Stoll was uneventful. No beast had neared the post that day, to Edin's relief—and Rowan's dismay. The sun was half hiding behind the horizon by the time Edin arrived back home. As soon as he passed through the front doors, he was greeted by a floating note. He picked it from the air and read it.

Meet me in the courtyard as soon as you arrive home.

— Arden

Edin flipped the note to the backside, but there was nothing written on it. He furrowed his brows. What was she going to say—or do—that would require them to be outdoors? He pocketed it and made his way to the courtyard.

The main entrance to the courtyard was a set of glass double doors that marked the end of the grand hallway. It was not a normal pair of glass doors—they had stained-glass mosaics in place of plain glass panes. The warm rays of a somnolent sun shone through the mosaics as he neared it. Though he had often passed by those doors, there was something different about them, now that the light that was passing through was tinged with orange and red. Red. The flowers in the mosaic appeared redder, almost like scales of blood.

He shook his head. No, the mere redness of an object should not affect him. He was a man, not a bull.

His right hand wrapped around the bronze handle, its cold metal a contrast to the warm light, and he opened it. Arden was standing in the center of the courtyard, her hands behind her back as usual.

"How was your shift?" she inquired.

"It was fine. There were no beasts today."

"That's good to hear. Please, come closer."

He closed the door behind him and ambled towards her. She held up a hand.

"Stop, that's close enough," she said, and he soon halted before her. She rotated her palm and gestured. "Now to the right."

He sidestepped to the right.

"Sorry. My right, your left."

He sidled in the opposite direction, only stopping once she had stopped gesturing. Her hand hid behind her back once more.

"Stay where you are. Whatever happens, do not move."

A thousand thoughts flew in his mind in a flurry. What exactly was she going to do that would inspire fear in him? Well, to be fair, Arden did not need to do much to inspire fear in anyone. Even a simple scowl would suffice in making anyone tremble with anxiety.

The ground rumbled as it gave way to an opening. A metal pole was erected in front of where Edin stood. Once he saw what was fettered to it, he gasped.

There was a small beast snarling at him—right here, in Arden's castle.

The creature was tethered to the metal pole. Shackles bound its limbs and joints, restricting its movement to nothing more than a turn of a head. The only thing it could do was growl at him. Though it could not harm him, Edin's fear levels spiked like the hairs on the back of his neck.

In sharp contrast, Arden showed not a shred of fright. She was standing three meters right of the beast, not shaking in the slightest, as if there was no creature snarling and snapping its snout at her or the man across her. Had it not been for the breeze blowing through her hair, one would have mistaken her for a statue.

"You're probably wondering why this thing's here," Arden said in the most nonchalant manner. "I know I've said that your second curse is permanent, but I didn't say that I'm not going to do anything about it. I can't cure you of your urges. However, I can help you control them.

"First, summon your sword."

Edin outstretched his arm. Its blade appeared before him. He held it up in front of himself, partly obscuring his view of the shackled creature.

"Now cut its head off."

His heart skipped a beat. "Cut its head off?"

"Yes. With your sword."

"B-but—"

"Edin, if anything happens, I'll stop you."

Edin protested no more. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt. He held his breath. His eyes traced a fine line across the monster's thick neck while his hands angled the blade. He lifted the sword above his shoulders, paused for a moment, and then drew an arc across the body.

The creature's head came clean off and landed on the ground with a wet thud. His blue eyes glittered with delight once they witnessed red leaking from the cut.

Edin recoiled both arms.

"Control yourself," Arden commanded him.

His grip tightened around the hilt. His lustful gaze lingered on the bleeding body, and the warm shivers rolling across his skin only intensified the longer he watched. The smallest smile slunk up the corners of his lips.

"Control."

His mind wanted to obey. It was holding him back as best as it could, telling him to look away. He turned his head. It was no use; the scent was strong. He inhaled. He licked his lips as he savored the metallic smell of fresh blood. The insides of his mouth moistened.

"Control."

He repeated after her in his mind, chanting the word in fervent prayer. Control soon became a mindless mantra, a meaningless orison, one of those words one would utter but not mean. A futile attempt at warding off temptation. His forearms tensed.

Arden's breath hitched. She ordered once more, "Control."

He could not.

His sword sliced through the corpse once more. And then again. And—

Fwssh!

