I Hit the Back of the Tower Master’s Head - Black Velvet Elegy Web Novel

Episode 1 – The Danger of a Frying Pan

About 300 years ago, one of my ancestors—an amazing magician—fought a dark sorcerer who was threatening the kingdom. They battled for three months straight, and in the end, she won.

But right before he disappeared, that sorcerer coughed up blood and cursed her bloodline.

“You and your descendants will never be able to speak! Only true love can break this curse!”

She lost her voice instantly. She thought it would be easy to break the curse once she reunited with her husband, but… it didn’t work.

Our family, once a minor noble house, was rewarded with the rank of Marquis for defeating the dark sorcerer. We gained wealth and power, but none of it healed my ancestor’s broken heart.

In the end, she left and was never seen again.

The curse passed down through every generation, making our family both famous and infamous. My mother hated the capital, so she left the city with me and said she’d only visit occasionally.

I often saw sadness and self-loathing in her face. What must our ancestors have thought, watching the curse stay unbroken for so long? Did they lose faith in love? Did they start doubting everything while still longing for it?

Would the day ever come when this curse was finally lifted?

I live in a small village called Flora. It isn’t far from a bigger town, so it’s not completely isolated. But Flora’s different—people here don’t care what you do or how weird you are. They just laugh and accept it.

That’s probably why my mother chose this place.

Like old man Ezra, the eighty-something village elder who still runs around the forest like a kid and brings a wild boar to each household once a month.

Or Mrs. Jenny, who claims to be “the best woodcarver,” but whenever she goes to town to sell her carvings, she always comes back broke and empty-handed.

Or Albert, the baker, whose bread tastes so good it could be sold in the capital—even though sparks of blue fire sometimes shoot out of his hands while he bakes.

And of course, the doll magicians. Doll magicians are considered pretty rare and valuable, and yet, for a while, two of them lived here. Now only one remains, and he just keeps making dolls and handing them out to everyone.

Nobody questions anything here. Nobody digs into the reasons why.

I was cleaning the dolls in my cabinet when I heard a knock at the door. Putting down the blanket draped over my lap, I got up and opened it.

It was Theo—my childhood friend—holding one of my dolls.

“Lunar.”

He scratched his light brown hair awkwardly and handed me the doll. It was a fat-tailed squirrel doll I’d made for his little sister, Renie, who couldn’t sleep alone at night.

“Can you fix this? Renie broke it while playing.”

I frowned a little. My dolls don’t really break unless they’ve been hit by magic or exposed to strong mana.

Still, I’d told everyone to bring them to me if they ever got damaged, so I took the squirrel doll—Kiki, I think?—and tucked it under my arm. Pulling out my notebook and pen, I wrote:

[I’ll have it fixed by tomorrow. Just a few seams came loose.]

“Thanks, Lunar. Oh, right—here. Mom told me to give you these.”

He handed me shiny red apples that looked like they’d been carefully picked.

[Please thank her for me.]

“Sure. See ya.”

As Theo left, I noticed his dad standing by the village gate with a fishing rod—probably heading for the lake. Closing the door, I put Kiki into a basket in my workshop.

By the next day, Kiki was as good as new. Her arm and side seams were torn, but a little stitching fixed her right up. Once repaired, she jumped around happily, showing off her “revival,” her fluffy tail sweeping across the floor.

Still… I could sense faint mana coming off her. Yeah, she must’ve gotten torn by magic.

While I was frowning about that, Pinocchio—my life-sized wooden doll—picked Kiki up. He’s incredibly strong, so I quickly snatched Kiki back and put her safely into the basket.

She curled up nervously, hugging her tail, as if she was afraid of Pinocchio’s stare.

Some of her fabric looked a little singed. Burn marks?

I was checking her over when suddenly my front door slammed open. I didn’t panic—I knew who it would be. Only my dolls barged in without knocking.

Sure enough, it was Lily, the very first doll I ever made—a pink fabric bunny who loves to cook. She stood there proudly, covered in dirt.

Sighing, I scooped her up and carried her to the washbasin. The moment I tried to wash her, she tugged on my sleeve frantically.

Her button eyes gleamed with urgency.

〈There’s a man collapsed in the forest!〉

I stared at her, trying to see if she was exaggerating. She glared back.

〈You think I’d lie about this?!〉

…That temper of hers.

So I set her down and followed. Despite her size—barely 30 cm—she ran surprisingly fast. I pushed through branches and tall grass, chasing after her. Then suddenly—

“—!”

I saw him before Lily even pointed.

The air gave him away.

A man lay collapsed on the ground, his golden hair shining even as sweat clung to his pale, handsome face. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen. But swirling, unstable mana surrounded him, chilling the air. My breath came out white from the cold.

I touched his cheek—it was ice cold. He wasn’t dead, though, just unconscious.

I tried to move him, but he was heavy, and he’d already lost too much blood. Dragging him would probably kill him.

Then, for a second, I thought I saw black smoke rising from his wounds. Mana? But when I looked closer, it was just blood.

I quickly sent Lily to fetch Pinocchio.

With Lily riding on his head, Pinocchio carried the man back to my house and laid him on my mother’s old bed. His chest was soaked in blood.

I cleaned and bandaged him as best I could. His face twisted in pain, but at least the bleeding slowed.

Tomorrow, I’d call for a doctor.

After that, I scolded Lily for running outside filthy and dumped her back into the washbasin. She pouted, but too bad—she’s a cooking doll, and cleanliness is everything. I wrung her out like laundry and hung her by the ears at the window to dry.

Sighing, I turned back to the workshop and absentmindedly dusted off some dolls. My hand paused over the pretty ball-jointed dolls my mother had made.

My name is Lunar Cheyenne. With lilac hair and violet eyes, I’m part of the Cheyenne Marquis family—the family cursed by that dark sorcerer centuries ago.

Suddenly, the air shifted.

I looked up.

The man was sitting up in bed. His shirtless body was solid and well-built, his messy golden hair shining like spun thread. His sharp, striking face glared at me with icy blue eyes full of suspicion.

I rushed into the room.

“Who… are you?”

I reached for my notebook to explain, but his cold voice cut me off.

“Don’t move.”

Shards of ice appeared instantly, aimed at my throat. My heart pounded. He’s… a high-level elementalist. If one shard hit me, I’d be dead.

“…So you won’t speak?”

I panicked. I can’t speak—I’m cursed! If I could just get my notebook…

The man sneered.

“A clever trick. You lured me here to kill me? Should I be honored?”

He clutched his side in pain, scanning the room like he was calculating escape routes—or waiting for a chance to strike.

Then I noticed Pinocchio sneaking up behind him, holding a frying pan.

I mouthed, Wait—!