Monsters Wag Their Tails Only at Me

I knew the Drunkard was a mage, but...

Was he beating the kids because things weren't going the way he wanted?

As I stood there trapped in horrifying fantasies with a grim expression, the Drunkard let out a deep sigh.

"This is killing me."

"From beating up children?"

I asked reflexively, but once again the Drunkard smoothly ignored the question.

He wiped the blood smeared across his forehead with the sleeve of his already ragged clothes and looked at me with exhausted eyes.

"This isn't easy. Even for me... this isn't easy."

Deep wrinkles gathered across his already aged face.

For some reason, I suddenly felt like I was witnessing elder abuse and lost the ability to respond.

The Drunkard muttered on drunkenly.

"This is the first time I've seen magic woven together this densely and intricately. To think a mage this extraordinary existed in this kingdom."

"...Yeah, well."

"Even for me, unraveling this magic is impossible. Not through conventional means. It's like trying to untangle a thousand threads knotted into a single ball."

At the Drunkard's declaration—which sounded almost identical to giving up—I merely bit down on my lip.

I'd been relying entirely on him.

No matter how skilled a mage was, perhaps Horace's magic was simply too difficult to unravel.

If I'd known this would happen...

"Tch. We should've captured Horace somehow."

I muttered quietly to myself.

The Drunkard, whose eyes had been unfocused from exhaustion, suddenly widened them.

Then he abruptly grabbed both my shoulders with violent force and shoved his face toward mine.

"W-What?! Who did you say?!"

The horrific smell of alcohol pouring from his mouth made me instinctively turn my head away.

I knew grimacing directly at someone's face was rude, but this was genuinely unbearable.

"Ugh, old man, could you not..."

"You just now! Who did you say?! Who?!"

"Ughhh, Horace! The one who created that magic..."

"H-Horace... Horace Quinsley?!"

My eyes widened too.

The fact that he knew Horace's full name completely caught me off guard.

The Drunkard and I stared at each other in mutual shock.

"How do you know him, old man?"

"That really... really is Horace Quinsley's work?"

"Ah, yes. That's definitely him."

When I nodded, the Drunkard's mouth fell open in disbelief.

Meanwhile, the hands still tightly gripping my shoulders were forcibly peeled away by Varen.

Having lost his support, the Drunkard staggered slightly while staring blankly into space.

Curious about this unexpected connection, I tilted my head and studied him.

"Lord Drunkard, how do you know Horace?"

"I can't... lose to someone like that..."

Despite my question, the Drunkard merely muttered to himself.

Then suddenly, he clenched both wrinkled fists tightly and straightened his bent back.

"That bastard! I'll teach him a lesson myself!"

The shout was absurdly loud for an old man.

I squinted one eye and took a step backward.

That bastard. Someone like that.

Judging by the way the Drunkard referred to Horace, they clearly weren't ordinary acquaintances.

I was about to ask again when the Drunkard abruptly spoke first, eyes gleaming wildly.

"That magic is extremely complicated. Breaking down its structure will take a very long time."

"Then you can't unravel it?"

"No. We'll just use another method. There's always another way."

"What method?"

The Drunkard bared his yellow teeth in a crooked grin.

An inexplicable sense of dread crawled over me.

"We tear it out completely."

"...Tear out what?"

"The brand. We'll rip the entire thing out."

Varen and I exchanged glances at the incomprehensible explanation.

When I silently questioned him with my eyes, Varen shook his head as if he didn't understand either.

After our brief body-language conversation, I turned back toward the Drunkard.

"Old man, explain it in a way people can understand. Is it even possible to rip magic out like that?"

"Normally? Impossible."

The Drunkard stared blankly into empty air, his gaze unfocused.

The way he kept grinning to himself gave me chills.

"But I'm not normal."

"...Ah, right. True. You're definitely not normal."

I reluctantly humored his shameless self-praise.

The Drunkard raised one dry hand and tapped his temple.

"You just have to tear this part out."

"You're tearing their heads apart?!"

"No. What's inside."

So... their brains?

The explanation somehow became even more horrifying.

Without realizing it, I grabbed Varen's hand.

Varen naturally intertwined our fingers and tightened his grip.

Completely oblivious to my terror, the Drunkard muttered like the protagonist of a gore film.

"The magic cast on them can be described as a kind of brainwashing. Or perhaps a brand."

"A brand..."

