The silence that followed her words wasn't empty. It was full of ghosts.
Noah sat back down on the edge of the dusty bed, cane propped against his knee, his body aching from exhaustion but his mind too sharp, too wired, too... annoyed to rest.
"Great," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Finally meet a ghost that doesn't try to claw my eyes out, and she turns out to be a trauma-dump NPC."
Ilyana didn't react to the sarcasm. She lowered herself onto the floor across from him, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her outline flickered, unstable, like a flame struggling against wind that had long stopped blowing.
Noah sighed. "So? Storytime?"
She nodded once.
And began.
The castle had once been beautiful. Alive. The city above it teemed with life, but the true heart of the kingdom had always been here—below ground, beneath stone and root and secrecy.
The king was not cruel, at first. In fact, he was beloved. Stern, yes, but devoted to his people. And to her—his wife, Lysara, the Queen.
When Lysara fell ill, the light dimmed. Noah could almost hear the shift in Ilyana's voice, her memories weaving through her with reverence and dread.
"She was everything to him," she whispered. "And when none of the court healers could help her, he... changed. Grew desperate. Obsessive. The usual things—the flowers, the prayers, the foreign apothecaries—they weren't enough. Then... the mages arrived."
Noah leaned forward. "The three?"
She nodded. "They came cloaked in shadow, bearing promises. They said they were Weavers of the Hollow. That they'd been sent by a god of death and silence—Varkhaz, the Unspoken."
"Of course they were," Noah muttered. "Because trusting strangers in cloaks always ends well."
She didn't smile. "They cured her. Or so it seemed. The queen rose from her bed. The sickness vanished. And the king... welcomed the Weavers into his court."
"And let me guess," Noah said dryly, "they didn't charge a consultation fee. They just got some nice rooms and access to the royal pantry."
"They got more than that. The king gave them space to experiment. Deep below. He gave them servants. Protection. Influence." Her voice thinned. "The prince—the king's son—he didn't trust them. Neither did the knights. But most were too afraid to speak out."
Noah's brow furrowed. "There was a prince?"
"He was the hope of the realm," Ilyana said, and for a moment her expression warmed with memory. "He was strong, kind. Everyone loved him. Especially those of us below. I... I think I loved him too."
Something sharp twisted in her voice.
"He tried to stop it. When he saw what the Weavers were building—rituals, machines, spells soaked in shadow—he rallied the court. There was almost a coup. He even convinced the king to put an end to it all."
Noah narrowed his eyes. "But?"
"But it was too late." Her hands clenched in her lap. "The Weavers had prepared for betrayal. Their ritual had already begun—anchored to the queen's lifeforce, some said. When they enacted it, everything... broke. Everyone died. Or worse."
She paused. Shivered, despite having no body left to shiver with.
"The queen didn't die. She... reverted. Her sickness returned. She's been asleep ever since. Trapped in a dream. And the king—he lost his mind. Became something twisted. A death knight, some call him now. Wandering. Killing. Weeping."
"And the prince?" Noah asked.
Her expression fell. "I don't know. I heard he survived. That he was cursed with something worse than death. But I've never seen him."
Noah leaned back, exhaling slowly. His head spun.
Of course it wasn't just a haunted castle. It was that kind of haunted castle. Tragic royalty. Evil mages. Shadow rituals and twisted family drama. All the isekai clichés, cranked up to eleven, except with rotting ghosts instead of catgirls.
And he was right in the middle of it.
Again.
He rubbed at his face. "So what? You want me to fix it? Break the curse? Fight the King, get the scepter, defeat the Weavers, blah blah blah?"
"I don't know what I want," Ilyana whispered. "But you're the only one I've seen in centuries who wasn't immediately lost to madness. You have something they fear."
Noah's gaze darkened. His hand touched the cane. The deck. The cards.
Yeah.
He had something.
A silence passed between them.
Then Noah stood, groaning slightly from lingering soreness, and picked up the cane. "Right," he muttered. "Let's go make some dead people angry."
Noah stepped toward the bedchamber door, cane in hand, bracing himself.
But as he crossed the threshold, he heard her gasp.
He turned.
Ilyana stood just behind him, her translucent form frozen mid-step—except, something had caught her. Her ankles shimmered with ethereal chains, thin as spider silk but clearly strong enough to hold her in place. Her mouth trembled, her hands clenched around invisible fabric.
"I can't go further," she whispered.
Noah blinked. "What? Why?"
