The Curse Prince Domination

The tavern was alive with the sounds of clinking mugs and cheerful chatter, the kind of noise that filled the space but didn't intrude. Behind the bar, Ray, the bartender, was methodically wiping down a glass, his hands moving with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times.

At the counter, a man sat slouched in his chair, one hand around his mug and the other tapping idly on the wood. He was well-dressed but gave off an air of casual authority, the kind of man who was as comfortable in a brawl as he was in a meeting room.

"Looks like we'll have something new to talk about in town for the next few days," the man said, his voice carrying just enough to reach Ray.

Ray glanced up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Shouldn't you be at your office signing those papers, Desmond?"

Desmond groaned theatrically, leaning back on his stool and throwing an arm over the back of his chair. "Ahhh… You know, I came here to escape that—to relieve some stress. And here you are, dragging it back to me."

Ray snorted, unimpressed. "I'm just saying. You've got responsibilities."

"I know, I know," Desmond muttered, waving him off. Then his expression shifted, a glint of curiosity lighting up his face. "But tell me something, Ray. That white-haired guy who just went upstairs—what do you think of him?"

Ray paused mid-wipe, his gaze flicking toward the staircase. "You mean the one who gave Gaston a slap of realization? Yeah, he's something, alright."

Desmond nodded, a small grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter as he swirled the liquid in his mug. "It's not every day you see someone stand toe-to-toe with that bull. Especially now that Gaston's awakened his latent talent. You know what that means."

Ray placed the glass on the counter and reached for another. "Sure do. Rare to see folks like that anymore. Even rarer to see them walk into this backwater village."

Desmond chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. "The way he carried himself... I don't know. There's something about him. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Ray raised an eyebrow. "Wonder enough to try and recruit him?"

Desmond leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. "Nah, I don't think he'd go for it. Same with that red-hooded little girl. They've got their own thing going on. Besides, he doesn't strike me as the type to answer to anyone."

Ray hummed in agreement, the faintest trace of a smile on his face. "You're probably right. Still, makes you curious what brought him here."

Desmond tipped his mug toward Ray in a mock toast. "Curious is one way to put it. Let's just hope whatever it is doesn't bring trouble. Though, knowing Gaston, trouble's already brewing."

Ray laughed, the sound low and dry. "Trouble's always brewing where that guy's concerned. But I'll give you this—things are about to get interesting."

Desmond downed the last of his beer, setting the mug on the counter with a satisfied sigh. "Interesting. That's one way to put it."

"Another?" Ray asked.

Desmond nodded. "Sure, why not?"

_________

In the dense forest, a crowd of militias gathered around a grim scene. The air was heavy with tension, whispers and murmurs spreading like wildfire as people exchanged worried glances. Some inspected the surroundings, while others stood back, wary of getting too close to the gruesome sight before them.

Two figures knelt by a lifeless body, their expressions grim. Gaston approached, his imposing figure cutting through the crowd with ease. Lefou was at his side.

"Any findings?" Gaston asked

Lefou nodded, glancing uneasily at the corpse. "The man's name was Harry. A local hunter. Apparently, he went out of the village last night, and a woman gathering wild fruits stumbled upon his body early this morning."

Gaston's eyes narrowed as he crouched by the body, his gaze lingering on the deep gashes across the man's torso. "Werewolves?"

Lefou hesitated before answering. "It seems likely. There are claw marks on the body and signs of a struggle in the area. The wounds match their kind."

"And?" Gaston prompted.

Lefou held up a small, blood-stained canine tooth. "This was found nearby. It confirms it—a werewolf."

Gaston stood, his jaw tightening. "Anyone else reported being out of the village last night?"

"The guards claim no one left after curfew," Lefou said, shifting nervously. "But... there's one thing. Ruby was seen leaving the village early this morning."

Gaston's expression darkened, his brows drawing together. "Ruby? That brat?"

Lefou raised his hands in a placating gesture. "She's just a kid, Gaston. What could she possibly know about this?"

Gaston let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "Tsk. Don't be a fool, Lefou. You know exactly what that kid is capable of. Go ask her if she saw or heard anything."

Lefou blinked, hesitating for a moment too long. "But—"

Before he could finish, Gaston's patience snapped. He shoved Lefou forward with a firm kick to his backside. "Move it!" he barked.

Lefou stumbled but caught himself, straightening with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I'm going! No need to get rough."

As Lefou hurried off, Gaston's gaze returned to the body, his thoughts racing. The growing presence of werewolves near the village was bad enough. But if Ruby was involved, it complicated things in ways he wasn't ready to admit.

_________

Inside my rented room, I double-checked the lock on the door and closed the windows, ensuring everything was secure. Once satisfied, I exhaled deeply and allowed my body to shift. In moments, I returned to my Beast form—taller, broader, and covered in fur. The transformation was as familiar as it was frustrating.

"Four hours down, four to go," I muttered to myself, running a clawed hand through my fur. "Damn restrictions."

The abilities, status, and items I'd gained from that bizarre ad in my previous life had been granted to me here. But as with everything, there were catches. My lycanthropy, for instance, could only be used for a total of eight hours a day, resetting sharply at 6 a.m. every morning. The same limitation applied to my Winter Sand and ice magic.

