Arthur did not sleep.
He sat alone in the cavernous study until the heavy wax candles burned down to misshapen stubs, their flickering light casting long, unstable shadows across the mahogany desk.
The manor was silent.
Too silent. It was the kind of absolute, heavy quiet that made a person hyper-aware of their own heartbeat. And every few minutes, despite his best efforts, Arthur found his gaze drifting toward the heavy oak door.
Toward the hallway. Toward Elena’s room.
He hated that he was doing it. Not because he was worried about her well-being—he was, deeply—but because every time his thoughts drifted toward her, he remembered exactly what had happened in the foyer.
The violent, violet pulse. The sudden, terrifying distortion in his own mind.
That strange, heavy sensation that had risen in his chest hadn’t felt like ordinary, human desire. It had felt like something had reached into the control panel of his mind, grabbed the volume knob of his most basic instincts, and forcefully cranked it until the dial broke off.
A passing, harmless thought of her well-being had threatened to twist into a suffocating obsession. A sudden moment of attraction had spiked into an overwhelming, predatory impulse. His genuine desire to protect her had warped, in a fraction of a second, into something dangerously close to absolute possession.
Arthur aggressively rubbed his face with both hands, trying to scrub the lingering phantom sensation from his skin.
"This isn’t normal," he muttered to the empty room.
He looked down at his palms, turning them over. He closed his eyes and reached inward, searching his own core. The emerald mana—Xetra’s gift—responded immediately. It was warm, stable, and eager to serve. It felt like an extension of his own soul. *His.*
Then, he felt for the other power.
It was sitting right beneath the emerald light. Cold. Violet. Unknown. It felt like a jagged piece of obsidian buried in his chest.
Arthur kept his eyes closed. *Focus.*
Using sheer force of will, he tried to mentally separate the two energies. The emerald mana settled immediately, pulling back like an obedient hound. The violet presence, however, remained exactly where it was. Stubborn.
*Waiting.*
Arthur opened his eyes, glaring at the dark corner of the study. "You’re different."
Nothing happened. The room remained still.
He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his arms. "You’re not mana."
Silence.
"You’re not a natural part of my soul, either."
Still nothing.
Arthur sighed heavily, dropping his head against the back of the chair. "Great conversation."
He reached out to pull a heavy ledger back toward him, intending to return to his reading, when the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted.
The air grew impossibly cold, biting through his coat. The remaining candle flames didn’t flicker; they bent entirely sideways, as if a localized hurricane had just blown through the sealed room.
Arthur froze.
A thin, glowing violet line etched itself across the polished wood of the desk. Then another intersecting it. Then another. The wood hissed, smoking slightly as the lines rapidly connected to form a jagged, glowing symbol.
A broken crown. An eye weeping beneath it.
Arthur shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the floor. It was the exact same symbol. The one stamped on the human trafficking documents. The one carved deep into the iron door in the dungeon.
And now it was burning itself into his desk.
Without thinking, Arthur reached out.
The absolute millisecond his fingertips brushed the glowing violet lines, the study vanished.
His vision went entirely black.
When Arthur opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in the manor. And he wasn’t in the peaceful, starlit void where he had met Xetra, either.
This place was wrong. It felt ancient, decaying, and utterly dead.
He looked around. He was standing on a fractured plane of dark, glass-like stone. In the distance loomed a massive, obsidian structure that defied architectural logic. Colossal pillars twisted upward like agonizingly stretched bones, holding up a sky that didn’t exist. Chains the size of merchant ships hung from the invisible ceiling, swaying silently.
All around the structure, massive pyres of purple flame burned, yet they cast absolutely zero heat.
Arthur took one slow, cautious step forward.
A voice whispered. It didn’t travel through the air to reach his ears; it resonated directly inside the center of his mind, vibrating against his skull.
*Bearer.*
Arthur stopped dead. "Who’s there?"
*Bearer of the curse.*
His heart tightened painfully against his ribs. "The curse?"
The darkness between the bone-like pillars began to move. Something colossal, something impossibly vast, was shifting in the shadows. Arthur couldn’t make out its physical shape, but high above him, two massive, piercing violet points of light ignited in the dark.
Eyes.
They were looking down at him with an intelligence that felt older than the world itself.
Arthur’s every human instinct screamed at him to turn around and run until his legs gave out. Instead, he forced his boots to stay planted. He tilted his chin up, meeting the violet gaze.
"What is the SSS Curse?" he demanded, his voice echoing across the dead glass.
Silence stretched for an eternity.
Then, the voice answered, heavy with ancient amusement.
*A curse that should not exist.*
Arthur frowned, frustrated by the riddle. "That’s not an answer."
The massive violet eyes narrowed slightly, the purple flames around the arena flaring higher.