Her voice cracked. "I'm bound to the hour. I only leave when it's time to set the table… to prepare dinner. That's my role now. That's all that's left of me."
He stared at her.
Then muttered, "Right. Because even in death, we're all just unpaid interns."
She gave a broken little laugh, but it died in her throat. "Please. Whatever happens… if you can… end this. Set us free."
Noah didn't respond at first. Just gave her a small nod, tight and tired.
And turned away.
The corridor had never felt so long.
Noah moved slow, soft steps, the cane now more hindrance than help—he held it aloft in one hand to keep from tapping the stone floor. Every breath, every heartbeat, every quiet shift of weight felt like it echoed tenfold down the ancient hall. The silence was crushing. Not peaceful—watchful.
The air changed as he neared the chamber. Warmer. Thicker.
He paused at the jagged archway that led into the throne room.
Just a peek, he told himself. Just to make sure there isn't some undead king doing bicep curls with a warhammer.
He peered in.
And instantly forgot how to breathe.
The chamber was vast. Vast and... wrong. The ceiling soared so high he could barely make it out, lost in golden shadow. The walls were carved marble, inlaid with veins of obsidian and gold, each pillar rising like a sun-drenched tombstone. Tattered banners still clung to the upper reaches, bearing the old crest of the kingdom—some stag-horned sun wrapped in silken thorns. Dust motes floated like ghosts through the amber light of a half-broken chandelier.
And there, at the far end, on a raised dais of cracked black stone—
The throne.
Ornate, cracked, vast enough to seat a god.
And on it sat—
Noah's stomach turned.
A child.
A boy. Maybe eight, maybe younger. Drenched in velvet robes too large for his small body, black hair a tangled mess over ghost-pale skin. His shoulders shook violently with sobs. His face was hidden in his hands. Wailing, deep and broken and terrifying in its sincerity. Not just sadness—desperation.
"No—no, please, Daddy, come back—no, please—I didn't— I was good—Mommy—please—!"
Noah ducked back behind a pillar, heart hammering. What the fuck—
This wasn't the death knight. Wasn't some twisted skeleton king riding a bone dragon.
It was just a child.
A cursed one, sure. In a cursed place. Crying his cursed little eyes out.
But a child.
Noah bit down a hiss of breath.
"Oh, fuck me sideways," he whispered. "Of course it's a crying kid. Why not. Let's just round out the trauma bingo card while we're at it."
He looked down at his cane, then toward the throne again.
"I swear," he muttered, "if this turns into some creepy 'possessed by an ancient horror' moment, I am punching a toddler."
He took another breath. Slow. Quiet. And began crawling, carefully, deliberately, across the mosaic floor—each tile a fractured image of old glory. The sound of the child's sobs echoed, masking Noah's soft footfalls. He moved like a shadow himself now, even in exhaustion.
Until he was halfway through the room.
And the boy suddenly stopped crying.
Noah froze.
Silence. Thick. Pressed down like a weight.
Then—
"Who's there?"
A voice. Small. Frightened. But sharp.
Noah's eyes met the child's.
And the child looked back with eyes that did not belong to any child at all.
Noah did what any sane person would do when a cursed royal toddler with abyssal eyes stared directly into their soul.
He raised both hands in the universal gesture of "Please don't murder me with psychic fire."
"Hey," he said carefully. "Don't freak out. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just—" he exhaled slowly, "—very lost, very tired, and about one emotional breakdown away from throwing myself off a balcony."
The boy blinked, confused, wiping his wet cheeks with the sleeves of his oversized robe.
"I'm Noah," he added, voice soft. "You don't have to be scared. I just… need help finding a way out of this place."
The boy didn't answer at first. He just looked.
Really looked.
And Noah felt something strange tighten in his chest.
Because those eyes? They weren't right.
Not the glassy, unfocused stare of a traumatized child. Not the bright, naive spark of someone too young to understand horror.
They were deep. Not metaphorically. Literally.
Blue so dark they faded to gray at the edges, like the sea before a storm. The kind of eyes that had watched things. War. Death. Gods, maybe. That had carried weight far beyond a child's frame.
Noah's throat tightened.
"Okay," he said, more quietly. "So… maybe you're not just a kid."
The boy flinched and looked down, curling in on himself like he expected to be punished for something. His voice, when it came, was small. Trembling.
"Did you see my daddy?"
Noah opened his mouth. Closed it.
The boy kept talking, each word like a fragile porcelain plate sliding off a shelf.
