[Claire’s POV]
Manager Noel had been speaking to , his voice steady as usual. But then, suddenly, his head lowered.
His entire body stilled—frozen in ti, like a marionette with its strings abruptly severed.
It was only for a mont, but sothing about it unsettled .
Then, just as suddenly, his hands shot up to grasp his head, fingers digging into his scalp as his body began to shake violently.
A chill ran down my spine.
"Manager? What’s wrong?"
It was the first ti I’d seen him like this—shaking, lost in so invisible tornt. It was the first ti I’d seen him at all in three years.
Did his condition... worsen while at the military?
Noel never let anyone see his vulnerabilities. He despised it.
To him, concern was nothing more than veiled pity. And he hated pity. Being seen as fragile, as soone whose body was an eggshell just waiting to crack—he detested it. Even when it was true.
But now...
Now, he wasn’t pushing away.
If anything, he let hold him.
When I reached out, he collapsed against , his head resting against my chest.
I hesitated for only a second before wrapping my arms around him, cradling him gently. His body trembled against mine, his hands twitching, searching, until they found mine. His fingers, cold and unsteady, grasped mine desperately.
I felt a painful squeeze in my chest.
I ran my fingers through his hair, soothingly, as if comforting a lost child.
"It’s alright," I whispered. "I’m here... I’m right here, Noel."
I turned to the side, glancing at his desk, at the heavy stacks of docunts, at the small lamp casting warm light across the room. He had always buried himself in work, losing himself in duty rather than acknowledging his own suffering.
Did he always feel like this?
Had he always endured sothing this terrible?
If he had, then how could I have never noticed?
I glanced down at him again, my grip tightening.
"...Manager," I called softly, using his title despite the familiarity between us.
"Is sothing bothering you?"
That was why I was here, after all. I was his assistant.
He didn’t answer imdiately.
Instead, he looked up at .
His eyes—deep, dark pools of emotion—held sothing I had never seen before.
A silent plea.
He wanted to say sothing. His lips trembled, his teeth clenched as if he were waging a war against his own words.
But in the end, he didn’t speak.
I could only watch helplessly as he swallowed his thoughts like poison, keeping it buried where no one could reach it.
I wanted to help.
I wanted to take his pain and bear it with him.
But I couldn’t.
Even if I begged the heavens for a way to reach him, the heavens would never answer.
All I could do was be here.
Not as his subordinate. Not as his assistant.
But as soone who cared.
Soone who liked him.
Soone who had for a long ti.
I knew better than to say it. I was just a country girl. A relationship beyond this wouldn’t be possible, not when Noel already had a fiancée.
So, I swallowed it all, locking those emotions deep within.
And I stayed.
That was enough.
Slowly, Noel lifted a hand, brushing away his own tears.
Then, he looked straight at .
His next words sent a shiver down my spine.
"Do you want to live and see tomorrow, Claire?"
I blinked.
I hadn’t expected that. Not at all.
But the answer was simple.
If it ant staying by his side, then of course.
"Yes," I said softly.
Noel exhaled. Then, his gaze sharpened.
"Then from now on, you need to listen to ."
I nodded.
"The first step..." His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Close your eyes."
I hesitated.
This wasn’t like him.
But the look in his eyes told everything I needed to know.
So, I did.
I closed my eyes.
Then, Noel spoke again.
"There’s an assassin."
The room suddenly felt colder.
"She was sent to wipe out the Obsidian," he continued, his voice eerily calm.
"And everyone in it."
A breath caught in my throat.
Noel didn’t stop.
"By now, I don’t know if she’s already killed the rest of the employees, or if we’re the only ones left alive."
My hands trembled slightly, but I held my breath and listened.
"What I need you to do is sit quietly," he said.
"No matter what you hear... do not open your eyes."
I nodded again, hoping he could see my response.
Then—
A hand.
His hand.
Gently, he patted my head.
The room fell silent, except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock.
And then—
The door handle turned.
A slow, deliberate motion.
Click.
Then—
A swift sound.
Sharp, like the collision of countless tiny glass shards.
Followed by—
A high-frequency vibration, ringing in my ears, piercing my skull.
And then—
A voice.
A woman’s voice.
"What’s this?"
The voice was sweet. Almost playful.
"Soone was highly anticipating , I see..."
I felt my stomach twist.
"Was your love for so strong," she purred, "that you couldn’t wait to run a blade through ?"
