The Dark Curse Emerges!

"Old Mathews is dead."

Philips's voice dripped with amusement as he toyed with the porcelain cup in his hand, his lips curling into a sly smile. The soft clink of the cup against his palm was the only sound in the dimly lit room. He chuckled, the sound low and unsettling, as he added, "He died in the soul-trapping rune I set for him."

Across from him, a striking young man, no more than twenty-five, sat cross-legged on a woven mat, his eyes shut in serene indifference. His sharp features and composed demeanor suggested both confidence and deep concentration. Philips's words seemed to slide off him, unnoticed, until he responded without even a glance.

"Good. Let him die."

The calmness in his voice was chilling, like the passing of an idle breeze. Not a flicker of concern, not even a slight shift in posture. Philips raised an eyebrow, momentarily intrigued by the young man's lack of reaction. He uncrossed his legs and set the cup down on the small table between them.

"You're not even curious?" Philips's tone was almost teasing now.

"Curious about what?" The young man, Francis, finally opened his eyes. They were piercing, gleaming with intellect and just a touch of disdain. His gaze landed on Philips, studying him with mild confusion, as if what Philips had just shared wasn't worth the air used to say it. "Is there something more I should know?"

Philips leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "After all, I served you like a dog for so long, and you don't even care to ask about the details of my death? How cold-hearted you are, Francis."

Francis's expression hardened, his voice turning icy as he closed his eyes once more. "I don't need weak dogs," he spat, the words sharp and dismissive. "If I wanted him dead, it wouldn't have taken more than a single strike."

A low laugh rumbled from Philips's throat, escalating into full-bodied laughter that echoed off the stone walls. "So confident, aren't you?" he managed between bouts of laughter.

Francis's brow twitched in response, though his eyes remained closed. There was something unnerving about Philips's laughter, something just beneath the surface, and Francis could feel it.

"But..." Philips continued, still chuckling to himself. "The one who killed Old Mathews wasn't some formidable opponent. It was a low-grade F-class nobody."

That caught Francis's attention. His eyes snapped open, narrowing slightly as he focused on Philips. "Oh? Someone that low-level? In this backwater?" he asked, his tone shifting from indifference to mild curiosity. "Mathews may not have been strong, but with his physical skills and mastery of yellow smoke, it should have been hard for anyone of that rank to kill him outright."

Philips smiled, savoring the moment. "It wasn't some 'talent,' if that's what you're thinking. It was something much worse. Dead now, for all intents and purposes. A creature. I've seen it twice now. Not very strong in terms of raw power, but clever, very clever. It didn't overpower Old Mathews. No, it drained him, stole his life force directly. That's what killed him."

The amusement drained from Francis's face as swiftly as it had appeared. He exhaled softly, unimpressed. "I see. You've got your interest piqued, that much is clear. But why should I care? Are you planning to claim it?"

Philips waved his hand dismissively, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "No, no. It's fascinating, but nothing worth my effort. Raising undead creatures from scratch is far more satisfying."

"Then why are you wasting my time?" Francis's patience, thin as it was, had nearly snapped. His voice was clipped, sharp, clearly irritated by Philips's rambling.

Philips's grin widened. "Don't be so quick to dismiss this." His tone became sly, as though he were savoring the reveal. "I'm getting to the interesting part. I saw this creature just two days ago, roaming near the caves. But guess who I saw with it."

Francis let the silence stretch between them, his eyes closing again in defiance of Philips's efforts to stir him. He had no interest in being baited.

Philips chuckled softly to himself and leaned forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I saw your sister."

Francis's eyes snapped open, his entire body tense with sudden focus. "Who?" His voice was hard now, all traces of casual indifference gone. "Are you certain? You saw Laura?"

Philips leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "I could be wrong," he mused, although his tone suggested otherwise. "But I doubt it. She's only a G-grade, after all, and this place is no playground for someone that weak. She must have sneaked out. Dangerous, wouldn't you agree?"

Francis's jaw tightened. He sat in silence for a long moment, wrestling with the decision that hung in the air between them. Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head. "I can't leave. The Rat King Ruins are on the verge of being cracked open. I have no time for distractions... But if I could..." His voice trailed off, betraying the conflict within him.

Philips watched him closely, his smile growing ever so slightly. "Well," he said, picking up the cup once more and swirling the remaining tea lazily, "I suppose time will tell just how much of a distraction this becomes."

