Abel was still crouched awkwardly behind the crushed velvet curtain, doing his best impression of a noble prince caught in the world's most awkward wardrobe malfunction. His voice—deep now, rich and steady—tried to stay composed, but the red creeping up his neck ruined the effect.
"Do you… have anything I can wear?" he asked, eyes pointedly avoiding Noah's.
Noah was still sprawled dramatically on the throne room floor, head resting on his palm, cane across his lap, looking like he was posing for a cursed oil painting.
"Hmm?" he hummed, deliberately letting his gaze drag up and down Abel's very muscular silhouette. "Oh, no. Sorry, champ. Left my medieval fashion catalog back in the haunted library."
Abel shifted behind the curtain, trying to cover more skin. "Be serious."
"I am," Noah said. "You're very serious. I'm just the poor little weak god who almost got eaten alive by a damn demon dog. I think I deserve some eye candy."
"I'm not candy."
"Debatable," Noah muttered, eyes flicking lower again.
Abel looked like he might die of embarrassment. Or impale Noah with a table leg.
Noah stretched, groaning as his sore muscles complained. He glanced lazily around the throne room, half-expecting the chandelier to fall again just to finish him off. But instead, something else caught his attention—a soft click echoing from somewhere nearby.
He sat up straighter. "...Wait."
That sound.
He recognized it.
It was the same click from earlier—when the first cursed ghost had been defeated. The sound of a chest unlocking.
Instantly, adrenaline shoved aside exhaustion. He twisted around, scanning the chamber.
Abel peeked from behind the curtain. "What is it?"
"Loot," Noah said, already pulling himself to his feet with the cane. "Magical chest. Big. Shiny. Hopefully not cursed. Definitely better than standing around watching your royal sausage hide behind a drape."
"Can you not—?"
"I literally died for this, let me have one win," Noah grumbled, already hobbling off. "You just sit there and be pretty."
Abel started to protest, then gave up. "You're insane."
Noah smirked over his shoulder. "And you're still naked. So maybe hold off on the insults."
As he limped across the ruined marble, cane tapping, Noah finally spotted it: a massive chest half-hidden behind one of the broken pillars, its golden lock now unlatched, the top slightly cracked open like an invitation.
He let out a breath. "Thank fuck."
Behind him, Abel grumbled, "You're seriously just leaving me like this?"
"You're a big boy now," Noah called back, opening the chest with a dramatic flourish. "Figure it out."
The chest creaked open, and light spilled out like someone had shoved a miniature sun inside.
Noah squinted. "Okay. That's either treasure or a trap. But at this point, who the hell cares?"
Inside, gleaming like it had just been freshly forged by some divine gym rat, was a sword. A massive sword. The kind that screamed "main character" and weighed more than Noah's entire trauma history.
"Oh come on," he groaned.
He grabbed the hilt anyway, already regretting it, and used all the grace of a dying slug to drag the damn thing out of the chest. It hit the ground with a loud clang, sending dust and echoes flying.
Noah stumbled back, panting. "Yeah. That's not happening. You're not my weapon. You're a fucking metaphor."
Then, something softer caught his eye.
Folded neatly beneath where the sword had been was a set of robes. Elegant. Dark blue, trimmed with silver. Flowing, dramatic, but way too clean to belong in this haunted dumpster-fire of a castle.
He pulled them out. "Great. Clothes. Finally."
As soon as his fingers brushed the fabric, his system pinged:
[SYSTEM ALERT]
Item Acquired: Aetherwoven Robes (Class D)
+25% Mana Pool
+40% Mana Regeneration
Auto-cleanses after battle.
Designed for: Mage Class
Noah blinked. "Auto-cleanses? God, take me now."
Without hesitation, he started stripping off his current outfit—blood-crusted, ripped, and still damp from something he did not want to identify. The robes he'd stolen from the first chamber hit the floor with a wet slap.
Behind him, Abel made a startled choking noise. "W-Why are you undressing?!"
Noah stepped into the new robes, not even glancing back. "Because I'm not a medieval peasant with a shame complex. And these are clean. You want me walking around smelling like death's laundry?"
