The Night the Full Moon Sets
“Ugh… mmph!”
I couldn’t keep wandering outside with Laura, who was out of her mind, so I stuffed a strip of cloth into her foul-mouthed trap like a gag and rented a room at a nearby inn.
“Mmph…! Mmmphh—!”
“Ha…”
Luckily, her strength was pathetic—had it been average, I would’ve had a real fight on my hands.
“I won’t show you any mercy.”
Click!
I locked the door, grabbed the back of Laura’s head, and dragged her to the bed like a sack. Then I yanked the bedding over and bound her limbs tight.
“Where is it…”
Every black mage carried their own altar as a matter of course, so I searched her body thoroughly for it.
“This must be it…”
A silver rosary necklace. No other items on her, so I confiscated it and slumped into the chair by the window.
“Mmph…! Mmmphh!”
Bound hand and foot, Laura thrashed on the bed like a freshly caught fish, but a black mage without a corpse to command was no different from a commoner. She had a corpse nearby—one she’d been controlling—but the qualitative difference in our mana meant she couldn’t seize it back, even if she recovered her spent reserves. And her altar was in my hands now.
So I dismissed her entirely from my mind and sank into thought.
Every one of Laura’s actions was laser-focused on harming people…
It can’t be withdrawal symptoms from some drug.
If a drug with side effects like that was on the market, its maker would’ve had their head on a pike in the underworld long ago.
A pre-existing mental illness…?
No. If so, they never would’ve sent her to the academy in the first place. They had every excuse to keep her hidden away—why risk sending a liability as a hostage?
As I pieced together my theories, a sudden hypothesis sent chills prickling down my spine.
What if… the implementation rate Laura showed when commanding Isabel’s corpse wasn’t based on talent, but bloodline?
It was a full moon tonight, after all. And I remembered her birthday being early March—from the documents Jeremiah gave me, so it was reliable.
Could so many coincidences align in a single moment? In short: the current head of the Rosenberg family had an affair with a surviving woman of the Genova count family—pure luck on his part—and Laura was the result.
It’s speculation, but…
The possibility seemed high. After all, hadn’t Laura approached me with some kind of certainty?
Now it makes sense.
I’d thought her attempt to command Isabel’s corpse without feedback was just overconfidence from solid intel. But no—it was confidence in shared blood.
Ah…
But why didn’t she know about the Full Moon’s Curse? If the woman bore a child, she surely would’ve spilled the truth during their fling.
Unless…
It wasn’t consensual? If the Rosenberg head coveted the Genova bloodline’s guaranteed genius in some field and imprisoned the woman, raping her to produce Laura…
Yes, that explained her withholding the curse’s details out of revenge.
The curse’s form isn’t fixed, after all…
Even imprisoned, she might’ve suffered a version that let her satisfy urges quietly, undetected. No—she must have. If it had been discovered, the Rosenberg head never would’ve sent Laura to the academy without precautions.
“…Laura?”
As my deductions hardened into conviction, an unnatural silence prickled at me. I snapped out of my reverie and looked to the bed.
“What the—!”
Gurgle… gurgle…
Her throat bubbled like boiling spit, her breath on the verge of failing.
“You mad bitch—!”
I spat the curse on reflex and ripped the cloth gag from her mouth.
Crunch!
“Gah!”
As if she’d been waiting, Laura sank her teeth into my middle finger, blood staining her lips as she flashed a lascivious smile laced with ecstasy.
“Ha…”
I knew little of the Full Moon’s Curse’s details. Psychometry on Isabel had only yielded fragments.
One thing’s clear… I can’t just leave her like this.
Fine. No point overthinking anymore. I shrugged off my suit jacket, hung it aside, seized Laura’s hair, and shoved my other middle finger into her mouth.
Crunch! Crunch!
She snapped it up like a starving dog.
I can’t educate someone without reason…
But instinct alone could be trained. This wasn’t split personality—tame her thoroughly, and it’d help even during future outbreaks. She’d have no one but me to rely on anyway. Why tell anyone else and beg for help?
I welcomed that scenario. Of course, to pressure the Genova family, I’d need proof the curse existed—which wasn’t hard. Other black mages who knew of it would confirm via feedback on Isabel’s corpse.
“Laura…”
No. Laura de Charles Rosenberg—that was a human name. What I was taming now was a beast without reason…
She needed a new name. One that’d trigger conditioning.
The name itself could be the keyword.
