‘A fox cursed with the same curse as the emperor.’
Theodor couldn’t contain his astonishment. He had spent years searching for all kinds of information to break the emperor’s curse. It was a matter of pride. However, he had never once discovered anyone showing the same symptoms as the emperor, nor a way to solve it.
But now, he had discovered a fox cursed with the same curse as the emperor. And by chance, at that.
This was an opportunity. An opportunity to gain the emperor’s trust and raise his own reputation even higher. If he studied this fox, he could find a clue to unraveling the emperor’s curse.
But an obstacle lay before his eyes. How could he ask that beast with whom he couldn’t communicate how it came to be cursed? He pondered deeply over this dilemma as he scrutinized the fox.
Pitch-black fur… a white tail tip tinged with silver light… wait, black fur?
Suddenly, Kael’s voice that had brushed past his ears when he visited the palace a few days ago struck his mind like lightning.
‘His Majesty said his insomnia has improved since a few days ago and no longer requires treatment.’
‘Ah, if I must… if I must say, there was one very trivial matter… His Majesty recently acquired a pet.’
‘Yes. It appears to be a black fox. He apparently discovered it by chance at the hunting grounds…’
Black fur. A black fox.
Could it be, this fox is that black fox?
Theodor’s eyes widened slightly.
What if it wasn’t cursed with the same curse as the emperor, but was absorbing the emperor’s curse?
It was an absurd hypothesis. Curses aren’t material. Once imprinted, they become one with the host and cannot be separated even by death without divine power. That was what a curse was.
But the evidence before his eyes couldn’t be denied. Inside the fox’s body were traces of a curse that perfectly matched the emperor’s. And he had clearly just witnessed the fox absorbing his divine power. This fox had used its own power to suck in the emperor’s terrible curse.
Theodor slowly drew in a breath. Only then did everything make sense. How the emperor’s insomnia could have suddenly improved. How the curse that no one could break for years had evaporated without a trace.
It hadn’t disappeared. It had transferred. To this small, fragile beast.
That moment of realization shattered Theodor’s pride to pieces.
Theodor had always believed he was god’s representative. No, beyond belief—he was certain.
He was born and raised without parents in the slums, but had divine power rivaling the Pope’s since childhood. So he rose at once to a position that others could only reach by crawling like dogs for decades. Being mentioned as the next Pope at a young age was a natural progression. It would be stranger not to consider himself a special existence.
A being directly chosen by god, a saint to save the world stained with corruption. That was the reason for his birth and the meaning of his existence.
Therefore, he had thought he could solve the curse that no one, not even the Pope, had been able to do anything about for years. Because the one who had inherited god’s authority most identically should naturally be capable.
But reality was different. His divine power was merely a painkiller that let one temporarily forget the pain that came with the emperor’s curse.
Though he pretended to be calm outwardly, he felt deep frustration and despair. This was the second failure in his life, and he thought the only way to make up for this failure and escape responsibility was to cure the emperor’s insomnia. So he literally devoted everything to curing the emperor’s illness, but couldn’t even find a thread of solution.
And yet, a mere beast had done it? Without even intending to, just by existing?
Humiliation and jealousy surged up from deep in his stomach. It was an ugly, human emotion that one chosen by god shouldn’t feel, but that emotion didn’t disappear. Rather, it encroached even deeper into his inner self.
It was natural. Theodor was human. No matter how much he imitated god, he was merely a human who would return to dust when time passed. However, his arrogant pride couldn’t acknowledge that.
Strength entered his fist.
Why hadn’t god chosen him but given such ability to this lowly beast? The realm he had so desperately desired but could never reach. That insignificant fox was there. He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t accept it.
Theodor glared at the fox before his eyes with darkly sunken gray pupils.
The black energy had become much fainter than before. Thanks to eating food and recovering strength, the blue light’s power seemed to have grown stronger. However, deep inside still crouched faintly the pitch-black remnants. Clear evidence that complete purification hadn’t been achieved.
He didn’t know how the fox that had been staying at the imperial palace ended up wandering the streets, but it was clear that life on the streets had definitely weakened this beast.
Theodor thought. If that fox regained its original power, just how strong would that power be?
That imagination alone twisted his mood. One existence stronger than himself—that damn emperor—was enough. All other existences should be beneath him. Irrepressible jealousy twisted his mood, but at the same time, a more interesting and grand thought sprouted in Theodor’s mind.
‘What if I use this fox?’
That’s right. This wasn’t a test from god, but a perfect opportunity and blessing. If he could perfectly grasp the principle of how the fox absorbs others’ power, and thus obtain the same ability himself, he could become more powerful than ever before.
A faint, seemingly sacred smile spread across Theodor’s lips.
This wasn’t personal greed but a necessary process to fulfill god’s will. Not jealousy but a sacred duty to set the world right.
At least, that’s what he thought.
Theodor reached out his hand toward the fox. The moment his hand was about to touch the fox’s head, the fox’s body, which had been licking the empty bowl after finishing its food, flinched and quickly stepped back. The fox raised its head and stared straight at Theodor.
Those eyes were clear like a lake reflecting the blue sky. Deep, transparent, and pure. Within them was neither cunning nor hostility. Only wariness filled them.
To be wary after eating all the food. Theodor slowly withdrew his hand. Right, you can’t tame a beast with just one meal. He picked up the empty dishes placed before the fox.
“Want to eat more?”
When Theodor asked, the fox perked up its ears and reacted. A longing for food and slight hesitation appeared in its eyes, but only briefly. Its tail moved with faint anticipation. Like a beast faithful to instinct, it seemed unable to overcome its appetite.
“Wait. I’ll bring more soon.”
A satisfied smile formed on Theodor’s lips as he stood up holding the empty dishes. His steps leaving the room were incredibly light. He had already made a decision in the deepest part of his heart.
This fox, I should take it and raise it.
***
It had already been nearly a week since the fox had disappeared without a trace.
The emperor’s office still had its lights on even in the middle of the night. The longer Adrian was separated from the fox, the more he lived buried in documents. He tried to temporarily forget about the fox by immersing himself in work.
It seemed to have an effect, but only during the day. When night came, he habitually looked at the bed where the fox had always curled up and slept. That spot was now empty.
With the disappearance of just one small beast that had stayed by his side for barely over a month, Adrian felt as if he had lost half his entire life.
Why? That fox was merely a beast. It was an existence that had no choice but to leave at any time, so why was he suffering from this sense of loss? Was it simply because the parting was too sudden? Or was it for another reason?
Faced with an emotion whose cause he couldn’t identify, Adrian became angry. Anger at the sense of loss and helplessness, mixed with resentment toward the fox that had made him this way.
An emperor should be able to control everything. This position demanded it. And yet, to be shaken like this over being unable to find one fox the size of his palm. This helplessness was something he had never felt before, and he didn’t know how to process this emotion.
In the end, Adrian began expressing his emotions in the most familiar way.
His anger turned toward those closest to him. He issued a reprimand because the ink on a document submitted by an attendant was slightly smudged, and had the entire garden landscape redone because he didn’t like it. He even sent back the soup the head chef had brought up, saying it was too salty.
The people of the imperial palace were seized with bewilderment and fear at the emperor’s suddenly sensitive demeanor. This was the first time they’d seen the emperor, who was usually strict but fair, explode in anger over such trivial matters.
Everyone tried to avoid the emperor’s wrath—attendants killed their footsteps when passing through corridors or communicated only through eye signals for fear of provoking his mood. Hoping the emperor would return to normal as soon as possible.
However, when the second week arrived since the fox had disappeared, Adrian’s anger, far from improving, spread beyond the imperial palace walls to the entire noble society.