Seeing Francis's intense gaze, Philips quickly raised his hand in a dismissive wave. "Relax, I'm not going anywhere," he said with a nervous chuckle. "I don't have the time to mess around. It's one thing to sneak out for a cup of tea, but if I'm gone too long, the team will get suspicious. Especially that Tang woman. She's been gunning to kick me out for days now. Can you believe it? After all the luggage I've carried for her… ungrateful, really."

Francis sighed and rubbed his temples, exasperated. "I still don't get what you're trying to achieve by pretending to be some low-level G-class follower, tagging along with that ragtag team."

Philips shrugged nonchalantly, as if the answer was obvious. "Because I'm bored." His tone was so casual it left no room for further questions, cutting Francis's frustration short. Before Francis could press him any further, Philips glanced at his watch and stood up. "Anyway, I've got to head back. If you need me, you know how to reach me."

And with that, before the last word even left his mouth, Philips vanished into thin air.

Francis's eye twitched in annoyance. He turned to a shadowy figure seated in the corner, casually sipping tea, barely acknowledging the exchange that had just taken place. "Wolf Third," Francis called out, his voice weary but commanding. "Could you bring my apprentice sister here? It's time."

Wolf Third, a tall, slender man with an air of deadly calm, remained unmoved. His stern face showed no emotion as he continued drinking his tea, long black hair tied neatly behind his back. He simply ignored Francis's request, as if the words hadn't even reached his ears.

Francis frowned, preparing to speak again, when the door suddenly burst open. A girl, her hair in complete disarray, stumbled into the room wearing rumpled pajamas. Her hands fumbled in the air as if searching for something, and her voice echoed her frustration.

"Wolf Three!" she cried, her tone a mix of desperation and annoyance. "I lost my glasses again!"

Without a word, Wolf Third calmly rose from his seat, setting his cup down with precision. He walked over to her and gently took hold of her shoulders. "I'll help you find them," he said in his usual quiet, measured voice. As he guided her toward the door, he added, "Next time we pass through a town, we'll get you some contact lenses."

"No way!" the girl protested, pulling away slightly. "Those things are uncomfortable! And I'll lose them too!"

The two were halfway through the doorway, still bickering over eyewear, when the girl spun around suddenly, her eyes narrowing at Francis. She jabbed a finger in his direction, her voice sharp with warning. "And you! Francis! If you try ordering my Wolf Three around again, I swear I'll blow your head off!"

Francis raised his hands defensively, forcing a tight smile. "Yes, yes. I wouldn't dare."

As the girl and Wolf Third disappeared down the hallway, Francis dropped his hands to his sides, feeling the tell-tale pulse of veins throbbing in his temples. He sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if trying to stave off an impending headache.

The girl, Simona, may have only been a lower-ranked F-class, but her strength rivaled his own. And Wolf Third, with his deadly sword skills, was nothing short of a genius. Both of them, like Philips, were here on Francis's behalf to help him secure the Rat King's remains. But judging by how unreliable they'd all proven to be, he began to wonder if he could really count on any of them.

After the two had left, the room fell silent again. Francis leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting to his junior sister, Laura. She was weak, barely a G-class, but he knew why she had come all the way to this dangerous dungeon. She had come for him, to find him, though he wasn't sure what to feel about that.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a small crystal gem. It shimmered in the dim light, radiating a mesmerizing glow of seven colors, each blending seamlessly into the other. The gem seemed alive in his hands, its beauty captivating. Francis gazed at it for a moment, lost in thought, before turning his eyes toward the window. Beyond the glass, the camp was bustling with movement, people hurrying about their business, unaware of the dark plans in motion.

A slow, cold smile crept onto his face.

"At this rate," he murmured to himself, "in just another month, the number of dead creatures on the second floor will be enough for the blood sacrifice."

He glanced down at the ground beneath his feet, where faint, eerie patterns began to unfurl, radiating from him as the center. The markings were ancient and sinister, spreading out in a perfect, intricate web that only he could see. The entire second floor of the dungeon was under his control, waiting to serve his dark purpose.

Francis's smile widened, a flicker of greed flashing in his eyes. He clutched the gem tighter, feeling its power pulse through him.

"Laura," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous mix of anticipation and coldness. "I hope you live long enough to see me succeed. Otherwise, leaving that notebook behind would have been for nothing."

His gaze turned toward the distant horizon, the weight of his ambitions pressing down on everything around him. Whatever affection he may have had for his junior sister, it was buried beneath layers of cold ambition and ruthless desire for power.