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    The signal was too fast, too quick for the assassin to react. Jade’s fist was already on his left cheek, punching into his jaw, pounding on his head. A sweetness he knew hit his tastebuds, consuming them entirely before being spat onto the dry dirt.


    “Fine. I will tell you, but you will let me go.”


    “Oh, I’m sorry, but it seems you are mistaken.” Gracefully, the girl walked towards him, kneeled and grabbed his cheeks, pulling his face forward. Her fingers then dropped to the man’s chin, causing her own blood to mix itself with the dark brown beard resting on it. “This isn’t a negotiation.”


    I’ve never seen anything like this... this bloodlust is just... There was no denying the desire lurking at the end of her soul, placing a shroud of distorted personalities in different sides of the spectrum. He’d heard of people who’d gone insane, who were locked away in prisons for the shattered, but he’d never seen someone like that so close. Ophelia had made a fool out of him, out of everyone at that mansion, portraying the most innocent child whose darkness within ran far deeper than any ocean, than any circle of Blasphemy.


    “I am not stupid enough to give you information without any guarantees.” Surely, he was in no place to bargain but he had been left with no other choice. Maybe she would honor her word as such was the most prized possession to nobles, to those who vouched to the crown, who vowed to God.


    “Of course, Gilbert. I will let you go free; I promise on my good honor.” With the cold edge of the knife passing lightly through the man’s right cheek, she caressed the assassin’s face, her hands trembling from such powerful restraint.


    Some nobles were known to have certain fetishes, weird hobbies that most commoners couldn’t begin to understand but this girl took the crown. Her cheeks were completely flushed, her lungs breathless as if her frail body had run through the entirety of the woods in one go, and her gaze couldn’t stop but to fall on the blood pouring out of his ripped lip. Gilbert’s soul went colder than the northern desert understanding this girl wasn’t doing this for vengeance, for money or information, in fact, it was merely for pure pleasure - a truly lustful sin.


    So, this is fear... After killing so many, his core slowly deteriorated, losing touch of basic human emotions. He thought himself to be immortal always murdering the ones on his trail, never failing on a job and enjoying it to the fullest. It had been so long since his heart thumped like a maniac, since his muscles clenched in such strength they threatened to rip. Deep down, he was horrified.


    “Duke Criswell paid me to do it.”


    Contrary to his predictions, Ophelia merely got up and began laughing, her hands covering her stomach as it ached from the constant contractions. Even the slave was surprised by such reaction, unable to understand how she could react like this in such a way after having her suspicions confirmed.


    Who would’ve thought this man to be so problematic... Gilbert’s attention fell on the platinum-haired slave who appeared to be looking at his master rather pitifully, as if seeing her pass through such frantic emotions actually hurt him. He’d always behaved passively, doing mundane butler chores like any other servant, however, he couldn’t watch his habits or routines from his bed. Jade had been a wildcard that the assassin had neglected out of pure thrill.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Ophelia’s figure straightened, face stern as the trunk of a tree. Deep down she hoped he’d know the identity of the spy as such would save her a headache, but be as it may, things were never easy. “Who gave you information in the mansion?”


    “I don’t know.” His reply was cold, bitter.


    Not liking such rapid response, the girl went down to her knees and placed the tip of the dagger on the man’s left cheek, now completely bruised by Jade’s previous punch. “That’s not the answer I want to hear Gilbert...”


    Seeing the blood slowly dripping from his tanned skin, the assassin’s loud voice echoed. “It’s true! I don’t know! It was always through letters that appeared under my pillow! All I know is that she’s a woman.”


    “And where might these letter be now?”


    “In my room! I can go get them for you if you’ll let me!” Glimpsing at a shred of freedom, Gilbert’s eyes sparkled with expectation, his voice filled with an excitement he couldn’t contain. If he could go back to the mansion, it would be easy to escape this, to slither through this girl’s grasp.


    Ophelia rose back to her feet and sat on the trunk of the thick tree bark; her legs crossed like two piercing arrows. A grin spread across her lips knowing full well neither a professional assassin neither her father would leave evidence lingering around. Surely those letters had already been sent down to Blasphemy, greeting the demons that lurked below.


    “I’m afraid you need to repent for your sins first.”


    At that moment, Jade grabbed the assassin’s dark hair and pulled his body upwards, right before delivering a heavy punch on his abdomen. Saliva darted out of his mouth as his torso leaned on the slave’s arm, hoping to regain some of its footing. Gilbert’s organs burned through the pain, screaming as the blood within found ways to leak into them. Seconds later, his body was pushed onto the floor, causing his head to hit one of the trees accidentally. A dreadful cough, filled with saliva and red chunks of that sweet substance, flew through the quiet environment in a sickening, mechanical rhythm.


    “Ple-please stop...” He stuttered, feeling each piece of his muscles struggling to even dare moving.


    “We’re far from done.” Jade responded with his cold-blooded eyes, an unchanged expression on his face. Torturing a man was something that didn’t made him flinch as if this was something he’d done over, and over again.


    It’s not possible... Gilbert knew his destiny was to be an assassin, to get rid of annoyances in society but now, observing the ruthless behavior of this slave, he realized such truth was but another lie from God. His entire existence was void, a deceit of fate, as he would never be able to attain those heartless eyes, that unwavering soul, that determination in torturing another.


    “You... you’re a monster!” Feeling a hand pull his head upwards, revealing his dirt covered face, he screamed at the top of his lungs, tears slowly dripping from the corner of his eyes.


    “A monster? A rat dares to insult what is mine?” At that moment, Ophelia darted from her seat and pounded the assassin’s head onto the ground, just before stepping on it with all her might.


    “I’m sorry!” He apologized, face muffled by the dirt and stones lingering on the surface. “Please!”


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