachery and insidiousness of black magic is something that cannot be ignored.

“What kind of art base is it? You must have checked, despite the imbalance being that severe?”

“It seemed to be an application of necromancy, but it’s definitely black magic. However, the enemy left no trace of the soul after use.”

“What about the tools they were using?”

“I brought them along.”

And Karem had no clue what these two grand wizards were saying. To be exact, he understood the meanings of each word but couldn’t grasp why their answers were so interconnected.

And at this point, Karem couldn’t help but think, perhaps…

Even if he wasn’t sensing anything off, certainly the two of them, enthusiasts in the field of magic, were implying that there was something wrong with his condition.

Only someone with considerable guts or outright ignorance could simply brush aside these troubling circumstances.

A constricting feeling tugged at his heart.

“Ugh.”

In that fleeting moment, he felt a sense of his heart being tightened.

Naturally, it soon dissipated like usual.

At first, he thought it was just fatigue inappropriate for his age, but hearing their tones and feeling the atmosphere made him feel even more anxious.

“Sniff. This is—”

Olivier’s gaze sharpened immediately.

In just a split second, he caught a glimpse.

The discreet energy of black magic stretching from the heart.

The sinister power of a curse.

Thankfully, Olivier had seen this type of art before.

And unfortunately, time was of the essence.

“I was trying to shove that workload back to you, but damn that student brought back more work again.”

“Hm? Have you identified the source?”

“To the greenhouse at once! We’ll explain on the way!”

“What?!—”

Olivier didn’t wait for Catherine and hastily dragged Karem out of the tower.

Catherine, stunned by the sudden shift, hurried to follow.

It was indeed a scene that gathered attention: the well-known exclusive chef, often found staying away from outings, was forcibly dragged by the tower lord while the chief magic consultant, the core of power, followed.

But Olivier had no time to spare on trivialities.

“Old man!”

“Are you saying the sage couldn’t sense this? No, if the balance is this bad, neither could I.”

“Is it really that serious? Why are you yelling and coming to terms—”

“Curse of Aging.”

At those words, Catherine immediately closed her mouth.

She understood Olivier’s urgency.

Throughout history, countless curses have been developed, known or forgotten by someone, whereas the most widely recognized curse from the past to now is the Curse of Aging.

Its speed activates upon impact with the target. Children immediately age to youth, middle age, and seniority; the effect continues until the target has perished due to old age, returning to dust.

Of course, the Curse of Aging remains a curse.

It can be purified and lifted.

With the right materials, one can also resist it.

The issue is the rapid onset of effects compounded with the dual hardship of being unable to purify or lift it without swift intervention at the onset stage.

Even if somehow one escapes the curse, the age gained during its duration does not return to the original state.

One of the main reasons why black magic is prohibited, even more than necromancy, which is often viewed with apprehension.

“Then shouldn’t I have died ages ago?”

“Exactly.”

“Wait, what about you, old man!?”

“Honestly, I have no idea why.”

Olivier turned his gaze to Karem with a complicated expression that merged seriousness, absurdity, and confusion. This gaze was reminiscent of the one he often directed towards Catherine.

This time, the target was Karem. Absurdly so.

“Before returning to Coldon, you should have aged and crumbled to dust the moment you felt that curse. How on earth are you still alive?”

“…I can guess it must be some sort of benevolent curse.”

Karem, amidst being dragged away by Olivier, rummaged into his chest pocket and produced Scadi’s holy relic, exuding a divine ambiance.

“Ah, so with that level of holy relic, it might indeed…—”

“Wait, just a moment.”

Catherine’s eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head.

“If that’s the case, then you should have held onto that relic from the start—”

“I wouldn’t have had to worry about being cursed at all—wait a sec.”

Olivier also frowned at Catherine in response.

Though he hated to admit it, excluding the time Robin borrowed it to control his strength, Karem had carried Scadi’s holy relic around wherever he went.

Meaning he had to have not had the relic on him precisely when struck by that curse?