*It is the only answer you are permitted to receive.*
Arthur clenched his fists, the emerald mana finally sparking to life around his knuckles, a tiny beacon of defiance in the oppressive dark. "Then I’ll find the rest of the answers myself."
The darkness laughed. It was a terrible, grinding sound that physically shook the glass beneath Arthur’s feet.
*You will.*
*But every answer will cost you something.*
The vision shattered like a mirror struck by a hammer.
Arthur woke with a violent, gasping breath, stumbling backward until his spine hit the bookshelf. He was back in the study. The candles were completely extinguished, plunging the room into pre-dawn gloom.
He scrambled to the desk, running his hands frantically over the wood. The glowing symbol was gone. The wood was perfectly smooth.
Arthur stood completely still, his chest heaving as he dragged oxygen back into his lungs.
"That wasn’t a dream," he whispered.
He pressed a hand flat against his chest. The violet presence was noticeably quieter now, sitting heavily in the dark like a predator that had just finished a meal. Almost satisfied.
Arthur walked across the room to a small, silver-framed mirror hanging on the wall. He stared at his reflection in the dim light.
For the first time since claiming this body, the arrogant, confident face seemed entirely unfamiliar again. "What exactly did I reincarnate into?"
Then, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.
As he stared into his own eyes, for the briefest fraction of a second, his dark pupils flashed a brilliant, unnatural violet.
Arthur blinked hard, stepping back. When he opened his eyes again, they were normal.
"Fantastic," he muttered, turning away from the glass.
A soft, hesitant knock came from the heavy study door.
Arthur took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to slow. "Come in."
The door creaked open, and Elena stood in the threshold.
She had bathed, and she was wearing a simple, dark blue dress she had found in one of the guest wardrobes. Her pale golden hair had been brushed free of tangles, falling smoothly over her shoulders. For the first time since Arthur had seen her on that miserable auction stage, she looked less like a broken prisoner and more like an ordinary, beautiful young woman.
Arthur stared at her for a second too long, before violently tearing his gaze away and looking at the bookshelf. "You’re awake."
"Yes," she said quietly, stepping into the room. "I couldn’t sleep."
Arthur nodded, keeping his distance. "Neither could I."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Elena watched him carefully, her hands nervously twisting the fabric of her dress. "Are you angry with me?"
Arthur turned back around, genuinely surprised. "What?"
"About last night. In the foyer."
Arthur’s expression immediately softened. "No. Not at all."
"I thought..." She lowered her eyes, looking at the floorboards. "I thought perhaps you regretted buying me. I thought I did something wrong to make the crest react that way."
Arthur shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not, Elena."
She looked up, surprised by the conviction in his voice.
"I wasn’t angry," Arthur said plainly, deciding to deal with the truth rather than hide behind Valen’s arrogant mask. "I was afraid of myself."
Elena’s brow furrowed. "You were afraid?"
"Yes." Arthur walked over and sat on the edge of the desk. "There’s something inside me. I don’t know what it is yet."
Elena reached up, her fingers lightly brushing the cold iron wire resting against her throat. "Is it connected to this?"
"I think so."
She walked forward slowly, sitting in one of the leather chairs across from the desk. "Then perhaps that’s why the crest reacted. It recognized whatever is inside you."
Arthur nodded. "That’s exactly what I believe."
Elena looked down at her lap. "I have heard stories from the other prisoners about cursed people."
Arthur offered a faint, humorless smile. "Unfortunately, it looks like I might be one of them."
"What kind of curse?"
"I don’t know."
She looked up, tilting her head slightly. "Then why do you call it an SSS Curse?"
Arthur froze completely.
The blood drained from his face. He hadn’t said those words out loud. He had never spoken that name to her.
"What did you just say?" Arthur asked, his voice deathly quiet.
"The SSS Curse," Elena repeated, though her own expression suddenly contorted into deep confusion.
Arthur stood up from the desk. "Where did you hear that name?"
"I didn’t," Elena whispered, raising a trembling hand to her temple. "I... I don’t know why I just said it."
Arthur stared at her. The silence in the study grew suffocating.
Then, the dark iron wire around Elena’s neck pulsed once with a sickening violet light.
Arthur’s chest instantly answered.
*Thump.*
Elena gasped, her eyes widening in sudden terror.
Arthur stepped forward instinctively, closing the distance between them. As he moved closer, the two violet energies violently resonated. A jagged arc of purple light literally sparked through the air between his chest and the crest on her neck.
And for one agonizing second, Arthur didn’t see the study.
He saw a memory.
He saw a woman. She had pale golden hair, exactly like Elena’s. She was standing before a massive, bloodstained black altar. Blood covered her hands, dripping onto the dark stone. And resting on the ground at her feet was a jagged, shattered iron crown.
