The Witch of curse

In vast continent of Haza, two great powers rose to prominence. One was built upon the righteous faith in the Goddess, while the other embraced the forbidden arts of the undead. These opposing forces waged a war so devastating that history itself split it into two perspectives. The righteous called it the Holy War, a divine battle against evil, while the undead faction referred to it as the Continental War, a struggle for supremacy.

The war raged for years, dividing the continent into two lands—

The Holy Continent, where the followers of the Goddess thrived.

The Undead Continent, ruled by the dark power of necromancers.

At the heart of these factions stood the seven strongest warriors of each side.

The Divines, champions of the Goddess, were called Saintesses—a title bestowed upon those who wielded divine energy at its peak.

The Necromancers, masters of the undead, were known as Legioners—a title that represented the highest honor in the art of death.

These fourteen individuals were the most powerful beings of their time. Their clashes shaped the war, but after decades of bloodshed, an uneasy truce was formed. Yet, despite the agreement, skirmishes still occurred along the borders—particularly in a dangerous, lawless land called the Neutral Zone, the only place where both factions were forced to coexist.

A Village on the Undead Continent, atop Sunny Hill, lay a small village—one of the few peaceful settlements untouched by war. Here, among the villagers, a man stood in the center of the town, clad in a simple black shirt and pants. He had dark black hair, piercing black eyes, and pale white skin. His tall frame—standing at six feet—radiated quiet strength as he moved between the skeletal undead working under his command.

His name was Rick, the village chief.

"That one goes there. Make sure the foundation is strong!" Rick commanded as he directed his undead skeleton workers, watching them construct new houses with precision.

Standing behind him was a younger version of himself, a boy of seventeen with the same hair and eye color. Ken, his son, held a notebook in his hands, scribbling notes as he observed his father.

"Father is amazing... Controlling so many undead at once. When will I become a necromancer like him?" Ken thought with admiration.

Just then, an old man with white hair and a wrinkled face approached. He wore simple beige robes and bowed slightly in gratitude.

"Rick—ah, I mean village chief—thank you for your help! Without you, our village would've been lost."

Rick chuckled, shaking his head. "No need to call me village chief. Just Rick is fine."

The old man smiled, then turned to Ken. "And you, young Ken... Writing about your father's work again?"

Ken nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! I have to learn everything because one day, I'll be the village chief!"

Rick smirked. "Well, you'll have to wait another twenty years for that."

They all laughed, the peaceful atmosphere of the village surrounding them.

That night, Ken and Rick returned home—a two-story wooden house, modest yet well-built.

"Ken, wash up and sit at the table. I'll make us dinner," Rick said.

"Okay, Father!" Ken responded, heading off to freshen up.

As Ken sat at the dining table, reviewing his notes, a storm began to brew outside. Lightning struck violently, illuminating the sky with eerie flashes.

Then, Rick muttered under his breath.

"She is coming..."

Ken, hearing his father's words, looked up. "Who is coming, Father?"

Rick didn't answer.

The thunder grew louder, echoing like a beast roaring in the night. Then—a knock at the door.

Ken felt his heart race, but not in fear. No, it was something else.

"Why am I smiling? Why does my heart beat faster? Am I about to see the future again?!"

Ken had a unique ability—one that he could not control. Sometimes, he could glimpse into the future, seeing moments unfold before they happened. These visions varied—some lasted seconds, others revealed entire battles.

The first time it happened was when he was seven years old.

A starving wild wolf attacked him in the forest. Any normal child would have been frozen in terror, but Ken felt no fear. Instead, he smiled. His heart pounded, and suddenly, he could see the wolf's every movement before it happened. With that knowledge, he fought and killed the beast alone, his small body drenched in its blood.

His father had found him afterward—but Rick had shown no surprise, no concern. He had merely taken Ken home without a word.

Now, years later, that same feeling returned.

Ken's vision blurred, and suddenly—he saw the future.

His father would open the door. A woman in a purple outfit and a boy his age would be standing outside.

The woman had long, pure black hair, striking red eyes, and a slender yet deadly presence. She stood at the same height as Rick, her aura filled with an unreadable power. Her companion, a boy with black hair and red eyes, looked to be around Ken's age.

Then—the vision ended.

A second later, the door opened.

Just as Ken had seen, the woman in purple and the red-eyed boy stood before them.

Rick's expression turned stone-cold. His voice, usually calm and kind, dropped into a low, dangerous tone.

"Why are you here...?

"Witch of Curse."