IMDCA 8

Chapter 8

 The Fur Ball That Eats Shadows and the Procession of Light

Duke Kael sat deeply reclined on the sofa in his room, eyes closed.

Normally, he would not have been able to sleep properly amid the ceaseless pain.

But perhaps due to the effect of the sweet curse residue he had inhaled not long ago, the pain had noticeably lessened, and since there had been no monster hunts recently, he had been able to sleep comfortably.

‘If only Oscar weren’t around, I could keep her by my side…….’

In that moment, the menacing eyes of Oscar—who came running like a shot and glared at him with his head raised whenever he set foot underground—flashed through his mind, and he bolted upright.

Knock, knock—

“Duke.”

The door of the office opened, and the butler Edgar entered with a serious face.

“There seems to be a bit of trouble at the Bureau. They say the drivers transporting the portrait from Count Vladimir’s estate broke regulations, dumped it in Zone 3, and fled.”

Kael’s red eyes narrowed sharply.

Zone 3. He had definitely seen René’s name written on the night duty work log.

“What is the grade of the Vladimir cursed object?”

“……It is A-grade.”

“Ha.”

A short, cold scoff escaped Kael’s lips. An A-grade cursed object had been dropped into Zone 3, where there was no escort knight unit.

That meant, in other words, that the exclusive chef he had marked was now left alone with a highly toxic cursed object.

“I hear the Saintess and Captain Theodore are heading there now.”

Tak—.

Kael rose from his seat without a single moment’s hesitation and picked up the black coat hanging on the chair.

“I’m going to Zone 3.”

“Since it is an A-grade curse, the pain will be great. Would it not be better to go in after the Saintess has performed purification?”

Edgar, who knew well of Kael’s curse, cautiously suggested, but in Kael’s eyes a strange impatience and thick murderous intent were tangled together.

A mysterious chef who cleanly and perfectly dismantled curses, leaving only pure demonic energy. With that ability, she was a tremendous talent whom the imperial family and the temple would rush for with burning eyes.

And yet she hid her ability and came to work as a low-ranking clerk in the curse storage, where no one wanted to work.

“I have no intention of watching my employee be torn to death by some other bastard in a Bureau under my authority.”

The person who had, for the first time, quieted his pain and bestowed sweetness upon him. No one would be allowed to touch a single hair on her.

The hem of the Duke’s pitch-black coat, crossing the corridor steeped in deep darkness, flapped fiercely, cutting through the predawn air.

“Gah! Don’t come! I said don’t come!!”

Zone 3, where the dark and eerie red lights flickered. The Countess’s arm in the portrait had torn through the frame and was swinging its sharpened nails at René.

Having had her hem torn and even wounded on the back of her hand by the vicious momentum, René retreated and ended up backed into a corner of the display case.

‘I have to pull out the nail somehow before people get here—isn’t there a way?’

It was the very moment she squeezed her eyes shut against the increasingly violent curse of the portrait.

Grrrr—.

A low beast’s growl came from beneath her feet.

It was not a hallucination. The small pitch-black ball of fur that had been touching the toe of René’s worn shoe suddenly swelled grotesquely and, splitting the floor wide open, leaped up.

A jet-black beast—lithe as a leopard and with jaws massive as a wolf’s—stood firmly blocking René’s path.

“……Huh?”

René stared blankly at the black back of the head standing before her.

Kyaaaaak!!

The giant fur ball opened its ferocious jaws wide and sank its teeth into the Countess’s arm protruding from the frame, clamping down and not letting go.

— Kiiiiiik—!!

The vengeful spirit in the portrait screamed, crying out in immense pain. The fur ball Kael chewed and swallowed the Countess’s arm as if gnawing tough meat, then glanced back at René.

Those sparkling red eyes, as if saying, ‘I did well, right? Scratch my chin.’

“……Maybe it’s because he named you after the Monster Duke—you’re no ordinary one!”

She could not miss the golden opportunity he had opened up for her. René ran toward the frame with the dagger in her hand.

“Good job, Kael! Bite down hard, Kael! You absolutely must not let go!”

