The helicopter landed quietly on the private helipad beside the hotel.
The night air was thick and warm, the scent of the nearby city fading into the faint salt of the sea breeze.
The rotor blades slowed to a stop, and the black car below rolled smoothly to the front entrance.
When the door opened, Lazry stepped out. The hotel lights reflected faintly in his eyes. He wasn't used to grand entrances or luxury—his life had been nothing but training and silence. Yet tonight, Butler Winston waited with a proud smile, bowing deeply the moment his young master's shoes touched the marble ground.
"Young Master Lazry," Winston said, his tone formal and steady. "Welcome. Everything has been prepared exactly as instructed. The entire hotel has been booked for you tonight. Every room is vacant except yours. No outsiders are permitted within a hundred meters of the property. All the staff have been handpicked by me and sworn under curse contract to treat you as a royal guest."
Lazry blinked once, caught off guard. "You… booked the whole hotel?"
"Yes, young master," Winston replied with a faint nod. "Every floor, every hall, even the rooftop garden. Security has been reinforced. The staff are aware of your preferences. You will find no disturbances. No reporters, no unwanted visitors, no onlookers. You may rest as you please. Meals have been prepared according to your taste—though I have added a few special dishes to strengthen your curse affinity. A small token of thought, if I may."
He gestured politely toward the grand entrance. The automatic doors opened with a hush, releasing the scent of incense and new linen.
Lazry stood there for a moment, silent. He had never experienced this before. All his life, the concept of luxury was distant. He had eaten in training camps, slept in bunkers, and spent most of his youth in the dark corners of cursed dimensions. The idea that a building—an entire hotel—could belong to him for one night felt surreal.
"…You can do this kind of thing?" Lazry asked softly, his tone unsure.
Winston gave a small, almost proud smile. "The name of the Lycannis Family carries weight, young master. You are the heir. It is natural for establishments to comply when I say it is for your comfort."
Lazry nodded slowly, still stunned. "I see…"
For the first time, something flickered in his expression—perhaps satisfaction, perhaps disbelief. He didn't know whether to feel proud or uncomfortable.
Winston studied him for a moment before clearing his throat carefully. "Young master… forgive me if this question oversteps, but…"
Lazry tilted his head slightly. "What is it?"
"Have you—by any chance—grown stronger?" Winston's tone was hesitant but serious. "Since we left the cursed tunnel earlier today, the others and I felt… changes in our levels. Our curse energy surged. It was as if something awakened within us."
Lazry froze. His mind went blank for a heartbeat. How much did Winston know? Did he somehow sense that Lazry's power was growing by itself, increasing moment by moment without effort?
He didn't want to lie—but he wasn't ready to reveal it either. His lips parted slightly before he quietly said, "I'm hungry. Tell them to prepare my meal."
Winston blinked, then nodded immediately, misunderstanding completely that the young master acknowledged it but didn't want to talk about it. "Ah. Of course, young master."
He lowered his head respectfully. "Your meals are ready. You can dine in your suite or by the rooftop garden. Whatever pleases you. This entire hotel is at your disposal. The Lycannis Family will handle every detail."
Lazry gave a simple nod and walked toward the doors. His footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor.
Inside, the air was cool, the silence soothing. He moved through the hall without saying a word, passing the rows of paintings and golden fixtures, his mind adrift. But then, a strange feeling stirred inside his chest—a faint pulse, like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
He stopped.
Then, behind him, something shimmered.
A small creature emerged from the thin veil of shadow—its body black as ink, eyes glowing faintly blue. It was small, about the size of a wolf cub, with six eyes arranged in two vertical lines across its face. The air rippled faintly around it as it wagged its tail, sniffing the ground curiously.
Lazry's eyes widened. "You… came out?"
It was his curse beast. Newly acquired. His summon. But it wasn't supposed to appear on its own. Normally, a conjurer needed to focus, to channel curse mana through a ritual or chant to summon their beast. Yet here it was—walking freely beside him without being called.
He crouched down slowly. "How…? I didn't even—"
The dog turned its head toward him, six eyes blinking out of sync, and barked softly. Then it began sniffing the floor again, its nose twitching.
"Hey," Lazry said, trying to steady his voice. "Stay."
But the beast ignored him. It started moving toward the hallway, paws clicking softly on the marble floor.
"Wait." Lazry stood, his brows knitting. He reached out with his hand, trying to form the mental command that bound conjurer to beast. Still, not listening.
"What?" he muttered under his breath. "You're really not listening?"
Winston, who had followed behind, froze in shock. "Young master… it's disobeying you?"
Lazry didn't answer.
He frowned and switched tactics. He used his curse link to command it directly through the spiritual core, sending a mental pulse of authority. The dog's six eyes blinked in confusion, but it kept moving, tail wagging, completely ignoring him.
He tried again, harder. The pressure in his head grew. The air quivered. "Obey me!"
Nothing.
The dog yawned and looked away.
Winston hesitated. "Young master, perhaps you should—"
"I'm fine," Lazry interrupted. His tone stayed calm, but he's frustrated. "Hey!" He called out.
The dog turned its head, tilted it slightly, then simply sat down and licked its paw.
Lazry clenched his jaw. "You've got to be kidding me."
He tried coaxing it, bribing it, using commands, reversing his link, even sealing his mana and reactivating it again. Nothing worked. He spent long minutes trying everything he could think of—orders, pressure, curse contracts, resonance pulses. But of course, without using curse energy. Each time, the result was the same. The dog simply looked at him, then did whatever it wanted.
Finally, Lazry sighed and rubbed his temples. "So this is what a legendary curse beast is like, huh? Completely ignores its master."
Then, suddenly, laughter echoed from the hall.
It was a soft chuckle at first, then a loud, confident laugh filled with mockery.
"You're still as pathetic as ever, senior."
Lazry froze, his expression turning cold. He slowly turned toward the voice.
A young man walked from the corner of the hallway, hands in his pockets, his black coat trailing lightly behind him. His hair was dark red, his grin sharp.
Lazry narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The young man tilted his head, his tone casual. "Relax. I'm not an enemy. I was just roaming around. I heard this hotel was reserved for someone important, and now I see why. You must be the young master of the Lycannis Family. Not bad."
He smiled faintly. "Mind if I stay here too? I like the atmosphere."
"No," Lazry said immediately, his tone flat. "Leave."
The young man raised a brow, amused. "Still so cold, senior. You don't even remember me? I'm from the Academy—two years younger. You were in the same batch as my brother. Fifteen now, and already in the Third Infusion Stage, same as you. I'd say I've caught up fast, wouldn't you?"
Winston stepped forward before Lazry could answer, his presence cold and commanding. "Mind your tongue. Young Master Lazry's standing is far above yours. This hotel belongs to him tonight. If you do not step down immediately, you will be punished according to Lycannis law."
The young man smirked, meeting Winston's glare without fear.
And just as the tension thickened between them, Lazry suddenly heard a sound echo softly inside his head.
Ding!