CHAPTER 463: BUYING A HOUSE

"This one," Asher said softly. His voice carried no hesitation.

He pushed the gate open. The metal creaked and flakes of frost fell away like bits of glass. The moment he stepped inside, the old manor seemed to wake up—a faint tremor running through the frozen ground.

The path to the entrance was lined with half-buried statues: angels with broken wings, scholars holding shattered staves, and a huge wolf-dragon carved from black stone. Their faces were worn smooth by time, but under the pale moonlight, they almost seemed alive, watching him as he passed.

The mansion itself was enormous—three floors tall, built from dark obsidian stone streaked with faint silver veins that glimmered faintly under the snow. Strange crystal roots grew along its walls, pulsing with weak, fading light.

The front doors were massive and carved from soulwood. Old runes were etched into the surface, their glow almost gone. When Asher placed his hand on the cold wood, a spark ran up his arm. The symbols glowed for a second, shaking off a layer of frost before dimming again. Then, with a low groan, the doors opened.

Inside, the air was heavy but not rotten—just quiet and still. Dust hung in the air, catching faint glimmers of light from the cracks in the ceiling. The entrance hall was huge, two floors high, with crystal chandeliers hanging above and a sweeping staircase curving upward in the center. The blackstone floor still reflected faintly beneath the dust.

Old tapestries clung to the walls—scenes of great battles and mythical beasts. Some were burned or torn, their colors long faded. To the right was a conservatory with a broken glass roof where frozen plants still grew, faintly glowing under the moonlight. To the left was a study filled with cracked bookshelves and broken crystal tablets that still hummed faintly with leftover mana.

Asher climbed the staircase slowly. His footsteps echoed through the quiet halls. The second floor was warmer, the dormant power stronger here. Empty rooms lined both sides—some covered in mirror-like crystals, others with faintly glowing circles on the floor, remnants of rituals long forgotten.

At the far end, a spiral staircase led to the top.

When Asher reached the third floor, the space opened into a vast master chamber beneath a cracked dome of glass and runic steel. Through the fractures, moonlight spilled in, and beyond it stretched the endless silver sky of the High Realm. The walls were carved with golden runes, faint but still beautiful. In the center stood a massive bedframe made of bone, now covered in frost. A half-collapsed balcony waited beyond the velvet curtains.

Asher pushed through them and stepped outside. The night air brushed against his face. Below, the city of Averin glowed—a vast network of light bridges, floating towers, and flowing rivers of mana. From here, he could see everything. But up here, standing on the edge of this forgotten manor, it all felt distant.

"Not bad," he said quietly, looking around. "Forgotten, maybe... but still breathing."

He turned back inside, eyes glowing faintly gold. He sent out a pulse of soul energy through the manor’s foundation. The walls responded, humming softly as the runes flickered back to life. The air grew warmer. Dust lifted as faint light spread through every hallway.

The house was no longer cold and dead. It lived again.

Asher exhaled, smiling faintly. "Home," he said.

The next morning, a guide from the city came to meet him outside the gates. He was a thin man, dressed in fine robes, and looked surprised that anyone had chosen this place.

"You... you wish to buy this mansion, sir?" the man asked carefully.

"Yes," Asher replied simply. "Why? Is there a problem?"

The guide hesitated, looking uneasy. "Well, it’s... a fine property, sir. Very fine. But... most avoid it. You see, it once belonged to the House of Velmir, a powerful family here in Averin. They offended someone—someone they shouldn’t have. One night, they packed up and disappeared. The next morning, their crest was gone from the gates. The family they angered claimed everything and put this estate up for sale."

"And no one bought it?" Asher asked.

The guide shook his head quickly. "People say it’s cursed. Everyone who tried to buy it afterward suffered bad luck. Some lost their wealth overnight, others... worse. There are plenty of other manors in better condition if you wish to see them—"

Asher smiled slightly, cutting him off. "No need."

As he looked at the mansion again, his eyes flickered gold for an instant. His Absolute Appraisal ability activated silently, revealing the truth behind the so-called curse. It wasn’t a curse at all—just a remnant of old, tangled energy left behind by the feud between two ancient bloodlines. A trick of fate, not a danger.

He chuckled quietly. "So that’s what it was."

The guide blinked, confused. "Sir?"

"I’ll take it," Asher said firmly.

The man looked stunned. "You’re sure?"

"Positive."

And that was that.

As they went through the paperwork inside the city office later that day, Asher barely listened to the official’s formal words. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the quiet halls of the old manor, on the light slowly returning to its walls, and on the peace it promised.

By the time the documents were sealed and the ownership was his, the guide still looked uncertain, as though he expected something to go wrong.

But Asher only smiled faintly and said, "Some houses are just waiting for the right owner."

Then he turned and left—back toward the frost-lined path and the mansion that would soon become his home.

"Now... just need to renovate it," he murmured, glancing up at the old structure. "But first, let’s get rid of that curse."

He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as his instincts twitched. A faint pulse in the air caught his attention—something hidden beneath the manor.

"Found you," he muttered.

He tapped his boot against a loose stone near the main hall’s hearth. A faint click echoed, and a section of the floor shifted. A hidden switch triggered, sliding open a stone panel beside the old fireplace. Beneath it, a narrow staircase spiraled downward into darkness.