"To put it simply, something belonging to them was forcefully tangled and connected to another person. If you can't untangle the threads, then you have no choice but to rip them apart."

He'd started with to put it simply, but absolutely none of that sounded simple.

I swallowed nervously and carefully asked,

"Even if something like that is possible... wouldn't there be side effects?"

"Of course there would."

"..."

Was it really okay for him to sound that confident when he wasn't the one suffering the side effects?

As I stood there speechless, the Drunkard continued speaking with even more shameless confidence.

"The memories formed after the brand was embedded... may disappear entirely. And the longer that period lasted, the greater the impact will be."

But hearing the rest of his explanation made a sigh of relief spill from my mouth instead.

"Then that's basically just short-term memory loss."

"Hmm. Yes, short-term memory loss. You certainly come up with convincing terminology."

"I seriously thought something catastrophic was going to happen once you mentioned the brain."

By modern medical standards, anything involving the brain counted as an enormous side effect.

At worst, entire parts of the body could stop functioning properly.

People could even lose their sanity completely.

Compared to that, losing a few recent memories was nothing.

Being bound to a death curse was far worse.

Finally relaxing, I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and spoke.

"If that's the extent of the problem, then please proceed. As long as Milo can become free, that's enough."

I sounded exactly like a guardian signing consent forms outside an operating room.

The Drunkard repeated Milo's name thoughtfully and tilted his head.

"Milo... that's the younger child?"

"Well, both of them are kids, but he's the smaller and younger one."

"Ahhh, then that child should be fine. If we tear out the other side, the connection should sever on its own."

At the Drunkard's explanation, my expression brightened unconsciously.

I had agreed to his treatment because it was still better than leaving them trapped by the curse, but part of me still felt uneasy about Leibin's younger brother suffering through something so dangerous.

But apparently only Days would suffer the consequences.

And those recent memories included Phiren betraying him and his father's death.

If that was the case, maybe tearing away those memories entirely would actually be better for him.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a blessing in disguise for Days.

As I solidified my decision and nodded firmly, the Drunkard groaned while stretching his body.

Then he spread both arms toward the sky and roared loudly.

"Horace, you bastard! I won't let you get away with this!"

Before I could ask what kind of relationship he had with Horace, the Drunkard vanished back into the tent like a gust of wind.

The moment he disappeared, even the air itself seemed to fall silent.

It felt like a storm had just swept through.

I rubbed my exhausted face roughly.

"Haah... I'm tired."

"Ceryl, you look exhausted. Let's return to the bedroom."

"Mmm, no. It's not really physical exhaustion... I need healing."

"Healing. Then come here."

Varen immediately spread both arms wide toward me.

His broad chest looked incredibly tempting.

Getting wrapped up in those arms and receiving dragon healing did sound nice...

But something else had been tugging at my attention this entire time.

"Kkyuu..."

A single orange fox was peeking at me from behind a tree.

Tiny sparks crackled from its forehead.

It was literally a fire fox.

"Ceryl, let's just go insi—"

"Ohhh, there you are, baby! Did you wait here because you had something to tell your big brother?"

"..."

I shoved aside the still-open-armed Varen and sprinted toward the fire fox.

Startled by my loud voice, the fox shrank its neck back and hurriedly hid the sparks on its forehead.

I immediately dropped flat onto the ground to meet the magical creature at eye level.

Then, lowering my voice to prove I wasn't dangerous, I slowly crept closer.

"Baby, your big brother isn't scary."

"Kkyuuh..."

"Yeah, you got startled. Sorry. But why were you calling for me?"

"...Kkyuu!"

After telling me to wait a moment, the fire fox scampered into the bushes.

A little while later, the magical creature cautiously reappeared with something clutched in its mouth.

"Kkyuu!"

"Aaagh!"

The lethal cuteness struck me directly in the heart.

Clutching the left side of my chest, I rolled across the grass.

The fire fox had brought me a gorgeous red flower as thanks for treating its friends.

The magical creature toddled over and gently dropped the flower in front of me.

"Kkyuuh!"

The magical creature wagged its tail happily, explaining that humans always picked these flowers too.

I stared at the fire fox that had completely stolen my heart and carefully took the flower into my hands.

"Haah... I'm melting. This is true healing..."

With just a single flower brought to me by a magical creature, all my stress melted away completely.

I deliberately ignored the other giant reptilian magical creature behind me whose sparks were blazing furiously.

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