I sighed again, recalling the first time I tried to use my powers here. On my first day, I'd been so excited to test my magic, conjuring ice with reckless abandon. It was thrilling—until the consequences hit. After about fifteen minutes, I collapsed. My head throbbed like it was splitting in two, and I couldn't move a muscle. Back then, I had no idea how magic worked in this world. Mana? Mental energy? Physical endurance? Whatever it was, I had clearly overdone it.

The Winter Sand was even trickier. Unlike typical ice magic, it required "feeding." Its activation drained both mental energy and environmental temperature. Winter Sand, as the name suggested, consisted of tiny, grain-like particles of ice that froze anything they touched. It has the same principle like the Nightmare Sand and Dream Sand from the Jack Frost movie—the manifestations of children's fears and dreams. My Winter Sand, however, was the embodiment of cold and frost itself, and though it was powerful, its price made it a double-edged sword.

Then there were the so-called "artifacts" I'd chosen. Honestly, I felt cheated. The Book of Guidance was useful, sure—it provided basic instructions and hints. But the others? A joke.

Take the Magic Mirror, for example. It turned out to be the exact same one from the original Beast's story. Nothing new, nothing special. Then there was the Winter Staff, which looked like something Jack Frost might carry. I'd hoped it would have unique powers or enchantments. Nope. It was literally just a staff. A glorified walking stick.

"If I'd known the ad was real," I grumbled, rubbing my temples, "I would've picked way more carefully."

I glanced at the bed and decided to call it a night. Exhaustion was creeping in, and there was no use brooding over things I couldn't change now. "Forget it," I muttered. "Rest first. Deal with everything else later."

With that, I collapsed onto the mattress, the wooden frame creaking slightly under my weight. At least sleep didn't come with restrictions.

________

Two days had passed since I'd started staying at the tavern, and honestly, life had been a blur of eating, sleeping, and reading the books Belle had recommended. Ruby dropped by occasionally, but other than that, it was quiet. Peaceful. Almost boring.

Through the books, though, I'd gained a much better understanding of this world.

First off, I'd picked up two updated maps: one of the entire continent and one of the southern region. The southern region map was mostly familiar, aligning with the one I used to get to this village. But there were some striking changes. The kingdom of FrostGuard? Gone. Completely replaced by the ominously named Dark Enchanted Forest. Several villages had vanished, and there were even new kingdoms. One of them, Duloc, was apparently ruled by Farquaad. It had been established just four years ago near the Far Far Away kingdom.

(A/N: I made a mistake —I thought Farquaad was the king of the Far Far Away Kingdom, but he's actually the ruler of Duloc.)

Second, I'd learned more about the creatures inhabiting this world, thanks to a book on legends and myths. While some species were ancient, like the mermaids and ogres, others were more recent or thought to be extinct. Dragons? Supposedly gone. Witches? Still kicking, wielding ancestral powers. And then there were the werewolves and vampires—believed wiped out in a Vatican-led holy war a thousand years ago. Divine judgment and all that. But from my personal experience, I wasn't buying it. I'd already met—and killed—one.

Lastly, there was mention of Animers, anthropomorphic animals who mostly lived on another continent called Hina, with only a few residing here.

As for the humans, some possess a bloodline or talent inherited from their ancestors and when this latent ability awakens, they gain extraordinary powers.

_____

"So, you're saying the missing people in the village spiked last year, and werewolf sightings suddenly increased around the same time?" I asked Ray, the bartender.

"Yeah," Ray confirmed, his tone grim. "And those missing people are still gone. No trace." He grabbed a rag, wiping down the counter. "Anyway, you should head upstairs, Adam. I'm closing up. Got errands to run."

"Alright, alright. Let me just finish this," I said, taking a long sip of my beer with a book in hand as Ray headed out the door.

The tavern grew eerily quiet once he left. I leaned back, savoring the rare peace. It wasn't often I had the place to myself.

Then, cutting through the silence, came a sound. A whistle. Slow. Melodic. And… unsettling.

I froze, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The whistle grew louder, closer, until I finally spotted the source—a figure sitting casually next to me.

He'd appeared out of nowhere.

"Well, well," the stranger said, his voice smooth, yet laced with menace. "If it isn't the cursed prince himself." He chuckled. "In the flesh."

I turned sharply to face him, and my breath hitched. He was a wolf—a silvery-white one, with an elongated snout and eerie, mask-like gray markings around his eyes. His sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light, and his crimson eyes seemed to pierce right through me. He wore a black poncho with a hood, brown trousers, and wraps around his wrists and calves.

"Who—?"

"There it is." He interrupted, his tone almost amused. "White hair, blue eyes… and, of course, the scent of a beast." His chuckle deepened, echoing in the empty room.

Before I could respond, a familiar ding sounded in my head:

[You have met a crucial character in a story. You have unlocked: Puss in Boots: The Last Wish.]

[Death]

[ Age: ??? ]

[ Title: The Wolf, Lobo, Disembodiment of Death ]

[ Race: ??? ]

[ Bloodline: ??? ]

[ Abilities: ??? ]

[ Note: This individual seeks to enjoy himself before claiming the souls of the dead who will wander tonight. ]

My stomach dropped.

"...I'm screwed."