Behind the wooden frame, in a twisted crevice, a single black-stained, unpleasant nail was embedded. That was it. Just as René hooked the dagger, drew a breath, and was about to pull out the “Nail of Deprivation.”

“Huh??”

An ominous black mist began creeping out, and then—Baaang!—it exploded outward and started enveloping the surroundings.

“What in the world is this—an A-grade curse defense mechanism placed on it too?!”

This was no mere vengeful spirit’s curse.

The sticky malice hidden to gnaw away at pure life force rushed at René like a black tidal wave about to swallow her whole. It was a vicious curse, layered and stacked by someone filled with greed.

At that overwhelming malice, just as René held her breath—suddenly, from deep within her eyes, a blue light burst forth. The “Eye of Valea,” now activated, had brought up a hidden secondary dismantling formula.

[Secondary Dismantling Formula: Pierce the shell of deception, and burn the wicked greed with Valea’s “Flame of Purification.”]

‘A secondary dismantling formula? And what is Valea’s Flame of Purification?’

While René stood frozen at the utterly incomprehensible sentence, the black mist spreading from the nail began to be sucked into her body.

“Urk, kuh…….”

Faaaah—!

From the fingertips of René, who had been choking and writhing as if suffocating while clutching the nail, a powerful light poured out like a waterfall.

— Kieeeeeek!!!

The black aura, gradually being enveloped in the blinding demonic power, began to burn fiercely amid grotesque screams.

The filthy greed and malice entangled in the curse formula had instead become the perfect catalyst to awaken the purification ability of the Valea witch bloodline sleeping in René’s veins.

“Haa, haa…….”

The light subsided, and René’s breathing gradually steadied. The terrifying figure of the Countess, who had been trying to crawl out of the frame, had at some point stopped, gazing into empty space in her beautiful form.

‘What happened? Don’t tell me this is the purification ability my parents used……?’

Clang—

The Nail of Deprivation, which had been resting on René’s still-trembling palm, fell to the floor. Bending down to pick up the nail, René saw the hair spilling in front of her face and was about to faint from shock.

“!!!”

She had been disguising herself with pink hair—the hallmark of the Argen Baron family—using a high-performance alchemical dye made by mixing special herbs with her own magic power. But perhaps because of the tremendous heat of the magic power she had just unleashed, the ends of her hair had reverted to the vivid, deep crimson that symbolized the Valea bloodline.

At that moment, the fur ball Kael, with a light “Pof!” sound, shrank back to his small size and slipped smoothly into René’s shadow.

Jebuk, jebuk—!

Outside the iron door, urgent, heavy footsteps and the clashing of steel armor could be heard approaching.

‘Don’t tell me—the heresy inquisitors?!!!’

Memories of the ones who had raided her mansion years ago suddenly surfaced, and René trembled with fear and rage. If her red hair were discovered like this, it was a direct ticket to the stake. Hastily looking around, René grabbed the paper knife on the desk.

Sseogeok, sseogeok—

Cutting hair with a paper knife was no easy task. But as the footsteps grew louder, René grew more frantic, biting her lip hard and began sawing off the reddened tips as if tearing them out.

Tuk, tuduk!

It was the very moment she was stuffing the severed red hair into her pocket.

Kwaaaaang—!!

The thick iron door of Zone 3, firmly shut, was ripped off like a sheet of paper and slammed onto the floor.

The first to come charging in through the dust, striding forcefully, was Theodore with his holy sword drawn—and following behind him, walking gracefully with her sacred silver hair flowing, was Saintess Sylvia.

The scene that unfolded before their eyes—they who had expected bloodstains scattered everywhere and the corpse of a low-ranking clerk torn to death—was not so much gruesome as it was utterly baffling.

In the center of the storage, René stood alone, her hem all torn away and covered in dust.

Her hair, cut raggedly as if gnawed by rats, stuck out in all directions, and at her feet lay an old claw hammer and a black nail, tossed about pitifully.

The only thing that looked normal there was the Countess’s portrait, placed on the stand.

For a moment, a suffocating silence hung over the Bureau.