“Can you guarantee it? That the power of the sacred scarab can truly rid me of this curse?” Dawn asked again.

From the man’s explanation, he already understood that the curse upon him was far from ordinary.

Yet the man seemed utterly confident about the scarab. “Of course, sir! Just think…”

He pointed toward a painting hanging behind the counter—

It was a desert scene on a faded yellow canvas, the sun blazing high in the sky. A black-winged beetle stretched out its forelegs, lifting the blazing orb aloft.

“Even the wizards who ruled Egypt believed the scarab symbolized rebirth and hope. Imagine, then, the incredible power it must have to bear a curse!”

The man spoke with solemn conviction. “In some ways, it is stronger even than a dragon!”

Dawn gave no answer.

With no scholarly evidence, he could not place absolute faith in one man’s words.

And ever since dragon parts were sold casually in shops, he could not help but feel the scarab was not as mighty as claimed.

Still, though he held dragons in low regard, the man’s argument did have a measure of credibility.

A magical creature that symbolized rebirth and hope in the eyes of ancient Egyptian wizards…

Dawn narrowed his eyes.

But then he thought of something else.

“If you knew the scarab was inside Tutankhamun’s tomb all this time, how is it you haven’t found it?”

“…We haven’t.”

The man pressed his lips together, looking unusually helpless.

“The ancient Egyptian wizards used Extension Charms to open countless hidden passages within the pyramids. The true space inside is far larger than it looks outside.

“Add to that the swarms of curses and deadly traps, and searching is anything but simple.”

That was not good news.

Dawn frowned.

If the Carter family had searched for decades without finding a trace of the scarab, there was no reason to believe he could succeed in a short time.

And if he were to step into Tutankhamun’s tomb only to be struck by a new curse… that would be laughable indeed.

Weighing the risks, Dawn decided to treat the scarab only as a backup option, and first look for other solutions.

Just then, the man spoke up suddenly. “Sir, would you consider working with us?”

“Working with you?”

Dawn looked up, surprised.

“That is odd. There are plenty of Carters, aren’t there? Yet you propose cooperation with a stranger you know nothing about… and expect me to trust it?”

“You misunderstand.”

The man quickly explained:

“The Carter family has numbers, yes, but not all are willing to come to Egypt and risk dangerous expeditions.

“Usually only the relatives of those carrying the blood curse are willing to come, chasing a faint hope… and the curse rarely awakens. In each generation, at most one or two.

“So, though we have businesses here, they’re mostly run by hired local wizards. The Carters themselves, those actually willing to descend into tombs, are very few.”

Dawn understood.

He had assumed the family’s persistence in Egypt was born of unity and sacrifice, and had perhaps given them too much credit.

But clearly, not all Carters were devoted to breaking the blood curse. Only a few, struck by misfortune, truly cared.

He glanced at the man’s pale eyebrows. “You’re a Carter?”

“Yes. My name is Harris Carter… as you may have guessed, my son is the carrier of the curse in this generation.”

As he spoke, sorrow flickered in his eyes.

Dawn rubbed his wand thoughtfully with a finger.

The fact that Harris was willing to enlist the help of a stranger who had just threatened him was proof enough that Tutankhamun’s tomb was no simple place.

Still, even if Dawn did not yet plan to venture into that tomb, the Carter family could be a valuable source of knowledge and texts on curses, and perhaps alternate methods of breaking them.

He would not let this chance pass.

…

After a moment of thought, Dawn raised his head to speak.

But suddenly—

As his gaze swept across the wall behind Harris, a faint shimmer caught his eyes, and his expression froze.

Out of empty air, a mass of magic was condensing, drifting unsupported in place.

Puzzled, he looked closer and quickly realized.

It was natural magic—normally so thin as to be invisible—now condensed into strands, slowly seeping upward toward the inn’s second floor.

This was utterly unexpected!

Dawn had believed only extreme weather could drive natural magic to gather so densely that it became visible.

Even when he speculated about Animagi forms being sustained by natural magic, he had never once seen it with his own eyes.

But now…

What was happening?

“What do you have upstairs?” he demanded suddenly.

The man jumped at the sharp tone, bewildered. “Upstairs? Nothing.

“There haven’t been any guests today—only my son is up there.”

Son.

The curse-bearer.

Dawn’s pupils contracted. He understood.

The transformation brought on by the blood curse… it was provoking this enormous reaction in the natural magic itself!

Without hesitation, he stunned Harris with a Stunner and raced toward the staircase.

He had to see what was happening.

But he had not climbed more than two steps when he heard a strange cry ahead, followed by rapid, pounding hooves clattering down.

Looking up, he saw a black donkey lurching from the corner, half running, half stumbling, charging straight toward him.

Dawn pressed himself against the wall and twisted aside.

Crash!

The mindless beast smashed headfirst into the side of the counter, legs splayed, collapsing to the floor in a daze. It lay there for a long moment, too stunned to rise.

“Too late,” Dawn muttered, glancing at the donkey, already fully transformed. A trace of disappointment crossed his eyes.

Still, he stepped closer, casting a Stunner to send it into deep sleep before bending to examine it carefully.

The natural magic still trickled steadily into its body, illuminating intricate patterns within.

But after studying them, Dawn realized with frustration that he could not tell if anything was abnormal.

He had never examined the inside of an ordinary donkey, after all.

He had no choice but to memorize the patterns he saw now, planning to compare them with a normal donkey later.

Slowly, the strands of natural magic began to fade away.

The donkey’s eyes suddenly snapped open. It gave a sharp cry, and its flesh shuddered violently, collapsing inward like a wave receding.

“The curse’s cycle is ending?” Dawn narrowed his eyes.

Unlike Professor McGonagall’s swift Animagus transformation, the blood curse had a slow and distinct reversal process.

Which gave him ample time to watch every change in the patterns within.

And to his astonishment…

Throughout the entire reversal…

The patterns inside the donkey’s body flickered with a strange, unique light.

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