Chapter 88
It was a voice that sounded like someone speaking to a god—dreamlike and distant.
Why was this man acting like that?
After Yurel collapsed, I began to search through the remaining spearmen nearby.
Most of them had already fallen, leaving behind only scraps of cloth and armor. The number of spearmen still standing was rare—just a few scattered around.
And every single one of them was difficult to deal with.
‘Hm? What’s going on? Why is this happening?’
At first, I thought something was wrong with my Berserker trait.
[Player: April Sharon (■■■)]
[Trait: Berserker (Status abnormal / 3 sec…)]
Three seconds later, the trait returned—but the result was the same.
It was only after I’d defeated all the spearmen that I realized.
‘Ah. I see.’
The first reason was that they attacked in patterns, and I was responding too delicately—like I was fighting a person, not a monster.
And the second reason was the filthy difference in range.
If you’re close-ranged, it’s hard to fight someone long-ranged.
If you’re using daggers, it’s hard to fight someone with a spear.
I briefly considered picking up a bow, but decided against it.
‘You can’t just shoot arrows wherever you want. That’s a weapon for people who think a lot before acting.’
And I knew that from experience…
My older brother used to play MOBA games sometimes, so I had gotten interested for a while.
“What’s this? These guys don’t even look scary.”
“Ah, it’s a game where you destroy towers. You fight on the lane, push through, and take down the tower.”
“But you keep dying. How come you still win?”
“Uh… because I play to win? It’s a tower-destroying game, so if we destroy the towers, we win.”
“You’re really bad at explaining.”
It wasn’t that hard—the laning phase, at least.
I killed enemies, took down those who suddenly appeared from elsewhere. Three-on-one, four-on-one—I won them all.
But every time, we lost because our towers were destroyed.
I thought maybe I wasn’t earning enough money because I was killing too many enemies, so I went to farm monsters on the map.
“Why are you leaving when your team’s fighting? It’s a 4v4!”
“Yeah. It’s a 4v4 now.”
“If you’re there, it’s a 5v4! You saw one of them die, right?”
“Yeah, I killed that guy. I fought enough, so now I’ll go farm monsters.”
My brother gave me a very grave look.
“…How did you even reach this rank?”
That day, I learned something.
I don’t think much when I play games.
And if I just do whatever I want—I lose.
So it’s best to just keep using the axe-spear.
I picked one up from the ground.
At that moment, a notification appeared before my eyes.
[Round 2 – Victory!]
When the archers had appeared earlier, no such message showed up.
Had I just missed it before?
[…]
I should collect the reward item.
I went back to find Yurel, who I had struck multiple times and knocked unconscious. I carried him to Ivelyn’s camp.
After hesitating a bit, I placed the Curse Master’s heart in Yurel’s hand. That should be enough for Ivelyn to recover. She would be fine.
Then, after a long walk, I returned to the central defense tower.
It was separated from the other side by a transparent barrier.
On top of the structure was a small object—I picked it up.
‘Now, what’s this supposed to be used for?’
[You have obtained an item.]
Limited-use Pill (Rare Item): Restores an ally who has collapsed due to the ‘Weakness’ curse!
Four of them.
Just then, I saw someone approaching from the western defense tower.
I quickly tucked the new item into my inventory and waited to see who it was.
“Lady April! Are you unharmed?”
It was Sian, the tactician who had gone to the banquet hall with Yeniel.
The Crown Prince had been cursed.
“Lady April is the only one currently fighting outside—did she tell you anything?”
“I’m afraid not.”
That was all Sian could say.
The Crown Prince was being strangled by invisible black thorns.
They were wrapped around his neck, bound by unseen chains that kept the thorns embedded deeply into his flesh.
“Fortunately, it seems to be a magic-based curse. I can’t lift it, but I can at least provide some aid.”
“That’s good.”
Yeniel nodded.
Ever since learning that their traits had vanished and the towers could no longer hold back the monsters, Sian had been on edge—sitting on a bed of thorns.
He knew his own worth—he was not someone who could simply be discarded.
He had ability. And without him, neither the Crown Prince nor Yeniel could ensure the cooperation of his family—the Isengriff house.
He considered himself more useful than Max… though perhaps that wasn’t certain.
After all, someone like Max, who had been raised to devote himself entirely to the royal family, was rare.
Respect for the first emperor might remain, but loyalty was another matter—and Max was the product of true royal breeding: a devoted servant.
Sian did not think himself less intelligent than Yeniel—but more intelligent? No, he wouldn’t say that either.
Cracks always form in ambiguity.
Since confessing his guilt toward April, Sian was no longer part of “us.”
He didn’t know what Yeniel thought, of course.
Sian could understand her logic—but emotions and sentiments she cast aside? Those he had no experience reading.
Still, in the public sphere, Sian was the rough stone that stuck out on an otherwise smooth path.
That was the difference between him and Max—and the reason why, despite Max’s incompetence, Sian stood on unstable ground.
He was neither one thing nor the other. He liked April, but… he wasn’t sure what that meant.
The only thing certain was this: while Sian sought “value” in April, April had seen Sian as he was.
Sian used magic for the first time in a long while.
The Crown Prince’s complexion improved noticeably.
The peculiar magical structure that pervaded the Grand Magician’s mansion was still unpleasant, but after some adjustment, he found he could now cast spells more easily than before.
Though it still couldn’t replace the strength of his former talent in spirit summoning.
“Thank you, Sir Isengriff.”
“I’m relieved His Highness is recovering. I don’t know why he was cursed like this, but…”
“Do you really not know?”
Yeniel’s tone was calm—too calm—as she fixed her gaze on him.
It was the kind of reaction that appeared only when she had a suspicion.
To an observer, their subtle psychological exchange would not be obvious.
“Are you pretending not to know, Sir Sian? No… I understand. You’re not the type to lie easily, are you?”
That was her usual way of mocking him—calling him Sir Sian in that polite, composed tone.
It had taken Sian nearly ten years to realize that her refined words were actually an insult.
“You understand equivalence, don’t you? If I’m good at calculating equivalence, then you, Sir Isengriff, must understand it even better. Whether we were given something to balance the scales, or the other side was weakened somehow… what do you think?”
She was referring to the tower that had been accessed through the banquet hall.
A bead of cold sweat ran down his neck.
Yeniel was suspecting him.
But what was there to suspect?
He hadn’t done anything to that tower.
Nothing.
And Yeniel knew well that lying was not one of his talents.
Then, a chill sank into his chest.
It was because Sian was the type of person who, once he accepted someone as his own, forgot how to doubt them.
There was another person besides him who had been in that tower.
Lady April.
