Once again, Arion walked through the streets of Arcadia.
This time, people seemed bolder. They no longer fled from him—now they whispered and pointed, eyes full of awe and wonder. "That's him! The Fang Harvester!"
"I heard he can kill a griffin just by staring at it!"
"My friend said his aura alone cures joint pain!"
Arion ignored the nonsense swirling around him and stepped into the guild building. He went straight to the quiet corner marked "Library." It was a humble cluster of shelves stacked with dusty books.
As expected, he couldn't read any of the titles. He just pulled down the thickest book he could find—its cover featured a terrifying skull. "This looks about right for curses." He sat at a table, opened it, and stared at its pages full of strange symbols, trying to look smart and scholarly.
It wasn't long before Serena tiptoed up to him, as if afraid to disturb his deep "contemplation."
"Lord Arion," she whispered. "Are you… are you looking for something specific?"
Arion looked at her slowly, then pointed at a random page in the book.
Serena glanced at the page. "Oh! 'Rituals to Summon the Ancient Demon Kings'?" she whispered in horror. "Is… is the curse you're investigating that dangerous?"
"It might be," Arion said, realizing he'd chosen exactly the wrong book.
"I see!" Serena said, her eyes widening as she reached her own dramatic conclusion. "You're not just looking for a cure—you're trying to identify the entity behind it! Such profound thinking!"
Then, eager to serve her "hero," she started talking rapidly. "The Silent Doll Curse… it's a real tragedy! Lady Isabella's youngest daughter, Ilara, was such a lively, cheerful girl. But a month ago, after receiving an old porcelain doll as a gift, everything changed. She stopped speaking, moving, eating. She just sits there all day, staring into space, clutching that cursed doll. The city's greatest priests tried to exorcise the evil spirit, but all failed! They say a dark, powerful entity feeds on her soul through the doll!"
Arion listened intently. "An evil spirit? A dark entity?" This sounded far worse than he'd expected. "Thank you, Serena. That information… was useful."
"Always at your service, my Lord!" Serena said, bowing before leaving Arion alone with his demon-summoning book and a growing pit of dread in his chest.
---
The Valentis Manor was lavish to the point of nausea. Lady Isabella—a beautiful woman worn down by worry—greeted him with eyes full of desperate hope.
"Lord Arion, thank you for coming. You are our last hope."
She led him through marble corridors to an over-decorated bedroom. On a massive four-poster bed sat a small, pale girl. Her golden hair fell over her shoulders, her blue eyes completely empty. In her lap was a porcelain doll with a strange, unsettling smile.
Arion felt a chill radiating from the doll. It wasn't an evil magical cold—it felt more like an overworked electronic device overheating.
"This is my daughter, Ilara," Lady Isabella said in a broken voice.
Arion stepped forward slowly. He had no idea what to do. Should he yell at the doll? Hit it with his sword?
He decided to start with the basics. His one investigation skill he could trust.
Ding~
> [Skill Activated: Seeker's Gaze]
He stared at the doll. A system window popped up—visible only to him.
> [Target Info: Empathy Doll]
Type: Ancient Artifact (Damaged)
Effect: Forms a deep psychological bond with its owner, feeding on excess emotional energy to maintain its magic.
Current Status: [Energy Regulator Malfunction]
Malfunction Description: Due to centuries of magical decay, the doll's energy regulator has broken down. It now drains its owner's life force and emotional energy constantly and uncontrollably, causing a coma-like state. It is not malicious—just an old, broken device.
Weakness: The doll's system can be reset by flooding it with a specific type of pure, dense emotional energy. Current analysis indicates the required energy is: [Warmth, comfort, homely contentment].
Arion read the window once. Then again.
"A broken device?" he shouted inwardly. "All those priests and mages were trying to exorcise a demon, but the real problem is this doll just needs a reboot? And the 'password' is 'warmth and comfort'?"
He felt like the entire world was playing a cruel joke on him. How do you fight a curse with 'warmth and homely comfort'? He couldn't just hug the doll until it gave up.
He looked at the pale girl. She was frail, hadn't eaten in weeks. Then he glanced at his skills. [Perfectly Spiced Stew].
A foolish, desperate, brilliant idea sparked in his head.
He slowly turned to the terrified Lady Isabella. He fixed her with his usual cold stare and said just one short, cryptic sentence:
"I need… a kitchen."
Lady Isabella's eyes widened. "A k-kitchen? My Lord? Are you… brewing a special potion? Using rare ingredients for a cleansing ritual?"
Arion didn't answer. His silent stare was enough.
"Of course! At once! The entire royal kitchen is at your disposal!" she cried, rushing off to obey the bizarre request of this mysterious hero with his unfathomable rituals.
As he walked to the kitchen, Arion muttered to himself: "I'm about to defeat a centuries-old curse… with a pot of stew. If this works, I'm officially changing my title from 'Fang Harvester' to 'Demonic Chef.'"
---
Minutes later, an indescribable aroma began to drift from under the kitchen door. It wasn't just the smell of delicious food—it was the scent of warm memories, of childhood homes on cold days, of safety and peace that filled every corner.
The fragrance spread through the entire manor. Guards standing watch relaxed, a sudden urge to nap washing over them. Servants who'd been rushing around in panic slowed down, dreamy smiles appearing on their faces.
Lady Isabella herself, her heart gnawed by worry, felt a wave of peace wash over her. Tears slipped down her cheeks unnoticed. "Unbelievable!… what kind of magic is this? It doesn't drive out darkness—it fills the place with so much warmth there's no room left for it."
In the upstairs bedroom, where little Ilara sat unmoving, something happened. Her tiny nose twitched—just slightly. For the first time in weeks, she reacted to something.