Chapter 25. Curse
The meeting, which had started early in the morning, finally wrapped up around noon. The heroes, slumped over and just biding their time until it ended, bolted out of the conference room like they'd been waiting for this moment. The small meeting room emptied in an instant.
Gunda hurried to catch up with Ji-hyuk, who was striding ahead. The brave young man hesitated for a moment before expressing his gratitude.
"Earlier... um... thanks. For helping me out."
Ji-hyuk flashed a warm, friendly smile and patted Gunda's back reassuringly.
"I hear that happens sometimes."
"...It didn't even cross my mind in the moment. I was pretty nervous, actually."
"I get it. Anyone would panic."
Gunda found himself liking this hero named Kang Ji-hyuk more and more. The more they talked, the more he sensed a calm, considerate depth to the man. You know those people who just naturally draw you in? Kang Ji-hyuk was exactly that kind of guy.
They walked side by side out of the building and through the sunlit garden.
"Your visits have been fewer lately... Busy with work?"
"Ah... yeah. I've been swamped."
"I get it. I'm buried too—no time to breathe."
"Right? Staring at paperwork all day, sometimes I forget if I'm a hero or not."
They shared a light laugh. As they chatted about this and that, they arrived at the carriage stop before they knew it. Ji-hyuk asked if Gunda wanted to head to the mansion for lunch.
Gunda trailed off with an "Uh..." and shook his head.
"I've still got some backlog. Next time I have a free moment, I'll drop by."
"Got it. ...Take care, then, Gunda."
Ji-hyuk shook Gunda's hand firmly and boarded the carriage. The one carrying the hero soon departed. Gunda watched it go, letting out a long sigh.
...For some reason, he felt smaller than usual.
Back at the mansion, Ji-hyuk finished his work early and sat in the drawing room, gazing at the sunset sky. He sipped tea brewed from the dried leaves his master Eizel had given him, lost in memories of Crescent Lake.
Soon, the sun set. Night crows flocked in, and darkness blanketed the garden. The open flowers curled shut, and the mansion sank into silence.
The cursed human.
Ji-hyuk's wandering thoughts eventually landed there. And truthfully, the name fit. Everyone connected to her had withered away from illness, one by one.
...If her sister was still alive, she'd be the sole survivor among those linked to her. Though even that wouldn't last long.
It was all because of her innate curse magic. Negative thoughts triggered it unconsciously. A faint curse once or twice had little effect, but accumulated over time, it became a deep-seated illness no healer's magic could cure.
Against demonic mental attacks, buffs paled compared to a curse of the same vein. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Especially a buffer specialized in curses like hers—they were incredibly rare. If possible, bringing her on board was a no-brainer.
As night deepened, Gid, Bruce, and Jepopo stumbled back to the mansion, buzzed from drinking. They crept cautiously into the drawing room, clearly assuming they'd get an earful from the boss for partying too hard lately.
The bald brute Gid, self-appointed big brother of the rowdy trio, rolled his eyes and gave Bruce a shove forward.
Fuckin' hell—
Bruce freaked out, pleading with his eyes for his brother to go first. Gid clenched his fist threateningly.
You shitty bastard.
Bruce let out a dumb "Heh heh" and scratched the back of his head.
"Boss? Why'd you call us...?"
Ji-hyuk, sipping his tea while staring into the pitch-black garden, whipped his head toward the trio. Their eyes darted everywhere.
"Gid."
"Uh... B-boss, today we only, uh, nailed two, just two. Didn't drink much either... We'll go easy tomorrow, heh heh."
The bald giant who feared nothing in the taverns shrank like a dick in ice water before the boss. Bruce and Jepopo made mental notes to tease him mercilessly later.
"Eh, play as much as you want, long as you do your jobs right."
"Of course! We always handle our shit proper."
Gid elbowed Bruce hard in the ribs. The scarred brute yelped.
"Hell yeah! Fuck, we do our work before we play—!"
"If you slack, I'll rip every hair out of your asses—!"
"You filthy fucker."
The trio's harmony was comically in sync. Ji-hyuk chuckled.
"Perfect timing, actually. Got a job for you three."
"A job?"
Gid asked. Ji-hyuk tapped the table lightly with his finger. The bald brute felt an inexplicable tension. The boss had this overwhelming aura you couldn't resist—a presence that dominated the room.
"Need you to find someone."
"Who?"
"Calls herself the cursed human. You probably haven't heard the name."
"The cursed human?"
Ah—
Jepopo, the gossip-loving kobold, seemed to recall something.
"Heard about her once. The cursed human. They say you get leprosy just getting close. Witch's kid, I think."
"Not a witch's kid. Anyway, track her down. Find out where she is."