"Or—or Mommy? I can't find them. And they always come back after the bells, but the bells haven't rung in a long, long time. And the halls are dark. And the big, bad wolf is coming again." His hands gripped the throne armrests tightly. "I don't wanna be alone…"
That last word cracked in his throat.
Noah's stomach dropped.
He didn't know what the fuck was going on, but he knew a few things for certain: this wasn't just some poor ghost kid. This was the prince. The heir. The knight everyone adored.
And whatever the Weavers of the Hollow had done to him… it hadn't just cursed his body.
It had shattered his mind.
Noah took a tentative step forward.
"No wolves here," he lied. "Promise."
The boy sniffled, rubbing his face raw. "They always come when I cry too loud…"
"Well, good news then," Noah muttered. "I'm pretty sure I've already broken several noise ordinances tonight, so what's one more."
He dropped to a crouch, closer to eye level now. His knees screamed in protest.
"Look. I don't know where your parents are. But I think I met your sister. Or what's left of her."
The boy winced. Hugged himself. "She screams sometimes…"
"Yeah. She nearly killed me," Noah said dryly. "But we had a nice bonding moment first."
Silence stretched between them. The boy didn't speak again right away, just stared at the floor, rocking a little in place.
Noah watched him.
That throne was too big for a child.
But maybe… that was the point.
The boy looked up suddenly, blinking hard. "You… you met Lysara?"
Noah paused. "…If that was the girl screaming in flesh-tentacle soprano and trying to crawl into my skull, then yeah. Lovely girl."
The boy smiled. A real, small, hopeful smile that shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.
"She always protected me," he whispered. "Even when she was scared, too. If she let you live… then maybe I can trust you."
Noah tilted his head. "Maybe?"
The boy wiped his face again with the back of his hand and straightened a little on the throne, like he was trying to look dignified. "Do you… want to be my friend?"
Noah blinked. "That's… sudden."
"If we're friends," the boy said seriously, "then you'll protect me. Friends protect each other, right? From the wolf."
The wolf again.
Noah exhaled slowly. "Sure. Fine. We're friends."
The boy's face lit up like the stained glass above the dais, briefly and tragically bright.
"What's your name?" Noah asked gently.
The child hesitated.
Then: "Abel."
The name hit the air like a memory half-remembered—noble, old, elegant. A prince's name. The prince's name.
Noah didn't say it aloud, but he felt it. Something heavy shifting behind the veil of this place.
Abel looked at him, smaller again. "Will you protect me?"
Noah didn't answer immediately. He was suddenly, painfully aware of the cane in his hand. Of his pitiful strength stat. Of the fact that he was covered in dried sweat, low-grade trauma, and only slightly ahead of a complete breakdown.
But those eyes.
He nodded. "Yeah. I'll protect you. Just don't ask for a blood oath or anything."
Abel seemed satisfied. He curled tighter into himself on the throne, his hands relaxing slightly from their white-knuckled grip.
Noah straightened—
And froze.
Growling.
A low, thunderous vibration that seemed to rise from the very bones of the marble beneath his feet.
He turned his head.
Far at the edge of the throne hall, just past the broken entry archway, something emerged from the dark.
His first thought: that's not a wolf.
His second: why is it dragging a cathedral's worth of chains?
It was massive.
Monstrous.
A towering hound-like form, blackened and red, sinew stretched across plated bone. Its fur shimmered like ink in water, and from its mouth dripped something thicker than saliva—dark, glistening blood. Chains hung from its neck like broken prayers. Swords and axes were embedded into its flesh like forgotten weapons stuck into a graveyard.
Each step cracked the floor. Each breath steamed the room.
It didn't snarl.
It didn't charge.
It simply walked forward, the heavy rhythm of a predator that already knew how this would end.
Noah didn't move. Couldn't.
"…Right," he muttered, voice trembling. "Of course it's real. Why wouldn't it be."
Abel whimpered softly behind him. "It always comes when I get scared…"
Noah clenched his jaw. "Well, little prince, I'm scared shitless too, so how about we don't do this right now."
The wolf's gaze found him. Six glowing red eyes blinked, slowly, one after the other.
Noah raised his cane.
"Nope," he whispered to himself. "Nope. I refuse. I demand a genre change. I signed up for a trashy harem romance with hot tops and foot massages, not Elden Ring: Prince Babysitter Edition."
He backed away, one arm behind him to shield the boy, who was trembling silently on the throne.
Then came the sound he dreaded:
System Alert.
