Chapter 59 – Bloodline and Return
"What a strange dream."
While eating breakfast, Charles was still mulling over the long, tangled dream he'd had the night before.
Inside the dream, the scenes had felt vivid—so real it was as though he had lived an entire lifetime.
But once awake, everything became smeared and fragmented, as if someone had slapped mosaic filters over every memory.
He only remembered one thing clearly:
He seemed to have become a woman.
A lovestruck, brainless woman—
who ran away from home for love, then started practicing black magic.
"…Kind of like me, isn't it?"
"A woman with something seriously wrong in her head?"
Still thinking about it, Charles saw the maid carrying breakfast upstairs toward the girl's bedroom.
After a moment of hesitation, he put down his utensils and followed her.
The sight inside made his heart sink.
Annie's face was paler than the day before—so pale she was panting just from greeting him.
That faint, fragile breath only deepened Charles's unease.
After exchanging a few gentle words, he instructed the butler to go to the Pita City Education Association and hire a batch of copyists.
Then he returned to the study and resumed his search.
The Book of Ravia, Cottage on the Lake, Full Moon on the 42nd Day, Whispers of the Fey…
So many occult books, yet none held anything useful—only bizarre legends and gossip.
The scattered journals were even worse: sentimental poems, complaints about the weather, records of meals.
Nothing meaningful.
The esoteric books were interesting, but completely unhelpful for Annie's situation.
Fortunately, his housekeeper was sharp and efficient.
Within half an hour, more than ten copyists arrived and immediately began combing through the stacks.
With so many hands, they finished reading everything by that afternoon.
But the results were pitifully thin.
Only one copyist found something—a clue in a book titled Origins of the Koyle People.
"Gondara's Blood Curse?"
Charles frowned, staring at the passage that had been heavily underlined in ink.
"So this means Annie was cursed by an evil god?
Or she's somehow tied to a cult?"
Gondara, according to Koyle folklore, was a demonic deity—a giant bull with devilish horns that fed exclusively on human children.
That was the extent of his knowledge.
He did recall the term "bloodline curse."
When he first took over this body, the original owner had been told about it—
which was why he had grown to resent Annie.
Charles himself had ignored it… until the girl's health began to drastically decline.
He had even consulted Brother Worsie of the church.
But the answer was frustrating:
"This kind of bloodline curse can only be undone by locating its origin and the ritual of release.
Trying to purge it with divine power will kill the girl—the curse has long fused with her."
Thus Charles had turned to mundane medicine, hoping for a miracle.
It had clearly failed.
But now…
had they actually found the origin?
"Before Annie was adopted, she lived in Tideshire, right?
That town is where most of our county's Koyle folk gather.
And in Koyle legends, this entry appears."
The sharp-eyed copyist pointed to the marked lines.
"So I focused on this mythology book—your lady aunt wouldn't have marked something casually.
I believe the chance is very high."
"Assuming," another copyist added with a shrug, "you're absolutely sure about these kinds of matters."
They were ordinary men.
They didn't understand spellcasters or the supernatural at all.
But Charles had specifically asked them to look for unusual content, so they tried their best.
"…Alright. Thank you."
All the books had been searched.
No other leads existed.
Charles would have to work with this clue—however uncertain it was.
And yet, even with this discovery…
he felt utterly helpless.
He dismissed the copyists and, clutching the book, hurried out the door.
For now, the Church was the only help he had left.
"A necromancer… relying on the Church again and again for help?"
Sitting inside the carriage, Charles found the thought almost absurd.
Since the day he crossed over, the Church had helped him more than once.
If they ever discovered his true identity… what kind of expression would they make?
"Purification might be the gentlest option," he muttered to himself with a sigh.
No one likes being deceived—especially when the deceiver is weaker, and the two sides are natural enemies.
If the truth ever got out, the consequences were obvious.
But compared to his current crisis, that problem almost felt trivial.
Or perhaps… since everything was already spiraling out of his control, did it even count as a new problem anymore?
---
He stepped off the carriage, crossed the clean stone plaza, and entered the church.
Navigating the aisles with practiced familiarity, he found Brother Worsie in prayer and waited quietly for him to finish.
When the priest finally rose, Charles succinctly explained his findings.
"Origins of the Koyle People?" Worsie looked down at the book in his hands and frowned. "Even if you've located the source of the curse, a bloodline curse that hides within one's ancestry is not easily undone."
He continued gravely:
"You must identify where the curse was first enacted, then learn the ritual components and the steps originally used by the caster. Only then can you attempt to break it—ritual by ritual. It takes time… and immense power. Without overwhelming strength, the performer risks being devoured by the evil god behind it."
Charles's fingers tightened. "Who has that level of power?"
"At the very least," Worsie said, "not me. And no one in Pita City."
Charles fell silent.
So… this was essentially a death sentence.
"But you're in luck."
Worsie suddenly smiled at Charles's bleak expression. "Bishop Charles is about to be promoted. The Church will send someone to oversee the ascension. When that person arrives, I can bring up your request." (Note: Bishop Charles was last mentioned in Chapter 34.)
"Bishop Charles is getting promoted?"
"Yes. Afterward, he'll leave little Pita City behind, and Saint Sai Cathedral will welcome a new bishop."
Worsie added, "That envoy—the one who comes to oversee the promotion—they'll have other duties as well. They might ask you a few questions. Best prepare yourself."
"…What kind of questions?" Charles tensed.
"About your missing notebook. The investigation turned up some rather unpleasant things. Shouldn't affect you, though."
The priest gave his arm a reassuring pat.
"You have potential. No one here will make things difficult for you. We're not like those royal officials who spend all day thinking in circles."
His tone sharpened briefly, as if the subject rubbed him the wrong way.
"…Alright. If needed, I'll cooperate." Charles could only reply.
What else could he say?
This damned notebook issue had followed him from the moment he crossed over. It was exhausting… but unavoidable.
There was no choice but to keep going.
"If only I could hide in the asoiaf world forever."
Charles whispered this as he stepped out of the church, gazing at the white, spotless buildings—so pure on the outside, yet filled with hostility toward someone like him.
But he knew it was impossible.
And even if it were possible, he doubted he could truly abandon this world of mystery.
Never mind the rest—
just the power system here was leagues above the one in asoiaf.
Medieval magic was clumsy, outdated, and barely effective.
But Arkavia's power…
It was like comparing a diesel engine to a horse-drawn cart—two completely different eras.
And besides, the portal needed this world's energy to recharge.
Once inside the other world, it only consumed, never replenished.
Meaning his "cheat" had to take root here—constantly absorbing power.
---
Back home, Charles paused at the door of Annie's room.
A wave of heaviness washed over him.
Once inside his own bedroom, he didn't hesitate.
He summoned the portal and stepped through.
Brother Worsie had promised to bring up Annie's case to the incoming envoy…
But could the girl even survive long enough for the Church's help to arrive?
The priest hadn't said it aloud.
Charles hadn't asked.
But they both knew the answer.