I Became the Cure for the Cursed Prince - Chapter 62

…It was just a dream. I’m glad it was only a dream. But what a strange one. Is it because I’ve been so anxious lately? That must be it. I shouldn’t let myself worry so much.

He tried to comfort himself with those thoughts, but an overwhelming emotion surged over him—as if he hadn’t had the strange dream just once, but dozens of times.

A yearning for something he couldn’t remember, but somehow felt he needed to know.

He couldn’t quite grasp it, and before that deep, controlling force, Lucas shivered in fear.

It felt like he’d been thrown into a fire—his body burning with heat—yet at the same time, a biting cold crept in, making his teeth chatter. It was as though the curse that had haunted him his entire life was finally eating him alive.

Morning came. All night long, the same dream had replayed in his sleep.

Leon, dying, bleeding black blood. A voice declaring: there is no next time, no second chance. You will never meet again.

Lucas lay frozen in bed, as if pinned down by the weight of a nightmare. A few moments later, he heard someone quietly open the door to his room.

S-Someone… please… save me. Wake me from this nightmare…

“…Lucas!”

Sion, seeing him, let out a terrified scream. Lucas lay on the bed like a lifeless corpse.

Ignoring the dark, cursed energy that filled the room, Sion rushed to his side. Wiping the blood from Lucas’s lips, he shook him awake. Only when Lucas finally stirred did Sion breathe a sigh of relief.

“You can’t stay here any longer. I’ll get the carriage ready right away.”

Lucas gave a weak nod.

Even after returning to Rion Castle, Lucas’s condition didn’t improve. Michelle’s worry grew deeper with each passing day.

“He didn’t get up today either?”

Sion responded quietly, “No… he’s still in bed.”

“Did he at least drink the herbal medicine?”

“He forces it down, but…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Since the physician hadn’t been able to examine Lucas in person, they had only prepared medicine based on descriptions of his symptoms—but nothing seemed to help.

“This is serious,” Michelle murmured.

“We’ve already called for every renowned healer across the country. Surely one of them will find a cure.”

“I hope so…”

They both sighed deeply. A curse like this—one that no one could lift—was cruel beyond words.

Still, Lucas’s condition only worsened. To make matters worse, the curse had grown stronger, to the point that even Michelle and Sion could barely approach him anymore.

Because of that, Lucas stepped down from his position as Grand Duke earlier than expected, and Michelle had to take up the title again in a hurry. It gave Lucas some space—to suffer in solitude.

But was it really peace? Was it peaceful to suffer alone in a cold, distant annex, with no one beside him? Michelle and Sion continued to try and care for him, but there was only so much they could do. And Lucas, not wanting them to suffer because of him, often pushed them away.

Time passed—slowly, steadily. The curse had seeped into every corner of his body. Lucas could feel it: the end was near.

That’s why he ignored the many letters from the Theian Empire. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away, though. They piled up neatly on his desk, and from his bed, he would glance at them while groaning in pain—his only comfort.

Time kept moving forward. Painfully fast, almost cruelly so.

Theian Empire, Year 342

In the northernmost part of the grand imperial palace stood a solitary office. Its master lit the fireplace every day, even in the dead of winter, unaffected by the cold that kept others away.

Inside, Leon turned the pages of a report, then paused to look out the window. Today marked exactly five years since he had returned to the Theian Empire. The chill that seeped in through the door carried with it a familiar, bittersweet scent.

So much had happened in the years without Lucas. Leon had grown—not just in age, but in presence. He was no longer the boy he once was. But not a single day had passed when he didn’t think of Lucas. Time seemed to crawl, like stone slowly turning to sand.

Every time winter returned to the Theian Empire, the wind brought with it the faint scent of vanilla. Was it the ache of disappointment from the letters Lucas never answered? Or was it simply the weight of longing?

“Leon, you’ll hurt yourself if you keep going like that.”
“Above all, your safety matters most.”
“You’re strong—so much stronger than I ever imagined.”
“You’re more precious to me than I am to myself.”