I swallowed hard.
Don’t open your eyes.
I clenched my fists.
But then—
"If you were aiming for my heart..."
A soft chuckle.
"...sadly for you, I don’t have one."
I flinched.
Her tone... wasn’t human.
A philosophical lilt entered her voice, like a preacher speaking gospel.
"The heart... such a feeble, trembling thing. A sack of flesh that beats and weeps, that swells and falters with every fleeting emotion.
But what is a heart to soone who truly understands love?"
The sound of liquid dripping onto the floor.
"Tell , what need have I for sothing so fragile? So easily deceived? So... utterly unnecessary?"
My breathing quickened.
A wet cough.
"True love does not reside in the heart. No, the heart corrupts love, twists it, poisons it with expectation, with desire, with delusion.
Love is not the gentle touch of a hand nor the warmth of an embrace—it is suffering, it is devotion beyond reason, it is the willingness to drown in another and never surface again.
That... that is love in its purest form.
Wretched, all-consuming, beyond salvation. It does not flutter like a fool’s heartbeat; it devours."
"I have known love in ways you cannot fathom. I have bathed in it, bled for it, let it strip bare until I was nothing but devotion incarnate.
I do not need a heart to love, because my love is unshackled, untainted by the pathetic mortal need to ’feel.’
My love is truth, raw and undeniable.
I am the beloved of the world, and the world is my beloved in turn. It adores as I adore it...
And so, let introduce myself properly..."
"I am Sasha Mont Claire, disciple of the Wretched Faith. The true love of the world..."
I bit my lip.
I peeked.
And I saw her.
A woman with long, ink-black hair and deep, abyssal eyes.
Her lips were stained dark, as if kissed by death itself.
A stream of thick, black blood trickled from her mouth and nose.
Beneath her—
A pool of dark blood.
And at the center of it all—
A blade.
A glowing, prismatic sword made of pure, shimring glass.
It was embedded deep into her chest, piercing her through completely.
Yet, she was smiling.
I knew this sword.
I had seen it before.
Three years ago.
A weapon forged by only one man.
I lifted my gaze—
And saw him.
Noel stood there, his face void of emotion, his fists clenched tightly.
Around him, white wind swept from the floor up, glowing, crackling.
No mana.
Just raw, overwhelming force.
It swept through the room, causing my hair to lift, strands flowing in the phantom current.
Even with just one eye open, the sight was breathtaking.
Noel Saint Grenn.
The only man who could materialize such a blade.
"..."
"Close your eyes, Claire... and don’t look at her no matter what."
Noel’s voice echoed through my ears, sharp and absolute. It wasn’t a plea, nor a warning—it was a command.
How did he know that I had been peeking?
His gaze never wavered from the woman standing before him, as if he could see through without even looking.
I swallowed and clenched my fists, forcing my eyelids shut.
Then, she spoke.
"Oh? Have we made an encounter before?"
Her voice dripped with amusent, but there was sothing unsettling beneath it—a hidden thread of malice woven into silk.
"The fact that you know one shouldn’t look at ... how intriguing."
I could hear the smirk in her voice, a tone laced with self-admiration.
"That is the fate of all who lay eyes upon . For what is beauty, if not a divine burden upon the weak?
They look, and in looking, they fall.
Their minds shatter beneath the weight of my existence, their hearts beco slaves to the unbearable truth of what I am."
I bit my lip, keeping my eyes shut, but I couldn’t deny it—she was beautiful.
Even in my brief glimpse, she had seed almost... inhumanly so.
More captivating than the senior manager, more stunning than anyone I had ever seen.
It was terrifying.
"Law of Love," Noel said coldly. "That’s how your authority works."
The woman—Sasha Mont Claire, as she called herself—fell silent for a mont.
That silence alone was enough to confirm that Noel had struck a nerve.
Then, suddenly, she scread.
"How do you know that?!"
Her voice was no longer amused—it was raw, frenzied, shaking with sothing far more dangerous than fear.
"Why aren’t you falling under it?!" she shrieked, her voice rising into sothing almost unnatural.
"Why... why isn’t my wound healing?! Just... who the hell are you?!"
The malice in her voice surged, thick and suffocating.
"No matter..." she whispered now, her tone shifting, her breath heavy with sothing new—devotion.
"Then allow to show you... true love."
A shiver crawled down my spine.