✦ Boss Encounter Triggered:
✦ The Crimson Wolf of Regret has entered the field.
✦ Condition: Protect the Cursed Heir.
Noah looked at the glowing words, then at the wolf, then at Abel.
"…Gods fucking damn it."
The Crimson Wolf of Regret padded forward, each step slow, deliberate, obscene in its casual dominance.
Noah's eyes flicked up—there. A massive chandelier. Rusted gold, dust-caked, but heavy-looking enough to do real damage. Chains like spine-thick vines curled toward the high ceiling. And more importantly: a single pulley line, old and frayed, hanging near one of the throne pillars.
Noah's gaze snapped back to Abel.
"Hey, kid." He crouched low, voice sharp but steady. "See that rope over there?"
Abel blinked, then turned and followed his gaze. He nodded slowly.
"Good. I want you to go over there. Right now. Quietly. Be strong and brave like your sister was."
Abel's mouth trembled. "But—what if it sees me?"
"It won't," Noah said. "It's too busy being dramatic. Listen to me: only brave boys find their parents, alright? And I know your mom and dad would want you to be strong. You can do this. I'll shout your name when it's time. You pull the rope as hard as you can. Can you do that?"
Abel gave a shaky nod.
"Atta boy," Noah muttered, then added under his breath, "please don't die."
As the boy scampered toward the wall, Noah stood upright again, only to hear the low, wet scrape of claws on marble as the wolf inched closer.
"Right," he muttered. "Any second now would be great for a miracle, please."
He held his hand out.
"System," he hissed. "Draw One. Do not screw me."
The air shimmered faintly in front of him—golden light flickered, crackled, then formed a single floating card.
The back glowed briefly, then spun to reveal—
✦ [DEBUFF] – Fractured Vitality: HP halved for 1 hour.
✦ "There's always worse. You're just lucky enough to get the preview."
Noah stared.
Then exhaled. Loudly.
"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."
He kicked the ground once and let out a strangled laugh. "I dump fifteen points into Luck and this is what I get? I should've just lit those stat points on fire and called it a personality trait."
The wolf growled, louder this time. Its red eyes flicked toward the boy, then back to Noah.
"Yeah, yeah," Noah grumbled, raising his cane like it might actually do something. "I get it. I'm next on the menu."
He winced, then glanced back at Abel, who had just reached the rope and clutched it in his small hands, eyes huge.
"Also, uh, ignore any adult language I may or may not use in the next few minutes," Noah called over his shoulder. "This is a fuck-heavy situation."
No response from Abel. Just tense, terrified waiting.
Noah turned back. The wolf was nearly within leaping distance now.
"Alright, you freakish abomination," he muttered. "Let's see how you like my magic."
He gripped the cane with both hands and closed his eyes, channeling that flicker he'd felt back in the library.
Focus. Draw. Shape.
The spell circle flared to life before him—a single glowing tarot card taking form, spinning violently in the air like a thrown blade.
He opened his eyes, aimed straight at the approaching monster's chest—
And fired.
The spell collided with the wolf's ribs in a brilliant crack of light and smoke. For a second, just a second, Noah let himself believe it might be enough. The creature stumbled, snarled—its massive head twitching from the impact—and then slowly turned to him with molten, rage-drenched eyes.
"Oh fuck," Noah breathed. "That just pissed it off."
The beast lunged.
Noah shrieked, half-falling backward as he scrambled to put distance between them. The monster's steps cracked marble, its chained limbs dragging blades that howled against stone. Noah darted to the side, scanning the vaulted ceiling—
There.
The chandelier.
"Abel!" he screamed, pointing frantically. "Pull the rope! The big one—pull it now!"
Abel, brave idiot that he was, tugged with both hands. The ancient pulley groaned, metal screeching, and the chandelier tore free with a deafening crash. The entire throne room seemed to shudder as it slammed down onto the Crimson Wolf's back, flattening it under a tangle of gold, crystal, and thick burning wax.
"YES!" Noah shouted, throwing his arms into the air. "Fucking chandelier physics, baby!"
But then the beast moved.
Noah's breath caught as the massive thing rose, slow and shaking. One of its front legs was shattered, its head bleeding heavily—but it wasn't dead. It growled low, a wet, terrible sound. And then it locked eyes with Noah.
"Oh, come the fuck on—"
It leapt.
Noah dove and rolled, barely escaping the impact as the floor cracked where he'd just stood. "Abel, HIDE!" he yelled, then ran in the opposite direction, drawing the monster after him. "Come on, Cujo, over here! That's right, chase the twink!"
