Chapter 58

A mocking, hollow voice echoed from an impossible location. It might have drifted from the heavens or clawed its way up from the very bowels of the earth. Isaac could not discern whether the speaker was man, woman, child, or ancient elder. The distorted voice reverberated against the stone walls, fracturing into a shrill, manic cackle that set his teeth on edge.

A face coalesced within the air—a visage resembling a mask of warped wax, its mouth split into a grin that stretched all the way to its ears. It took Isaac several agonizing moments to recognize the grotesque features. It was the man who had lost an arm, the young magician so recently taken under the Guildmaster’s wing. But it was no longer human; it had morphed into something neither living nor dead, defying every known categorization of man or woman. The shift was so total that the original face was barely recognizable.

— “Descendant of the cursed royal family, why do you seek me?”

“Where are you, witch?” Kaiyan demanded, his voice a sharp blade that ignored the mask’s taunting query.

— “Inside a new body. It is much more comfortable and full of life than that old man’s. The magic is reasonably useful too, so it should last for some time. Though, of course, the body will begin rotting from today.”

“It could not have been easy to obtain,” Kaiyan remarked, his voice flat with a dangerous indifference. “Yet you acquired it remarkably well.”

The reply came with a chilling, unexpected openness.

— “No. It was not difficult. It was exceedingly easy. He sought me first.”

Isaac’s eyes widened as he stared at the mask that had once been human.

The man had made the most wretched choice imaginable. As a magician, he must have understood with absolute clarity that his soul would now burn in the fires of hell for eternity. What desperate, dark longing could be so profound that it drove him to seek out a witch despite such a fated end?

— “Descendant of the cursed royal family, you must seek me because of the curse upon you. Do you wish to discover how to break it? Or do you merely wish to vent your rage by killing every witch you encounter?”

The mask drifted toward Kaiyan, hovering inches from his face, before curling its lips into an agonizing, jagged grin.

— “Or do you intend to kill all the witches who gather before me for the Grand Banquet of the Great New Moon and try to break the curse that way?”

Kaiyan studied the mask with an unreadable expression, offering no retort. Yet, his eyes narrowed by a fraction. Isaac realized then that the mask had correctly deduced at least a portion of the prince’s intent. The witch seemed to notice as well, as the mask burst into a pealing, maniacal laughter. It spun through the air, intoxicated by its own delight, before drawing close to Kaiyan once more. Its voice dropped, dripping with a false, saccharine compassion.

— “What a pity. That wish can never be fulfilled. No matter what occurs. Even if, by some impossible chance, you kill me and eradicate every witch in this land, or even if the very witch who cursed you returns from death, you will never escape the curse for as long as you live.”

The mask smiled, a wet, dreadful sound.

— “Because that is the curse this man, this foolish new shell of mine, purchased from me with his soul.”

Ecstasy filled the witch’s quiet voice. She savored the scent of human despair like sweet, heavy honey.

Isaac felt his heart turn to ice.

The young magician had coveted only one thing: that the curse upon Kaiyan never be broken, no matter what transpired. It would persist through the prince’s entire life, until his final breath. Even if the witch who forged the contract were slain, or if every other member of the royal family were liberated from their burdens, Kaiyan alone would remain shackled until the end.

The contract would inevitably be satisfied according to the divine laws governing all things. Nothing Kaiyan attempted could achieve his desire. He would never obtain the freedom he sought.

The mask shrieked. The deranged, piercing sound threatened to shatter Isaac’s eardrums. He clamped his hands over his ears, but the laughter battered directly against the inside of his skull, relentless and cruel. Then, abruptly, the presence weakened.

The mask materialized directly before Isaac.

Struck face-to-face with the deathly pale visage that had lunged to within inches of him, Isaac froze, his breath catching in his throat. The black eyes boring into his own resembled the abyss of hell itself. So this is a witch. This is the true face a witch reveals to humanity.

『You arrived as well.』

The mask whispered, its black eyes narrowing as its lips curled into a crooked sneer. Isaac recalled the night several days earlier—the burning warehouse on the eve of the new moon and the corpse they had discovered in the rot. Yes, he had already crossed paths with this creature.

