“I’m sorry… I…”
Inside the house, the only sound in the quiet room was Aurora’s soft sobbing.
Lorabelle was straddling Aurora, her hands still tightly pinning down Aurora’s wrists.
The tear-streaked Aurora before her—her pitiful expression, her defenseless face, the very image that stirred a desire to dominate and possess—was fully revealed to Lorabelle.
Aurora didn’t want Lorabelle to see her in such a disheveled state, so she turned her head away, letting her tears roll down her fair cheeks and soak into the pristine white sheets.
Lorabelle had no idea why she was here.
She remembered only falling asleep—and when she woke up, everything was already like this.
“Please… let me go.”
Aurora’s trembling voice came again.
Lorabelle snapped back to her senses and immediately got off of her.
Once freed, Aurora pulled her arms—red and sore from being pinned—toward herself and covered her eyes, trying to completely hide her pathetic appearance.
Lorabelle didn’t know what had just happened, but she could clearly feel the slight numbness on her lips and tongue.
A disturbing thought surfaced in her mind.
Her face flushed red instantly.
She turned away from the still-crying Aurora on the bed, stammered out another apology, and quickly left the room.
“Damn it…”
“What the hell happened?”
Lorabelle lightly touched her lips.
Her face was still flushed, and her heart pounded wildly—like it had just finished a hunting rampage.
But unlike the usual calm after such a “hunt,” this time, her chest was filled with an exhilaration, a lingering thrill, and joy she had never experienced before.
A completely new, overwhelming emotion.
Lorabelle hurried back to her own room.
She locked the door behind her, then dove headfirst into the sheets.
Scarlet hair spilled across the white bedding, like countless bouquets of red roses scattered upon the snow.
And her gem-like ruby eyes—shining and vivid—resembled two fallen red stars, glowing as they descended upon this garden of roses.
Her feverish cheeks showed no sign of cooling.
Every time she thought about Aurora’s face just now, her blush deepened, and her long, pale legs instinctively squeezed the comforter between them.
Knock, knock.
Suddenly, someone knocked on her door.
Lorabelle immediately sat up straight in bed.
Her large “white rabbits” bounced slightly with the sudden movement.
“Master, you still have one task left for today,” came the butler’s voice from outside.
Lorabelle cleared her throat twice.
She tried to keep her tone steady, but her voice still rose slightly in pitch against her will.
“You mean interrogating that cultist, right? Got it. Wait for me in the dungeon.”
“Yes, Master.”
The butler had served Lorabelle for many years.
He could tell something was off in her voice—but he didn’t ask any questions.
Sitting on the bed, Lorabelle took a deep breath, trying to calm herself and stop thinking about Aurora’s face.
Once she composed herself, she donned her armor and stepped out of the room.
****
In the dungeon.
The cultist was curled up in a corner of the cell, trembling with fear.
Heavy shackles bound his legs, etched with red magical sigils.
If he tried to escape, crimson flames would erupt from the chains—not to harm his body, but to inflict searing pain, a burning torment without leaving a single wound.
Clank, clank, clank…
The heavy sound of armored steps grew louder.
The cultist shrank back even further, too afraid to make a sound.
Lorabelle arrived at the cell door, her holy sword at her waist, eyes cold and sharp—completely different from the bashful girl just moments ago.
“Cultist,” she said, “tell me where you came from, and I’ll make your end easier.”
She drew her holy sword, and in an instant, divine light flooded the dark dungeon.
The cultist shrieked and tried to cower further into the shadows, like a rat caught in the sun.
The intense radiance seared his eyes, and before long, his dark skin began to melt like ice, revealing glimpses of the white bone beneath.
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”
“Please! Just take that sword away!” the cultist howled in agony.
Lorabelle sheathed the sword.
But before the man could catch his breath, she kicked him hard to the ground.
“If you don’t want to be purified piece by piece, talk now.”
“I-I will!”
“Our organization… we plan to—”
Suddenly, mid-sentence, the cultist coughed up a stream of black liquid.
The strange fluid gushed from his mouth, and his body began to shrivel like a dried husk, his skeletal outline faintly visible beneath the skin.
“Help… help me…”
Death Curse.
Lorabelle instantly recognized the cruel spell responsible for this gruesome sight.
She began chanting a counter-spell under her breath to purge the curse, and slowly, the cultist’s bizarre affliction began to ease.
“Tell me everything,” she said coldly.
“And I’ll make your death painless.”
“They… they want to summon Hoplas!”
“Please, just kill me—kill me now…!”
The cultist once again began vomiting black fluid.
Lorabelle, having gotten the answer she wanted, turned away without even glancing back at the withering figure, now nearly reduced to bare bones.
“Burn him completely once he’s dead.”
“Yes, my lady,” the butler responded.
Without another word, Lorabelle left.
To a cultist who had caused such suffering to innocent people—why should death be a mercy?
With that cold thought, she walked out of the dungeon.
“Hoplas… A name I’ve never heard before.”
On the way back, Lorabelle kept thinking about what the cultist had said.
If she went by past cultist behavior, Hoplas was likely some kind of monster.
She’d already slain many abominations created by them—but for this one, they had dared to approach the royal capital in search of a sacrifice. T
hat had never happened before.
Could this creature be something far more dangerous than anything she’d seen?
Usually, the hardest part in dealing with such threats was finding them—once found, eliminating them was the easy part.
I need to locate it.
Destroy it before it’s too late.
With that resolve, Lorabelle climbed the stairs to the second floor.
She paused outside Aurora’s room.
Swallowing, she raised her hand to knock, unsure of what to expect.
She wanted to check on her.
She knocked.
No response.
Asleep, maybe?
She turned to leave—but suddenly, her pupils shrank violently.
Her gaze turned dull and muddy, like sinking into a bottomless swamp.
“Big sister… Big sister…”
She abruptly turned around again and hurled her body against the door, bursting it open.
The room was empty.
The window facing the manor gate stood wide open.
On the bed lay a single withered leaf.
“She… ran away…”
Tears fell like a fine drizzle. Lorabelle clutched her chest—the pain in her heart so sharp it stole her breath.
“You can’t run—you can’t, you can’t!”
“Don’t leave me again…”
“I’m going to catch you, Sister.”
And with that, Lorabelle leapt straight out the window, chasing down the lingering trace of Aurora’s presence without hesitation.