As he turned a corner column, Noah skidded to a stop, pivoted, and summoned another card. The magic crackled in his palm—he flung it forward.
Direct hit.
The beast howled and turned, lurching forward even faster.
"Shitshitshitshit—" Another card. Another blast. Columns shattered. Debris rained down. Noah ducked, barely avoiding a swipe from a bloodied claw.
A SYSTEM ALERT flashed:
WARNING: Mana critically low. Remaining pool: 3%
"FUCK ME—" he gasped, diving again as the wolf's jaws snapped behind him. "Not literally! Unless you're a hot top and a romantic—"
He turned the last corner, panting, heart in his throat. The beast lumbered after, slower now, growling in confusion and pain.
Noah spun, aimed, and summoned his final card. "This better be one hell of a crit."
The wolf leapt.
Noah released the spell.
The card hit dead center, detonating mid-air in a blaze of white-blue magic.
The beast's head half-exploded.
Its massive body hit the ground with a thunderous crack, lifeless at last.
The throne room fell silent.
Noah dropped to his knees, panting. "…Jesus fucking Christ."
And then:
SYSTEM ALERT
✦ BOSS DEFEATED: The Crimson Wolf
✦ +10,000 XP
✦ LEVEL UP: 15 → 25
✦ UNIQUE PATH UNLOCKED: King's Mercy
✦ +5,000 XP
✦ BONUS LEVELS: 25 → 27
✦ UNIQUE EVENT: Curse Break [Abel]
✦ DIVINE ALERT: Tarot Card #18 Drawn
Noah's breath caught.
A glowing shimmer spread from the dead wolf's body across the chamber. Threads of magic, like molten silver, spun into the air and wrapped around the small child—Abel. He had stepped into the light, silent, wide-eyed.
The threads enveloped him.
And slowly, beautifully, he changed.
The silvery glow intensified, threads of curse and light unraveling like silk from the boy's limbs. His small frame began to stretch, bones lengthening, joints snapping into new positions with an almost liquid grace. His chest expanded, shoulders broadening with the raw power of a trained warrior. Skin darkened slightly into a healthy olive tone, taut over defined muscle. His short black hair curled as it dried—thick, tousled, freshly cut by magic itself.
And then the light vanished.
Abel stood there, blinking, dazed.
Fully grown.
Completely naked.
Noah, still flat on his back, looked up—and up—and froze.
"Oh," he said, eloquently. His gaze dropped slightly. Then a little lower. Then— "Oh."
The prince instinctively looked down, realized his state of exposure, and yelped. "By the gods—!" His voice cracked from surprise—then immediately sank into something rich, velvety, and commanding. He spun around, face burning red, and grabbed at the nearest velvet curtain to wrap around himself like a cloak.
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Well. That's one way to say hello."
The man glared over his shoulder, utterly flustered. "I didn't ask to flash a stranger the moment I stopped being cursed."
Noah smirked, still sprawled, exhausted but deeply entertained. "Oh don't worry, you've made an unforgettable first impression. And here I thought the wolf was the most intimidating thing in the room."
Abel turned, clutching the curtain tightly over himself. His blush reached his ears.
"And you're…?"
"Noah." He waved lazily. "Apparently a divine candidate, definitely a professional at getting dragged into traumatic magical bullshit. And, by the way, congratulations on being the first man I've met in this hellhole who 1) isn't trying to murder me, and 2) qualifies as solid harem material."
"…Harem?"
"Don't worry about it. You'll grow into it. Clearly, you've already grown into quite a lot."
Abel groaned and turned away again.
Noah grinned, let his head fall back against the cold marble, and opened his system window.
TAROT UNLOCKED
✦ ARCANA XVIII – The Moon (Upright)
"You faced the fear you could not name. And in the dark, you lit a candle."
✦ Passive Effect: Fear-based effects reduced by 50%.
✦ Bonus: Reveals hidden illusions once per day.
The shimmer of moonlight faded, leaving only candle-lit dust and two very different men staring at the aftermath of one very dead wolf.
"…Honestly," Noah muttered to himself, "I deserve a fucking nap. Or at least a really pretty knight to carry me."
Abel, hearing that, stiffened—then, awkwardly, extended a hand.
Noah blinked up at him.
"…Don't suppose you actually will carry me, will you?"
A beat.
"…No," Abel said, firmly.
"Thought so." Noah took his hand anyway. "At least buy me dinner first, next time you show me your sword."