"Just that cursed bitch?"
"Yeah. As fast as possible."
Gid nodded to his two little brothers.
"Three of us? Four days tops, if she's definitely in the capital."
"She is."
"Got it. Don't worry, boss. We'll find her."
"Good. You're dismissed."
"Good night, boss."
The rowdy trio bowed politely, then bickered as they left the drawing room. Ji-hyuk drained the last of his tea and stood.
The hero walked the dark, silent hallway, devoid of people. His footsteps echoed up the stairs, layering over the quiet one by one.
He spotted someone crouched in a shadowy corner by his bedroom door pillar, who shot to her feet. Hard to make out in the dimness, but he knew instantly.
"Grace?"
She avoided his gaze, shyly brushing her hair behind her ear.
"It's... time for my treatment."
Now their meetings had a clear purpose: treatment. Her uptight nature apparently hated anything vague or casual.
Ji-hyuk obliged as she wished. Managing subordinates was a boss's duty, after all.
"Come on in."
Grace stepped timidly into the bedroom, blushing like a girl entering a motel for the first time. Ji-hyuk caught a faint, deliberate scent from her hair as she passed. She'd prepared for this.
He scanned the hallway out of habit, then entered and shut the door with a click.
Rozalia woke before dawn, when the sun hadn't yet risen. Cool air seeped through her thin clothes. She sat up quickly and pressed her ear close to her sister's mouth.
Soft, fragile breaths. Thank goodness.
That was how Rozalia started every day—confirming her twin was still breathing. It was her solace, enduring day by day.
To big sister Rozalia, little sister Lorelia was her entire world. As long as she lived, this hell felt bearable—even heavenly at times.
The sister chewed the hard bread Lorelia had left uneaten. One bite, then two. She saved the rest for later.
Before heading out, Rozalia smeared charcoal thickly on her hands and face, making herself as filthy as possible. Her hair was already hacked short and messy. She wrapped cloth tightly around her barely developed chest, passing perfectly for a boy.
Gazing at her sleeping sister's face, she left the storeroom.
Thinking of her sister, she trudged to hell.
Every day was curses, insults, accusations, scorn. The one mercy: people kept their distance, fearing her curse.
Though the hardship remained.
Dawn broke soon. She hurried to the nearby tavern. The familiar stench hit her as she entered. The old, fat innkeeper ignored her.
Rozalia grabbed a bucket and rag, scrubbing the floor caked in vomit and filth. For this grueling work, she got two coppers—down from three.
Still, she did it without complaint. When the innkeeper looked away, she'd pilfer from drunk patrons' pockets. Lucky days yielded a silver.
Done, she rushed to the next inn to muck out the stables. She'd broken her right arm once, kicked by a horse's hind leg. She approached them extra carefully now; rainy days still ached there.
Three more coppers. Noon by then.
After, she'd loiter near the bakery. The kind owner always gave her a fist-sized bread scrap. It had kept her and her sister from starving when her arm broke.
She couldn't starve completely—not with afternoon work ahead. She'd collapsed before.
Sometimes mischievous kids would swarm, pelting her with stones while she ate in a corner. Childish pranks, but agony for her. Once, blood streamed from a head wound; she'd sobbed in misery.
Now she avoided crowds.
After wolfing down the bread, she'd glance at the sky for a brief rest. She loved the blue expanse. How often had she imagined someone descending from those beautiful heavens to save them?
...It never happened. Not yet.
Time to work again. For her sister's medicine, she slaved to the bone.
She'd considered selling her body, but no one would touch the cursed girl.
This was her limit.
Rozalia rose from her alley nook and moved on. Dark backstreets no longer scared her—people did.
Another tavern. Head down to hide her face, she headed to the outhouse for filth duty.
As she reached for bucket and rag, she bumped into a man entering.
Ack.
The drunk's face twisted viciously; he kicked the filthy wretch.
"Argh—."
She tumbled. "You fuckin' bitch. Bad luck—!"
He kicked her down again.
"Aaaah."
She curled up. Filth smeared her body. She gritted her teeth, holding back tears. A scene might cost her the job. For her sister, she endured.
Then another entered, punching the kicker senseless. He crumpled, out cold.
Gentle hands lifted the trembling, curled Rozalia—unfazed by the muck.
Peeking, she gasped. Clearly a high noble. Fear froze her stiff.
But he smiled so kindly... like a savior from the heavens.
"It's okay now. You're safe. I'm here, so everything's alright."
He hugged her, patting her back.
...Ah....
Rozalia burst into tears at the warmth. She couldn't hold back.
"S-sorry, sorry for crying, s-sorry."
She sobbed, choking on gasps.
All she needed was a scrap of bread... and a warm touch.