* * *
Baha probably wouldn’t hesitate.
It wasn’t strange.
Ranshel had always known—even when they were little—Baha wasn’t in his right mind.
If he had to put a label on it, they could almost be called childhood friends.
They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, stuck together for quite a while.
Their mothers had been close.
Dirty blood.
That’s what Baha called it.
But Ranshel had never agreed.
His mother hadn’t been a good mother, but she wasn’t a dirty one.
He’d learned to steal from a young age.
That’s why, even when his hands were chubby and round, he played with knives instead of toys.
As soon as he could walk on his own two feet, he started stealing with his mother.
She had to feed four mouths—hers, Baha’s sick mother, and the two boys.
Even the small hands of her young son were needed.
To survive as a thief, speed was everything.
Thankfully for her, her son was quick and precise.
With a blade no longer than a finger, he could slice open a pocket and steal the money in a flash.
His mother had been a skilled thief, so perhaps it ran in the blood.
But despite her skill, she made one mistake—stealing from a noble.
She was dragged away, tied to a carriage, beaten until her entire body was bruised, and died.
It wasn’t even a huge sum.
To Ranshel, it was enough to fill his belly for a few days.
But to them, it was just pocket change for a day’s outing.
It wasn’t about the money—it was about punishing the audacity of touching noble property.
If he had stolen from a commoner, his mother might have gotten away with a beating.
Maybe some stones thrown at her.
Maybe she would’ve died.
But she wouldn’t have died like that—dragged through the square for all to see, humiliated and broken.
Ranshel knew exactly how many times the cart dragging his mother had circled the village.
Because he had watched.
The whole time.
Thieves usually work in pairs.
One draws attention, the other gets the job done.
That’s how the success rate goes up.
But even with all her skill, his mother was bound to fail this time.
When her son was about to get caught, she panicked and stepped in.
Made a mistake.
Took the fall.
Everyone knew how she died.
That noble had used her as a warning—what happens when filth dares touch what’s his.
It was all for the sake of preserving his precious pride.
Ranshel wanted to kill that noble.
Avenge his mother.
But ridiculously enough, the bastard died before Ranshel could even get near him.
The very cart that had dragged his mother overturned in an accident.
Still, the rage inside him didn’t vanish.
It just lost its direction.
With nowhere to go, it spread.
Ranshel wanted to kill every noble in sight.
If someone could kill for the sake of pride, then surely it was fair to die just for being born a noble.
But approaching those nobles, always surrounded by guards in carriages, was nearly impossible.
So he wondered—how could he get close enough to kill one of them?
That’s when the opportunity came.
—That boy. The son of that petty thief.
Someone who recognized Ranshel’s potential sold him off to Nameless for next to nothing.
When he realized the people who came to fetch him belonged to an assassin’s guild, Ranshel thought:
There’ll never be another chance like this.
Back then, Baha had probably been off in some corner, tearing the wings off butterflies.
It was his favorite pastime at the time.
Said he liked how pretty the wings were.
But for some reason, maybe on a whim, he suddenly threw aside the butterfly and blocked Ranshel’s path.
Asked why he was going without playing with him.
One of the Nameless agents told Baha,
“He’s going to a place where people die.”
Maybe they thought that’d scare him off.
Instead, Baha nodded, as if he understood.
Then walked straight to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and slit his mother’s throat as she lay in bed.
—Now I can go too, right?
He smiled brightly as he said it.
Nameless, impressed by his ‘talent,’ took them both.
—One of the guys said earlier, if you become the first son, you can be adopted into a noble house. You hate nobles, right? So if I become a noble… you’ll want to kill me too, won’t you?
—Probably.
—Then come kill me, Ranshel. I’ll be waiting.
—Yeah… sure, whatever.
At the time, Ranshel didn’t care much about Baha.
Just brushed it off.
Had he known they’d meet again like this, he might’ve reacted differently.
Anyway, once they arrived, they were sent to different locations, trained, and assigned their roles.
Baha became the Commander of the Holy Legion in the Grand Temple.
Ranshel became Zavad’s personal attendant.
‘They made him a Commander? The Holy Order really is something else.’
Ranshel laughed.
Baha widened his pitch-black eyes, scrutinizing Ranshel’s face.
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“It’s just… funny. You talking about killing me and all.”
“…What’s funny about that? Is it ’cause I said I’d only cut off your legs? Should I take your arms too?”
“No, Baha. That’s not necessary.”
Ranshel gently closed his eyes and reopened them.
He calmed the nausea, slowed the pounding in his chest.
Now, the time had come.
“…No matter how much you like me, you can’t kill me.”
Baha always wanted to kill what he loved.
Like the butterfly wings he ripped with his own hands.
Like Ranshel’s mother, whose throat he slit himself.
And then he’d pray, asking God for forgiveness.
As if wondering whether even he could still be loved.
Ranshel calmly shut his eyes again.
If there was a last face he wanted to see—it wasn’t Baha’s.
Not those pitch-black, dead eyes.
Inside his eyelids, he saw red eyes.
Even if they weren’t in front of him anymore, he could summon that face anywhere he went.
Ranshel smirked bitterly, then opened his mouth.
“You’re not the one who gets to kill me.”
“……”
“My life already belongs to someone else. It’s not yours.”
“……”
“You can’t have me. Not ever.”
Silence, thick and absolute.
Then the sharp edge of a blade cut through the air.
The world went dark.
And in that darkness, where everything vanished—red eyes, and…
Thuck.
The sound of a blade piercing flesh.
Thuck.
Human life, it turns out, is stubbornly persistent.
Thuck. Thuck.
Death came only much later.
Thuck. Thuck. Thuck. Thuck. Thuck. Thuck…
.
.
.
And then, the moment he’d desperately longed for arrived—
with a system alert.
[Mini Game Over]
[One spare life has been consumed.]
[♥♥♥♡♡]
[If all lives are lost, complete death will follow. Please take caution.]
* * *
