Chapter 52
Let’s go back a few weeks.
While Miela, Istin, and Yurhan were away inspecting the territory, Regina briefly left Baluar and headed somewhere.
“Are you in there?”
The place she sought out after inquiring here and there was none other than a remote village where a shaman was said to be living in seclusion. Among its isolated houses, she found a crumbling abandoned home perched on a hillside.
Every nation on the continent, including the Empire, was founded on magic and divine power—thus, sorcery was treated as taboo. Shamans, rejected by society, naturally ended up living together in clusters or wandering alone.
“Open the door. It’s me—Regina Baluar. I gave prior notice, didn’t I?”
Sorcery was strictly forbidden in the Empire. If discovered, the punishment would be severe. Because of that, most shamans didn’t reveal their identities easily.
There weren’t many left, either. If not for the intelligence network of House Baluar, she wouldn’t have found him at all.
“Ahem. Ahem.”
With a fake cough, the tightly shut door creaked open with a disagreeable noise. Someone peeked out from the crack and, recognizing the visitor, fully opened the door.
“…Ah, we meet again, Duchess of Baluar. What brings you to me this time?”
The shaman greeted Regina, his black hooded robe pulled down low over his face.
The inside of his home was sparse—so much so that it seemed like he could pack up and disappear at any moment.
When she didn’t answer right away, the shaman let out a sigh, as if troubled.
“Sigh… Don’t tell me you’ve come about the young lord again? I’ve already explained—his problem is beyond what I can handle.”
“No. Istin’s curse has already been resolved.”
Regina shook her head. She had come to discuss a different matter today. Her fingers absently played with an object hidden in her bag—the smooth glass surface and the cool liquid inside swirled with a chilling sensation.
It should have been a meaningless object by now, yet just looking at it made her feel uncomfortable.
“If you want to break that kind of curse, you’d need a shaman far more skilled than I… but how many of those are even left on this continent? Wait—what did you just say?”
The shaman, having ignored her and rambled on with his own complaints, suddenly realized what she had said and looked at her in shock.
The duchess calmly responded without a hint of surprise.
“I said, the previous curse has already been resolved. I’m here to talk about something else.”
“That can’t be! How could you possibly lift a curse when you didn’t even know who cast it?”
The shaman was aghast. He wasn’t arrogant enough to say he was the best, but he did consider himself among the more talented shamans left. Especially now, when there were barely any others to compare with…
‘Well, in the end, the ones who survive are the strongest, aren’t they?’
Though he had been the least talented among his peers trained by the same master, one by one they had been imprisoned or killed. Only he had survived to the end.
“Wait, don’t tell me—it wasn’t a curse? No, that’s impossible. It definitely was.”
As he mumbled to himself, the duchess clicked her tongue in irritation.
“It was definitely a curse. But the object used as the medium was unexpected.”
“A medium? There was such a thing?”
Even though he was a shaman and should have been more knowledgeable about curses, he looked baffled. Regina was visibly disappointed.
If only she had a better advisor. But since shamans were so rare, he was the best option available at the moment.
“Yes. It was this. The curse had been placed on the Baluar family’s heirloom sword.”
“Oh… I see. That certainly is a fine weapon—worthy of being called a treasured sword.”
The shaman’s eyes gleamed. Since sorcery had long been used more for personal gain than for helping others, it wasn’t surprising that he was greedy.
‘I’d better be careful with this item.’
Just as you don’t leave gold rings in front of a crow, it wasn’t wise to handle valuable objects carelessly in front of a shaman.
Concealing her wariness, Regina pulled a vial from her cloak.
“And this is the holy water, taken after the sword was purified. Not all of it—just a portion.”
She hadn’t discarded it, thinking it might help track down whoever had cast the curse.
“Holy water? Heh… well, now…”
Shamans avoided anything related to magic—but even more than that, they feared things tied to divine power.
Even though the holy water had been contaminated and no longer carried divine energy, the shaman still hesitated to touch it.
Regina forced the vial into his hand.
“Take a good look. You told me last time that once a curse is broken, the leftover remains are like exposed code—easy to decipher, right?”
Unlike the last time, when she’d returned empty-handed without solving Istin’s curse or finding the culprit, now she had the original object. All the shaman had to do was analyze it.
“Ah, yes. I understand, Duchess. You want me to find out who cast the curse, correct?”
“Yes. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Finally, the shaman stood up with the sword and the vial in hand. He pulled back a curtain, revealing his hidden lab.
Inside were bundles of dried rats and snakes, and bottles filled with mysterious fluids. Any other noble lady might have fainted at the sight, but Regina didn’t bat an eye and watched the shaman work.
‘I can see why sorcery is considered repulsive.’
Unlike the structured look of magic towers or temples, this place was a chaotic mess.
Shamans had always been thought of as sinister, and the nature of the materials they used was likely a big reason why.
While she was lost in thought, the shaman returned.
“The analysis is complete. I was able to pick up the trail from the contaminated holy water.”
“That was fast.”
“Haha, despite appearances, I’m a fairly skilled shaman, Duchess.”
It wasn’t a bluff. He was genuinely good at detecting traces left by others’ curses. As a child, he had frequently been the target of minor curses by fellow apprentices—bread turning to rocks, unbearable itching when putting on clothes, and the like.
Of course, Regina didn’t know any of that. She simply kept a neutral expression.
“Fine. Return the sword. You can dispose of the vial as you please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The shaman reluctantly handed the sword back. Regina then lowered her voice.
“So, what did you find?”
“Ah, here. Can you sense it?”
Magic leaves behind a signature from its caster. Sorcery is the same. Especially a curse—crafted with intent to harm—it leaves behind a particularly strong imprint.
“Oh… that’s quite the scent.”
The liquid the shaman handed over was the contaminated holy water mixed with his own reagent to test for magical residue. Unlike before, it now had a scent—as if it had been turned into perfume.
Regina, her eyes widening with realization, muttered softly.
“I’ve smelled this before. I think it was at a royal banquet.”
“T-The royal family?!”
The shaman’s face went pale as if dreading any connection to such powerful figures. But Regina shook her head.
“No—I meant, it was the scent worn by the head of a noble family who attended a royal banquet.”
It was an incredibly unique fragrance—impossible to forget. After all, the members of Marquis Cybil’s family, who were heavily involved in the perfume industry, all wore it.
“Hoo… I see. Actually, this reagent draws out the natural body scent of the one who cast the curse.”