What to choose?
I pulled my finger from her lips and gripped her throat, pondering.
There was a dog at the Brutein estate when I was a kid. Its name was…
Belka, I think.
“…”
I shook my head. A dog’s name felt off, even for this.
Thinking of her full name…
“Charles. Charles it is.”
Squeeze!
“Hng! Mmph! Mmmphh!”
Treating her not as a person but a beast to break, I pulled Laura into my arms and gagged her again with fresh cloth. Bad habits required a muzzle.
I untied the bedding from her limbs, wrapped it around her waist, and lashed it to the bedframe.
With relative freedom, she lunged, clawing wildly—but…
Grip!
I seized her wrist and flipped her onto the bed.
Doesn’t she feel pain?
Her arm wrenched back far enough to dislocate, yet she showed no sign of hurt, thrashing violently.
I’d suspected as much from the solar plexus strike earlier…
Good enough…
Pain wouldn’t instill fear. But she seemed to derive pleasure from harming others, so control that, and we’d be set.
“Ah… agh!”
I stepped back, and she pursued—only for the waist tether to yank her short.
“Hng, hnghk!”
She clawed at the knot. No reason, but intelligence intact. That’s how she’d wielded the corpse.
But…
“Charles. I never said you could untie it.”
No permission, yet she’d slipped her own leash. Rebellion itself.
Whoosh!
She freed it cleanly and shambled toward me like a zombie—
Crack!
I commandeered her corpse, erecting an ice barrier.
“Ugh! Uuugh!”
Thud! Thud!
Lower ranks couldn’t parse higher-rank spell formulas—only peers or below. Rank gaps between mages were absolute.
Never guessed it was a Euclid-rank elemental mage’s corpse… Rosenberg’s got some depth.
I watched her pound the ice, then approached, dispelled it, pinned her with brute force, and retied the tether. Repeated about ten times.
“Hng, mmph…”
The taut sheet blocked her approach now, and she didn’t try untying it—realizing it’d summon the impassable ice, isolating her only prey: me.
“Quick learner.”
I smirked, standing still to meet her gaze.
Next: reward desired behaviors by closing distance step by step.
“Grruuu…”
She flailed, drooling like a newborn pup—or a dog.
Step.
She hunched low awkwardly, so I took a soft step forward.
“Uh…?”
She tilted her head, puzzled—but…
Step. Step.
Realizing the correlation as her hips lowered…
“Hngh! Mmmphh!”
She didn’t just crouch—she flopped flat on her belly.
“Good… well done, Charles.”
Unexpected, but she’d obeyed intent. I crouched before her, arms open.
Squeeze!
“Hng, uuu… mmph!”
She sprang up, burrowed into my chest, and squeezed my throat with frail hands, intent on strangling.
Her delicate frame screamed sickly—sweetly healthy at best, medicine-reeking at worst. Instead, a surprisingly sweet, fresh scent wafted in.
If she doesn’t push further here…
I had no desire to continue. But reasonless Laura did, nails sharpening to pierce my jugular.
“Charles.”
“Uuu…!”
Clear line crossed. I scowled and backed away sharply.
“Hngbrr… mmmphh!”
As trained, she flattened immediately, begging return.
“…”
That pose screamed oversized dog. Commendable, but crossing lines demanded greater atonement.
What more from a mindless thing? Sit. Lie. Done.
“Kkhng! Kkhngh!”
No need to agonize. She handled it herself…
Clap clap! Clapping.
“Mmmphh!”
…baring her belly, wriggling.
“Grruuu…!”
…rolling over. Revealing age-inappropriate mature lingerie. Her taste, apparently.
“…”
Her antics proved amusingly entertaining. I watched for ten minutes before approaching again.
Thankfully, one try sufficed this time—fully learned, she squeezed my throat without nails.
“Mmph…”
Regret plain, but experience held her back…
“!”
Spring! I stood and retreated.
No jugular stab, but she’d nearly crushed my balls—the most primal kill with hands.
“Charles.”
Her grip on my groin halted mid-squeeze, fingers twitching rhythmically in the air.
Good reflexes saved me… A disaster—or half-disaster—would’ve driven my OCD to self-mutilate the rest. This body demanded symmetry.
“Hngbrr…!”
Ignoring my thoughts, she resumed her grotesque performance for the distant me.
“…”
Thus, I spent the quiet night taming Laura—Charles—lost to the Full Moon’s Curse.