A light lasso grabbed hold of him and jerked his body to the side. His sword met the ground with a sharp clang, and he himself almost fell. He blinked twice as he snapped out of his trance. His gaze searched for Arden, and once he had found her, he saw a rope of light in her hand. Arden had tied him up again.

"You can release me now," he said.

He felt his body loosen up as the rope vanished from existence. He looked at the beast's bloodied remains. Though most of it was still in one piece, there were still chunks of flesh and bone scattered near it.

"I-I'm sorry. I really tried."

Arden shook off the scene from her head. "We'll try again later this evening."

She raised her right hand and summoned a packet of decomposing powder. She tore it open and sprinkled the brown dust over the carcass.

And so they tried again after dinner—which, as one could expect, went rather quietly. The same species was tethered to the pole, at the same spot where its brother was slain. Arden stood at her place next to the beast, a safe distance away so as to not be in the path of a blade. As for Edin, he once again was in front of his kill-to-be.

"Summon your sword."

It appeared in his hand. His fingers wrapped around the hilt.

"Behead it."

He raised the blade above his shoulders. His gaze cut across the beast's bound body, then so did his sword.

A soft whump sounded as the head met the cold ground. Edin stared at the neck he had sliced through. Blood was pouring out of the decapitated corpse, and it flowed like spilled wine.

He retracted both arms.

"Control yourself."

Edin closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. A mistake, for he inhaled more of its intoxicating aroma. A frisson of pleasure raised the hairs on his nape.

"Control."

His breath was hitching now. He knew not what to do—slow but deepen his breathing, taking in more temptation each time he inhaled; or take short and shallow but more frequent sips of air? He tried the latter. However he breathed, it had no effect, for he was still seduced all the more. Veins popped out of his neck and arms as he strained his limbs, desperate to control his body's most barbaric desires.

"Control."

"Control," he whispered after her. A little tension left his body as he puffed. Now that his lips had moved, he realized his tongue was parched, thirsting for the forbidden drink that was flowing in front of him. His arms were shaking. His body was trembling. Tremors traveled throughout his heated body. If he could just savor a bit...

"Control."

A deep voice growled back: "No."

His eyes flashed open, aflame with lust. He thrust his sword through the beast's chest and cut its torso open—

Fwssh. Arden lassoed him once more and yanked him out of his trance. This time, neither sword nor man fell to the ground. A bit of progress. His innocent gaze looked first at the beast, then at her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Arden retrieved a packet from her pocket, tore it open, and sprinkled the decomposing powder over the corpse. She glanced at Edin's face, which was weighed down by a worried frown.

"What's the matter?"

He sighed. "If I don't manage to control myself, then what will I become? I can't be a guardian."

"Well, we are dealing with a very old curse. It will take time. I'm sure you'll get there," she assured him. After seeing that his face had not moved, she showed a small smile. "I'm sure of it."

And so they tried again, and again, and again. To nobody's surprise, he failed to restrain himself in all those attempts.

By the time he awoke from his trance for the eighth time that day, the sun had long set, and the ground around him had been stained with a deep shade of red. He sighed, his gaze drooping like the corners of his lips.

Arden paused. She strode a few steps toward him and patted his shoulder. "It's alright, Edin. It takes time."

"I know. It's just—it feels like I'm going nowhere."

Arden exhaled. "Well, I think we're done for the day." She ripped open a packet of decomposing powder and scattered it over the corpse. "Go, get some rest. You must be tired."

He gave a meek nod before he left the courtyard and headed straight to his quarters. As he paced down the corridor and up the stairwell, he tried to shake off the image of the bodies he butchered that evening. It amused and concerned him how he slew more beasts that day than the rest of his life combined. The first room he entered was his bathroom—he did not want to sleep in the clothes he wore when slaughtering.  

The bathroom had no other article of clean clothing except a bathrobe and a pair of briefs, but his body did not need to be well-covered. He would be going to bed right after that anyway. He glanced down at himself. There were a few stains on his shirt and trousers, and his socks and shoes were a bit dirtied, but not by much. His previous battles had left him in a far bloodier state.

Edin shed his clothes, took a quick shower, and then slipped on his nightwear. He gazed at his skin, then his hands. They were deceptively white and pure. No man would have guessed that they had bathed in blood. Not a bad thing; he did not want to look like a murderer.

Edin climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He crawled onto his bed, hid under the duvet, and slept.