The vision vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Elena gasped for air and collapsed backward into the leather chair, her eyes rolling back.
"Elena!" Arthur lunged forward, catching her by the shoulders before she could slide to the floor. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Her eyes snapped open. She was pale, shaking violently, dragging frantic breaths into her lungs.
"What did you see?" Arthur demanded softly, holding her steady.
"I..." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with absolute terror. "I don’t know."
Arthur helped her sit upright, keeping his hands on her shoulders until the trembling began to subside. Neither of them spoke for a long time, both entirely shaken by the violent intrusion into their minds.
Finally, Arthur let go and stepped back, his expression hardening into pure resolve.
"Then we’re going to find out."
Later that morning, as the sun finally broke over the horizon, Arthur tore the study apart.
He opened every magical ledger, historical text, and grimoire he could find in Valen’s expansive library. He searched relentlessly for any reference to ancient curses.
Nothing.
He searched for the acronym SSS.
Nothing.
He flipped through books on ancient blood contracts. Nothing. Demon magic. Nothing. Soul corruption. Nothing.
It was as if the curse, the symbol, and the entity he had spoken to had been deliberately, surgically erased from the history of the world.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, rubbing his burning eyes. "This is going to be incredibly annoying."
He didn’t stop. He kept digging through the oldest, dustiest tomes at the bottom of the locked iron cabinet. Eventually, hidden within the crumbling pages of an unnamed, severely damaged journal, he found a single, surviving paragraph.
Arthur leaned in, reading the faded ink carefully.
*There are ancient powers that grant immense strength, but only by taking the pilot’s seat in return.*
His eyes narrowed. He continued reading.
*The more deeply the bearer indulges the impulses of the power, the greater the power becomes, until the host is entirely consumed.*
Arthur stopped. That sounded dangerously familiar. He traced the next line with his finger.
*Such curses do not merely seek to control the body.*
Arthur’s pulse began to hammer against his ribs.
*They control the distance between thought and action.*
Arthur slowly lowered the book, the pieces finally clicking into a horrifying picture.
That explained it perfectly. The curse wasn’t planting foreign thoughts in his head. It was weaponizing his own. It was completely removing the barrier of hesitation.
A fleeting moment of attraction would be amplified until it became an overwhelming compulsion. Anger would instantly become lethal violence. A desire to protect would warp into toxic obsession. Fear would escalate into blinding panic. Every single suppressed, natural human emotion would be weaponized, amplified until acting on it felt like the only way to survive.
Arthur looked up toward the ceiling of the study. "So that’s your game."
Deep inside his chest, the violet energy pulsed faintly, a smug acknowledgment.
Arthur smiled, but there was absolutely no warmth in it. "You’re not going to control me."
The pulse immediately stopped.
Arthur closed the crumbling journal with a heavy thud. "But I do need to understand you."
He stood up, his plan finally crystalizing. First, they would travel north and find the slave-magic specialist to get the crest off her. Then, he would find information about the SSS curse. Then, he would dismantle Valen’s criminal network. And finally, he would return and deal with whatever nightmare was hiding behind the iron door in his basement.
But there was one massive, glaring problem.
He looked toward the hallway door.
Elena.
The curse had already reacted violently to her presence twice. Taking her with him on the road, staying in close proximity, could be incredibly dangerous if the curse decided to spike his emotions again.
But leaving her behind in the manor, trapped with a slave crest connected to the very same dark magic, could be far worse.
Arthur walked down the hall and stopped outside the guest room. His hand hovered over the brass handle for several seconds.
He knocked firmly. "Elena?"
"Yes?" she answered quietly from inside.
"Pack whatever you need."
The door opened a moment later. She looked at him, confused. "Where are we going?"
"North."
"Why?"
Arthur looked directly at the dark iron wire resting against her throat. "To find someone who can get that off you."
He looked up, meeting her eyes, his expression absolute. "And while we’re there... I’m going to find out what the SSS Curse really is."
She nodded slowly, a spark of genuine determination finally lighting up her hollow eyes. "Then I’ll go with you."
Arthur hesitated.
Instantly, the violet energy in his chest stirred, a heavy, possessive warmth flooding his veins, urging him to keep her close, to lock her by his side.
For the first time, Arthur didn’t panic and try to violently suppress the sensation. He simply observed it. He let it sit there.
It wanted her near him.
But Arthur understood the difference now. Wanting someone near him, wanting to protect her, was *his* genuine feeling. The overwhelming, suffocating compulsion to control her was the curse.
He would learn to separate the two. He would not allow a parasitic magic to decide who he loved, who he trusted, or what kind of man he became.
Arthur offered her a confident, genuine smile.
"Then let’s go."