"That's not—! You could have warned me!"
Noah finally turned around, adjusting the robe's belt with a little flourish. "You're naked too, Your Highness. Don't throw stones from your very exposed glass throne."
Abel flushed, pulling the curtain tighter around himself. "That's different!"
"Sure," Noah said, grinning. "By the way, these would probably snap in half trying to fit one of your tree-trunk thighs, so don't even ask. But I did find something for you."
He pointed dramatically at the massive sword still lying pathetically in the dust. "Behold: the oversized compensation blade."
Abel's expression turned wary. "You want me to… wield that?"
"I mean, look at you," Noah gestured vaguely at the curtain. "Broad shoulders. Muscles for days. Deep, noble voice. Probably some tragic backstory. It's literally your birthright. Meanwhile, I couldn't lift that thing without snapping my spine in half."
Abel tried not to look smug. Failed.
Still not moving from behind the curtain, he said, "What do you suggest I wear, then?"
Noah rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Take the curtain. Be dramatic. You people love capes."
Abel gave him a deadpan look, then reluctantly tugged at the fabric, wrapping it awkwardly around himself like a toga. It only kind of worked.
"You look like a sexy couch," Noah said.
Abel sighed. Loudly. "Let's… just go."
Noah gave the sword a final, apologetic glance. "Go pick up your metal boyfriend first. I'm not dragging him anywhere."
Abel stepped out from behind the curtain, toga-draped and barefoot, and walked over to the sword like he wasn't butt-naked ten seconds ago.
Noah's smirk evaporated the moment the man got close.
Holy shit.
Standing next to him now, Noah realized Abel was huge. Not just tall—like six-foot-something-tall—but broad and built like he'd been carved out of guilt and protein powder. The sword that had nearly broken Noah's spine? It slid into Abel's grip like it weighed nothing. Like it was just… a sword.
Noah tilted his head up, craning his neck like a tourist looking at a cathedral. "Right," he muttered. "Cool. Very normal. Love being the sidekick in my own goddamn life."
He crossed his arms and frowned up at the towering prince. "You know, when you hold that thing, it actually looks proportional. That's a war crime."
Abel gave him a blank look. "You're… very small."
"Thanks," Noah said dryly. "Let me know when your ego hits terminal velocity so I can duck."
Abel didn't rise to it. He just tested the blade with a few practiced swings—clean, smooth, precise. Of course he was good with it.
Of course he was.
Noah sighed. "Alright, Conan, now that you're armed and fabulous—do you, by any chance, know how the hell to leave this place? Or break the curse? Because I'm not exactly hyped to go one-on-one with your dad the undead murder tank."
That seemed to finally click something into place. Abel's posture stiffened, eyes narrowing with focus. "You're right. I was so caught up in the… change, I forgot. My father. We have to help him."
"Right," Noah said, cautiously hopeful. "And by 'help,' you mean not fight?"
Abel's mouth thinned. "If it can be avoided. He wasn't always like this. And my mother…"
He trailed off.
Noah didn't push. Just nodded.
Then Abel glanced down at himself and scowled. "But first—I need clothes. I can't fight in a curtain. Especially not against shadow mages. Or wolves. Or—anything. This thing could fall off any second."
Noah's lips curled. He absolutely couldn't resist. "Wow. That forward, huh? I didn't think we were at bed chamber level already. I mean, I'm flattered, but I usually like a little dinner first before I get dragged into a prince's private quarters."
Abel flushed. Slightly. But to his credit, he held the line, arms crossed, chin tilted.
"I wouldn't bring a stranger to my chambers for that reason," he said evenly. "I'm not… some kind of pervert."
Noah raised both brows. "Aww. So you do think I'm a stranger."
Abel exhaled through his nose like a man deeply regretting every decision that led him to this moment.
"I'm going to get dressed," he said flatly. "You can stay here and flirt with the furniture."
Noah gave the sword a pat. "Sorry, big guy. Looks like I'm not his type."
He trailed after the half-naked prince, robe flowing behind him, a grin still tugging at the corner of his lips.
Things were finally starting to look up.
Which meant, knowing his luck, something truly horrible was about to happen next.