"The love that transcends reason. The love that defies flesh. The love that unites souls beyond death.
Noel, Claire... let teach you what wretched love truly ans."
She exhaled, and I could hear the reverence in her breath, as if she were reciting scripture.
"I will show you how love is boundless—by stripping the life from your bodies and weaving you into sothing eternal. I will carve you into one. Flesh to flesh, bone to bone. Your bodies will rot together, your souls entwined in a dance of decay."
I trembled, my body recoiling involuntarily against the desk behind .
"And when your corpses are defiled beyond recognition..." she whispered, almost lovingly, "then, and only then, will you understand—true love does not end at death. It begins there."
I gasped, covering my mouth to keep from screaming.
Then—
The sound of glass.
Not shattering, but colliding. A thousand tiny shards clinking together in an uncountable flurry, a high-pitched resonance that rang through the air like death itself.
Two sharp, almost imperceptible high frequencies—so fast, so sudden.
Then her groans. Then her screams.
"This is for the many tis I had to repeat this sa day... over and over... and over again!"
Noel’s voice was filled with raw, unfiltered malice.
Each word was spat through clenched teeth, each syllable soaked in sothing more than anger—sothing that went far beyond pain.
And then—piercing. Over and over and over again.
"You disgusting, loveless bastard!"
Sasha’s voice was ragged, barely human.
Then a choked groan—Noel.
I gasped, my eyes snapping open despite my fear.
And I saw it.
A dagger, embedded deep into Noel’s throat.
Blood ran in thick rivulets down his collar, his breath gurgling as he struggled to steady himself against the desk.
"Noel!" I cried, my vision blurring with tears.
Despite everything, despite knowing that I shouldn’t—I turned my gaze toward the woman.
I instantly regretted it.
Sasha Mont Claire was no longer beautiful.
Her body was riddled with glass swords—not just one, but dozens.
So plunged through her chest, so through her limbs, one in particular had gone straight through her skull, piercing from the back and splitting half her face.
Yet... she still stood.
Her one remaining eye, bloodshot and bulging, locked onto Noel.
Above her, more swords hovered—ethereal, prismatic, glowing in the dim office light.
Noel’s fingers twitched, and one by one, the blades fell, each impact sending Sasha tumbling back, her body staggering under the relentless assault.
She coughed, dark blood oozing from her lips, and with trembling hands, she grasped one of the glass blades buried in her gut.
Then—she pulled it out.
Her insides poured from the wound along with the blood, slick and glistening, but she didn’t react to the pain.
Instead, she lifted the blade, its surface now painted black with her own blood, and pointed it at Noel.
Her lips curled into a smile, her voice weakening but no less filled with fervor.
"Wretched love... true love... is never unreciprocated."
She gasped, her voice trembling as she spoke, as if reciting scripture once more.
"The world loves , and I love it in return. But those who reject my love..."
Her fingers tightened around the blade.
"Those who deny —deny love itself—are fated to be consud by it. Your body, your soul, Noel... if you will not love in life, then I shall take your love in death."
My body shook.
I stumbled backward, knocking against the desk.
A drawer popped open from the impact, and papers and small trinkets spilled onto the floor.
Among them—
A pen.
Or at least, it looked like one. But the insignia on it...
"That’s... the Saint Redwyne Household symbol..." I whispered.
I barely had ti to process it before I saw Sasha limping forward, step by agonizing step, towards Noel.
He was trying to hold his throat, trying to stop the bleeding, but his strength was waning.
The glass blade in Sasha’s hand glead as she raised it high.
I didn’t think.
I grabbed the pen, pressed the top.
A low whirl filled the air, a vibration so soft it almost went unnoticed—
Then—
The world exploded.
A massive gust of wind tore through the office, sending papers flying, knocking over furniture, rattling the very walls.
I closed my eyes instinctively.
When I opened them—
Yellow mana filled the room, its glow radiant and warm.
A figure stood between Noel and Sasha, his presence overwhelming, his very existence forcing the air itself to tremble.
Dressed in white, golden hair cascading like the light of dawn, his right hand was outstretched—his fingers grasping the blade Sasha had swung down upon Noel.
He squeezed.
The glass shattered in his grasp, not into shards, but into pure divine light, dissipating into nothingness.
I gasped.
There was no mistaking him.
One of the most powerful knights in Veloria.
The first son of House Saint Redwyne.
The most feared and influential individual of the current era.
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