From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, washed up, got dressed, worked, read, or trained, Leon often felt as if he could still hear Lucas’s voice. The hallucinations, which had never faded even once in five years, only grew stronger with time.

After Leon safely returned to the Theian Empire, the nation experienced a major shift. The presumed-dead First Prince had come back alive—surviving the ruthless northern lands—and even went as far as transforming a deadly, royal curse into a blessing. He was the rightful heir to the throne.

Even though Bilter had the support of the noble faction, the power dynamics changed almost overnight. The people celebrated Leon’s return, and he quickly won over the ministers with his intelligence and calm leadership—a stark contrast to Bilter’s brutality.

All of it was the result of Leon’s tireless effort.
Effort made for the one he loved.

Knock, knock.

The knock on the door pulled Leon from his thoughts.

The person who entered was Ermon, his aide. As usual, his arms were stacked high with papers. Most of the crown prince’s work was administrative—not particularly difficult, but constant.

Leon approached every decision with a single guiding thought:
What would Lucas have done?
He would have prioritized the people.
What can I do to make sure they have food on the table and peace in their lives?

With that mindset, the work never felt too hard.

As Leon quickly worked through the tasks Ermon had brought, the aide spoke up, clearly impressed.

“Your Highness, you never cease to amaze me. How do you find the right solution so quickly? No one else could move at this pace.”

Still focused on the documents, Leon replied evenly.

“Ermon, flattery doesn’t suit you. If you need something, just say it.”

Ermon smiled awkwardly, then hesitated. His expression turned a little more serious.

“Actually… that’s exactly why I’m worried.”

Leon looked up, curious.

“You’re worried I’m… working too fast?”

Ermon’s tone dropped slightly.

“Yes. You’re not yet officially Crown Prince, but the praise you’re getting is… overwhelming.”

He spoke gently, as if offering a warning. But Leon only gave a faint smile.

“Ermon, if I was afraid of Kiltan, do you think I would’ve come back to the empire in the first place?”

“I don’t mean to say you’re afraid, Your Highness. Of course not. But… Their Majesties are concerned. Until you’re formally declared Crown Prince, it might be wise to slow down a little. When enemies feel cornered, they tend to lash out.”

“Kiltan isn’t a threat to me. But your concern comes from loyalty, so I’ll give it some thought.”

Leon answered calmly, then opened a drawer and took out a neatly kept letter. The moment Ermon saw it, his expression stiffened.

Leon glanced at him but didn’t say anything, simply holding out the letter. Ermon hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, then finally let the words out.

“How long do you plan to keep sending letters that never get answered? I know it’s not my place to say, but… it’s been years now…”

Leon’s golden eyes dimmed, but Ermon didn’t back away. While Leon was kind and composed about most things, anything involving the former Northern Grand Duke brought out a deeper, more sensitive side.

It had been over five years since Leon returned. He should have moved on from the North by now…

“Ermon.”

“…Yes?”

Lost in concern, Ermon quickly snapped to attention and looked up. Leon met his gaze and gave him a gentle smile.

“Do I really seem that unreliable to you?”

“…Not at all, Your Highness. Never.”

“Then what are you worried about? Do you think I’ll let personal feelings ruin how I lead the nation?”

Ermon didn’t answer.

“Lucas is the one who saved my life. He raised me. If I ever see him again, you’ll treat him the way you treat me. Understood?”

“…Yes, I’ll remember that.”

Still tense, Ermon bowed deeply and stepped out of the room. He might have protested out loud, but Leon knew Ermon would deliver the letter, just as he always had—quietly, carefully, and without fail.

A letter with a clear sender and recipient, but with no reply in return.

I shouldn’t want more than this. I’ve grown strong enough to protect Lucas. One day, we’ll meet again. For now… sending these letters is enough.

But the day came when even that wasn’t enough.

And everything changed.

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