『You are neither one thing nor the other,』 the mask hissed, circling Isaac to mock him. 『Why crawl out when you should remain hidden like a common insect? If you emerged from your hole, you should have remained somewhere that preserved your miserable life. Why linger beside this cursed human? Foolish child. Utterly foolish. You cannot remain whole beside this man. He is damned to spend his life in a waking hell, never truly alive. Anyone who remains near him will be consumed by his misery.』

“That will not happen.”

Isaac answered almost reflexively, meeting the mask’s gaze with a steady, clear tone. For a heartbeat, the entity fell silent. Then, that silence shattered under the weight of raucous, mocking laughter.

『What an impertinent and spirited child. Are you implying that your present circumstances are not already miserable?』

“They are not.”

Isaac replied firmly. Once more, the mask erupted into loud, discordant laughter, though it appeared visibly displeased by his retort. Its pale features sharpened, radiating a more sinister intensity as it leaned in until its nose nearly brushed against Isaac’s. The black eyes glared into him.

『Insolent child. We shall see whether you maintain such bravado when next we meet. Though I cannot say if you will survive long enough to find out.』

SHREEEEEK

The mask continued its long, grating laughter—a sound that pierced Isaac’s ears like an awl. The skull-shaking cacophony ceased only when a flash of steel split the air, severing the mask. The floating visage vanished as though washed away, and the laughter that had been stabbing into Isaac’s mind abruptly stopped, leaving the room in a heavy, sudden vacuum of silence.

“…”

Isaac stared blankly at the floor. The magic circle remained, dried into a crust of black soot, and the suffocating stench of decay persisted. The old magician’s corpse lay dead at the edge of the circle. Everything appeared unchanged, yet the encounter had been undeniably real. The witch had been here. Every word she uttered remained burned into Isaac’s memory.

“…”

Isaac finally raised his head and locked eyes with Kaiyan. The prince was slowly flicking blood from his blade, watching him with an intense, unreadable expression. As Isaac remained silent, Kaiyan broke the tension.

“You already wear the face of someone drowning in misery. There was no need to wait until your next meeting to find out.”

“Me? No. That isn’t true.”

Isaac shook his head, desperate to deny the claim. Kaiyan watched him in silence for a moment before gesturing toward the wall. Isaac followed the movement and caught sight of his own reflection in a mirror. His face bore an unmistakably dejected, weary expression.

“I’m not miserable. I’m not miserable, only… depressed.”

Isaac murmured with a sigh. Yes. I am depressed. It would be more accurate to say his heart felt anchored by lead, but the distinction felt trivial. Kaiyan was trapped, and the curse was inescapable.

“There must be… some way.”

Even Isaac’s whisper lacked conviction, yet a sudden thought struck him. The tinderbox. The cats had described it as an incomparable treasure, something potent enough to transform a half-witch into a pure one. Perhaps that was the key. Please. Please let it be possible.

“There must be a way to break the curse,” Isaac repeated, speaking as though the repetition might manifest a solution into reality. Kaiyan raised an eyebrow, observing him with a detached curiosity, as if the possibility had never even occurred to him. He flicked the blood from his blade again, pondering the notion.

“Why does my curse give you reason to be depressed?”

The prince’s calm inquiry held genuine, unfeigned confusion. Isaac could not find the words to explain. After a long hesitation, he muttered, “I wonder.”

“…I wonder myself. I have no reason to feel depressed, yet my heart feels heavy.”

His voice drifted off into a private, fading murmur. He exhaled deeply, but the pressure in his chest remained. Isaac rubbed at his sternum, drawing slow, ragged breaths. Kaiyan watched him with profound silence, studying him as if examining a foreign object, clearly hoping that a closer inspection might reveal an answer. Before the prince could arrive at any comprehension, however, the heavy stillness in the room was shattered by a chorus of urgent footsteps rushing down the corridor.

— “Lord Husfelt! What in the…?”

A group burst into the room.

Over a dozen men—magicians, guards, and high-ranking officials—froze in horror, their voices dying in their throats.

The massive magic circle sprawled across the floor, the Guildmaster’s corpse lay cooling in its center, and the prince stood in the middle of the carnage, his blade dripping with black, tar-like blood. It took no great leap of logic for them to deduce the truth: the prince had killed the Guildmaster.

This moment signaled the birth of countless rumors, political conspiracies, and violent power struggles.

Faced with the disaster, no one could articulate their shock.

***