Catherine sighed as if she’d just recalled something.

“…Come to think of it, he threw that relic into the well.”

“What?!”

This kid?

Catherine and Olivier’s expressions, which had been colored with concern, twisted in disbelief as if accusing him of being the cause.

“I swear I didn’t even know a Special Forces unit was forming! If the Special Forces had gone awry then wouldn’t the holy water be more urgent? Of course, I’ll admit that it was recklessly shortsighted, blasphemous, and ignorant!”

“While there are three Swordmasters, you say?”

“…Three?”

“Indeed. There’s the mercenary, the commander of the guards, and the Duke of the border as well.”

“…Baston is a Swordmaster too?”

Catherine nodded, still unable to suppress her astonishment.

Considering the elite soldiers stationed at Afterglow Fortress, the saying that ignorance is a sin certainly became fitting enough of a crime for Karem at this point.

Even if that was for the sake of preparedness against any emergencies.

Karem felt deflated. Wasn’t it because of that butler, Wallace Hartman, who had said the situation was dangerous?

“First, keep that holy relic close to you. The fact that you’re still okay is probably thanks to it.”

“Scadi’s holy relic can’t lift the curse?”

“Didn’t I just say? The early stage ended ages ago, and generally, lifting it shouldn’t be doable. Fortunately, thanks to the holy relic, there may still be a possibility, but I can’t guarantee it.”

“Hu-”

“Just pray for blessings or comfort from the god you believe in.”

And then, with the unexpected arrival of an entirely unpredictable powerful figure, the soldiers and knights guarding the greenhouse were taken aback, but Olivier paid no mind.

“Ugh—no wait. Sir Atanitas? Count Olivier? Ca—”

“The situation is urgent, so I must enter first!”

“Uh, yes, of course!”

“Consider it a wake-up call!”

Ignoring all procedures (sadly, he was used to it), Olivier led them into the greenhouse, where the refreshing scent of life, filled with phytoncides, greeted Karem.

The air, full of winter’s scent, was pushed away by a fresh, soft, life-filled aroma.

Ugh—sigh—

His heart throbbed.

“Ugh, khh.”

“Kid?”

When in pain, a person reflexively screams.

Yet Karem could not even let out a scream.

The agony of every joint in his body feeling like it was being pulled apart.

A sharp pain that skated across every inch of his skin like a razor blade.

The oppressive pressure akin to a heartbeat pressing against him, irregular and overwhelming.

Torrents of an intensity and scale of pain he’d never experienced before rushed through him.

Karem felt as if embers were flying before his eyes.

If only he could produce even a scream; it would bring some relief.

The agony, unlike anything he had ever endured throughout his life, drew forth a barely audible groan from him.

“Choke, heugh…ah—”

Did you just say someone being tortured not scream or even groan? It felt downright ridiculous. If it hurt this much, he wouldn’t be able to suppress a scream.

Ugh—

“Kid! Hey, kid! Damn it, Olivier!”

“The fullness of life has accelerated the curse’s effect! The holy relic is suppressing it, but we need to move quickly!”

“The curse should have been stable until now!”

“Straight to the center! There’s another element suppressing the curse.”

“Is the holy relic’s divine power not enough?”

“The holy relic is here, but the curse suppression is centered in the greenhouse—should have noticed it long ago—”

Ugh—

It felt as if the world was crumbling around him, the ringing in his ears shook his consciousness.

His pupils dilated as his vision blurred, and the world faded away.

“Kid! No, Karem! That damn calm curse suddenly flared up, huh? This much life force?”

“Just take a breath. Karem.”

With agonizing pain surging through him from head to toe, Karem couldn’t hear what the two beside him were saying.

All he could sense was one thing.

A wrinkled hand reached out toward the back of his neck.

Grab!

A sharp sensation.

Karem felt something holding him up.

As his eyes began to close, the last thing he saw was Corvus, who was flustered, with Karem stuck to him like a cicada.

 

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