* * *
Ranshel lost his balance and collapsed onto the floor.
His scrambling hands touched only blood—cut strands of hair, oozing wounds, and the puddle formed from Kon’s lifeless body.
‘Kon…’
If he hadn’t come with me… he might still be alive.
The guilt was gutting.
But there was no time to mourn.
“…Hah. Got you.”
Ranshel looked up, panting, at the pale footprints stepping toward him.
He knew he couldn’t stay down like this—but his body wasn’t cooperating.
His left leg felt wrong.
He tried to stand, but his foot couldn’t find the ground.
The sensation of movement was there, but the support was gone.
When he finally realized the full extent of it—fear hit harder than the pain.
Air entered his lungs and rushed out again, rough and uneven, more like leaking air than breathing.
“I guess playtime’s over, huh?”
Baha’s ruined voice was full of amusement.
For Ranshel, it had been a desperate struggle for his life—for Baha, it was just a game.
That was the gap in their strength.
“Shall we end it here, then?”
End.
Ranshel reacted to that word.
He couldn’t win against Baha.
That was clear.
But this wasn’t where his story ended.
He had to hold on.
Just a little longer.
He tried dragging his body with his hands, to at least lift his upper half.
But a sword slid in near his neck, stopping him.
“…Still got some energy left, huh?”
“—Guh!”
Baha kicked him in the side, flipping him onto his back.
“Good. I would’ve been disappointed if you gave up already.”
“……”
“You promised you’d kill me, didn’t you, Ranshel?”
Ranshel blinked through the haze of pain.
The face leaning in above him grew closer.
Baha had leaned all the way down, peering into his eyes.
Eyes as black and empty as a moonless night.
He was broken—deeply, irreparably.
Ranshel remembered those eyes.
Not from his own past, but from the memories of the body he now inhabited.
Baha knew that Ranshel—the one before the possession.
And so, clinging to that faint memory, Ranshel opened his mouth.
“…I still… have a mission to finish…”
“Oh, right. You were assigned a number too, weren’t you? Simon wouldn’t tell me where you were. I’ve been curious for a while.”
“If I die here… I can’t fulfill the lord’s orders…”
He might be unhinged now, but Baha was still a trained assassin of Nameless.
And the orders of the family head would always come first.
More importantly—he was still…
“And if I die… I won’t get to play with you anymore.”
He’d grown up on the outside, but inside, he was still a child.
He’d been broken long before the training… before the drugs.
You’d never see this version of him in the noble house that adopted him, or when he served as a commander.
There, he played the perfect noble heir raised by Nameless.
But this—this was the real Baha.
But what you’re seeing now—that’s his true self.
Like a tree with a broken trunk, a man who could never grow straight again.
“Well… yeah. Hmm, I guess you’re right.”
Baha tilted his head this way and that, as if debating something.
It wasn’t enough; he began turning his head in restless circles, then suddenly stopped dead, staring intently at Ranshel.
“But hey—your leg’s gone now… can you still play with me?”
“…Why wouldn’t I? Once I get out of here, I’ll just get a new one.”
“Oh, really? That could be fun.”
This place was inside the Holy Temple.
As long as he could leave here alive, he could go straight to find Danie.
Though Frey wouldn’t be able to grow him a new leg, he could at least heal the wound.
That might be enough to keep death at bay.
Everything else could be dealt with after that.
But then, the boyish smile vanished from Baha’s face.
He looked down at Ranshel with a blank expression.
“No… if you get out, you’ll just run away from me. You won’t come to kill me until your mission’s over, right?”
“…”
“I’m terrible at tag, you know. And I get the feeling that if you don’t come to find me, I’ll never see you again…”
Baha’s cracked, dry lips curled into a smile.
“So just die here by my hand, Ranshel.”
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
Ranshel forced himself to form words with a tongue that felt like it was coated in sand.
“…Are you planning to defy the Lord’s command? I have a mission.”
But Baha responded nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.
“Then I’ll just kill you and take care of your target for you. Easy, right?”
Thud. His heart dropped. His already broken body felt like it was sinking into the ground.
If Baha decided on a whim to let him live, it would still be meaningless—because as long as his target was Zavad, it would all fall apart.
“Let’s see… who do I need to kill? That kid said your master is a follower, right? You purposely got a low number in the lottery, didn’t you? Cute. That makes him a noble’s servant or attendant. And if you’ve completed training at the Temple Academy… hmm, should be easy to find.”
His raspy voice was giddy with excitement. Ranshel swallowed down a painful breath.
To Baha, people were just toys.
If someone bored him, he’d kill them quickly, cleanly.
But if he was interested… he’d play with them until the corpse was unrecognizable.
Could Zavad beat Baha?
He didn’t know.
Even if he could, Ranshel didn’t want to make him fight a monster like this.
It was impossible to fight someone like Baha—an addict without limits—without getting hurt. Baha didn’t have a heart.
This wasn’t combat.
It was slow torture, pushing his opponent to the edge and relishing every moment.
He couldn’t let that happen.
He couldn’t.
Ranshel had planned to be Zavad’s villain—but not like this.
The thought of Zavad getting stabbed, soaked in blood, just like him—it was unbearable.
If Zavad couldn’t reach his happy ending, then none of this meant anything…
“…What’s that face for?”
Baha leaned in close to study Ranshel’s twisted expression, pulling back slightly, then moving in again until their noses almost touched.
“That’s weird. You’re a demon—why would you look like you’re in pain about killing your target?”
“…”
“Isn’t he that noble brat you hate so much? Don’t you want to mess him up before you kill him?”
Ranshel bit his lip hard.
Baha’s black eyes went wide.
“No way. Ranshel—have you repented?”
His raspy voice pitched up with glee.
“Did God forgive your sins? Come on, tell me properly!”
He lightly tapped Ranshel’s cheek.
Ranshel stayed silent, motionless.
“What’s wrong? What are you hiding? Can’t you tell me?”
“…”
“I want to be forgiven too. I want God to forgive me too.”
Baha tilted his head side to side with a wide, almost innocent smile.
“For killing my mother, I mean.”
Ranshel squeezed his eyes shut.
A scene flashed behind the darkness—faint, unfamiliar, and revolting.
Even though he hadn’t lived it himself, the memory was burned into him. He almost wished he didn’t remember any of it at all.
“Look at me. How about this, then?”
Seeing no reaction from Ranshel, Baha spoke again, a little more agitated, tapping his cheek.
“I’ll cut off your right leg now too. That way, wherever you try to crawl, I’ll be able to catch you.”
“…”
“I won’t chase you. You can just crawl out using your arms. If you make it out before you bleed out, you’ll live. If God really forgave you, He’ll help you survive, right?”
Disgust rippled through him.
If Ranshel had even a sliver of strength left, he would’ve spit in Baha’s face.
“Come on, tell me. Would even a filthy-blooded brat like you be forgiven? I really want to know.”
Baha hummed a tune as he pulled out the sword he had stuck into the ground.
He raised it high, ready to sever Ranshel’s remaining leg.
* * *
