The three of them were startled when they heard Lennon Haswelt's words. Nathan, still frozen in disbelief, latched onto a single word—"curse."
If that man can remove the curse on Fenn's body, I'll finally be at ease… he thought.
Lucian let out a low groan, forcing his head up even though his body suddenly felt unbearably heavy. He spoke.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
If he can remove the curse from my body, that's far better than I ever expected—without having to run all over searching for the mastermind behind it…
Lennon took a draw from his pipe, exhaled, and finally said, "Perhaps I can take it."
It wasn't the others who reacted, but Aurora. She stood abruptly, her eyes fixed on her father as he puffed on his pipe.
"What do you mean? An Adjudicator can't just remove a curse unless the one who cast it is willing to release it—or unless you kill them." Her voice was low, tinged with disbelief at her father's claim.
Perhaps an Adjudicator ranked Numero Four or higher could do it, sealing or forcibly removing it. But Lennon Haswelt was only Numero Five—far from what Aurora imagined possible.
Then she noticed his expression. Her father stood there, face grave, eyes closed, pipe still in his mouth.
His lips parted. The pipe fell, clattering against the pavement. Loose tobacco scattered everywhere. Those present froze for a moment at the sight. Lennon rubbed his eyelids with his right palm before opening his eyes.
His irises had turned a deep, opaque gray. He reached out his right hand toward Lucian's abdomen. Somehow, his hand seemed to pass right through Lucian's stomach, yet Lucian felt no pain at all.
A raw, ear-splitting cry tore from Lennon's throat as agony surged through his body. The curse inside Lucian had been dormant, its caster's intent unknown.
But as Lennon's fingers brushed the cluster of crimson aura lodged deep within Lucian's abdomen, the curse stirred—passive no more. The instant he touched it, it felt as if his mind were plunged into boiling water, a scalding, suffocating steam flooding his senses.
Shocked, he instinctively yanked his hand free. A small black ring formed in the air behind him, floating silently. Lennon now held the activated, blood-red curse in his grip. Without hesitation, he hurled it into the black hole he had conjured.
It vanished.
Moments later, his body—too old, too frail to endure the pain—collapsed onto the pavement. He lay unconscious.
The three onlookers exchanged brief, awed glances. Aurora immediately rushed to her father's side.
Nathan stood there, still trying to process what he had just witnessed. Guilt pricked him for the uncharitable thoughts he'd harbored earlier. He stepped closer to Aurora.
"Sorry," he said, then added, "I was thinking something… strange about your father."
Even after saying it, a trace of shame lingered in his chest for silently speaking ill of the man.
He bowed again in apology. Aurora, a little awkward, smiled faintly and asked him to help move her father to a nearby bench.
Lucian didn't notice that his pupils had turned crimson. His gaze was locked on Nathan, who stood stiffly, eyes fixed on the unconscious Lennon.
A sharp gust swept down the street, brushing across Aurora and Nathan's faces. Carefully, Nathan lifted Lennon, moving him toward the bench just a short distance away.
"Ugh…" he groaned. "Feels like my back's about to snap!" His breath hitched, sweat pouring down his forehead as if he'd been lifting hundreds of kilos.
But Lennon weighed barely sixty-five. The distance was only a few steps. Yet Nathan felt as though he had carried something impossibly heavy.
His vision blurred from the strain, but Aurora handed him a small bottle of potion.
Nathan nodded, took it, and drank. Then he noticed Lucian standing perfectly still, staring at him.
"What is it, Fenn? Something wrong?"
Lucian shook his head. "Huh," he exhaled slowly. "My vision suddenly… it's sharper than before."
He looked around, taking in every detail with crystal clarity. Even Lennon's unconscious form on the bench seemed sharper in his sight. His body felt stronger, too.
Not a single word followed—only a faint whisper, asking for a potion to help him move, even if only for a while.
Nathan, relieved to see his friend alive and well, tossed him the half-full bottle Aurora had given earlier. It would be more than enough to restore some strength. Lucian caught it, hesitated, swallowed hard, then drank.
His expression darkened.
The potion he had just swallowed came back up, bitter and burning in his throat.
Aurora turned away instantly, her face twisted in disgust. Without a word, she fixed her gaze on the main street, watching passersby instead.
"What's wrong?" Nathan asked, panic rising in his voice.
Aurora kept her head turned, unwilling to look back.
Lucian wiped his mouth with his forearm. He hadn't wanted to spit it out, but his body had rejected the potion outright—as if it refused to accept it.
In his heart, he accepted the bitter truth. He had received a new fate. He accepted his current state as Fenn Naresca.
And yet… he did not regret it. He would not fight against fate.
Instead, he would live this life on his own terms.