Chapter 7

  The room was still heavy with the aftermath of Renard's death when the door swung open. Martin, followed closely by the guard who had been stationed outside, stepped inside with evident urgency.

  “I heard a noise,” Martin began, his voice with a tone of worries. “Is... is everything alright in here?”

  Sarah, sitting calmly, looked up with a faint, dismissive smile. “Oh, just an accident. Nothing to worry about.”

  Martin’s eyes widened as the scene fully registered. His gaze swept the room before landing on Renard's lifeless body stretched across the table, blood pooling around his neck. He froze, his face pale with shock. “An accident?!” he exclaimed. “There’s blood everywhere! Lord Renard is—he’s—what have you done?”

  The guard, who was wearing light armor that left much of his arms and legs exposed, stepped forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. His sharp eyes immediately noticed the clean cut across Renard’s throat. He drew his weapon, pointing it toward the two women. “That’s no accident!” he shouted. “That’s a murder! There’s a clear slash across his neck. Explain yourselves!”

  Martin’s shock quickly turned to rage. “You monsters! How dare you defile this house and murder Lord Renard? You’ll pay for this—both of you!”

  The guard wasted no time. With a swift dash, he closed the distance to Sarah and thrust his sword forward, the blade piercing through her left arm and into her chest. He shouted, his voice filled with fury and a hero-type tone. “Under Mosas law, I’m authorized to execute you both for the murder of nobility. I’ll take your heads so they can be displayed on the streets as a reminder to what happens to noble killers.”

  Nami chuckled, leaning back in her chair with an amused expression. “Sarah, why didn’t you dodge? You’re fast enough to avoid something so slow and predictable.”

  Sarah glanced down at the sword protruding from her arm and chest, her face utterly calm. She sighed, her tone tinged with self-reproach. “I suppose I deserved this. I should’ve seen it coming… I mean, that you’d kill him. Nami, you really need to stop pulling stunts like this. You’re testing my patience.”

  Nami tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Aw, Sarah, I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t think you’d get irritated over something so minor.”

  “Minor?” Sarah raised an eyebrow, her voice carrying a subtle edge. “Let’s just say there won’t be a next time. Consider this your warning.”

  Their casual exchange left both Martin and the guard stunned. The guard stammered, his grip on the sword faltering. “W-what are you? How are you still talking with a sword through your chest?”

  He drew a dagger from his side and swung it toward Sarah’s head in a desperate attempt to finish her off. With lightning speed, Sarah caught the dagger mid-swing with her free hand, her grip strong. The guard stumbled back, his bravery crumbling into fear.

  Martin’s face contorted with terror as he took a step back. “Monsters... you’re monsters!” he cried, before turning and running from the room, his panicked footsteps being heard down the hallway.

  Sarah sighed as she watched him flee. “Coward,” she muttered before turning her attention to Nami. “You know what to do.”

  Nami grinned, standing from her chair with an air of excitement. “With pleasure.” She walked out of the room, her laughter echoing faintly as she disappeared into the hallway.

  Meanwhile, Sarah grasped the hilt of the sword still lodged in her arm and chest. With a fluid motion, she pulled it free, inspecting the blade briefly before discarding it onto the floor.

  Her wounds began to close almost immediately, the torn flesh knitting itself back together without so much as a scar. She flexed her fingers, watching the process with mild curiosity. “You know,” she said, more to herself than to the guard, “I deactivated my resistance to low-level attacks just to see how it would feel. It’s... fascinating. There’s no pain at all. Well, maybe a little, but not unpleasant. Maybe I enjoy the sensation of battle wounds? The blood... the chaos...” She trailed off, a faint smile playing on her lips.

  The guard, now trembling on the floor, stared at her in horror, his voice was a quivering whisper. “What... what are you? What kind of monster are you?”

  Sarah stepped closer, her feet clicking softly against the floor. She knelt down beside him, her expression calm but her eyes glowing intensely red. “A monster?” she repeated, tilting her head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I’m quite pretty, don’t you think?”

  The guard whimpered, tears streaming down his face. “Please... please, don’t kill me. I have a family... a little girl. She needs me.”

  Sarah’s gaze softened for a moment, as though considering his words. She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder in a gesture almost akin to comfort. “Well… then maybe I could let-” As the guard face started to get full of hope, she stopped talking and smiled. “What? Thought I’d let you go? I’m sorry, but it isn’t personal,” she said softly.

  Before the guard could react, she pushed his own dagger—the one she had taken from him—into his neck with precise force. His body stiffened before collapsing to the ground, lifeless.

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  Sarah stood up, wiping her hands on a cloth she found on the table. She glanced down at the two bodies now littering the room and sighed. “What a mess.”

  She walked to the door, her demeanor calm, and stepped into the hallway to rejoin Nami.

  She had stepped out of the room into the dim hallway, where the sweet scent of blood was in the air; somewhere ahead, muffled screams were echoing-faint, yet unmistakable. Sarah sighed and followed the sound, her footsteps softly clicking against the varnished wooden floor. It was easy to locate the source—Nami's handiwork was rarely subtle.

  As Sarah approached the room, the screams became clearer, more desperate. She stopped at the doorway, her eyes glowing crimson and narrowing slightly at the scene before her. Martin, the butler, was lying on the floor, his body full with shallow wounds and his clothes soaked in blood. Though his injuries looked gruesome, Sarah could tell at a glance that none of them were fatal. Nami, as always, had been deliberate in her methods.

  “Really, Nami?” Sarah said with a resigned tone, her gaze fixed on the carnage.

  Nami glanced up from her position, kneeling beside the trembling man. Her black dress, though elegant, was speckled with crimson, and a playful smirk curved her lips. “What? You expected me to let him off easy?” She twirled a dagger between her fingers before pressing its tip lightly against Martin’s side.

  Martin whimpered, his tear-streaked face twisting in agony. “P-please,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from screaming. “Just end it... please...”

  Sarah sighed, stepping into the room. “If you’re going to kill him, just get it over with. Dragging this out is unnecessary.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?” Nami replied, tilting her head. She leaned closer to Martin, her smirk widening as she whispered, “It’s so much better when they beg.”

  Martin let out a loud cry as Nami drove the dagger into his arm with surgical precision, carefully avoiding any vital areas. His screams filled the room, sharp and raw, reverberating in Sarah’s ears. She watched impassively, her expression unreadable, though her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

  The sight didn’t frighten her—but she had maybe hoped it would—but there was something about it that felt... unpleasant. Not because of Martin's suffering, but because of the monotonous cruelty of it.

  “Nami,” Sarah said, her voice calm but carrying a note of warning, “enough.”

  Nami didn’t even pause. She withdrew the dagger and wiped its bloodied blade on Martin’s tattered shirt. “Not yet,” she said, her tone almost sing-song. “He’s still breathing. Look at him squirm—it’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

  Martin’s cries grew louder as Nami prepared to use the dagger again, her movements slow and deliberate to prolong his torment.

  Sarah closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose. The screams tested her patience like nails on a chalkboard. Her teeth clenched as the pitiful sounds continued. Finally, she walked forward, standing beside Nami and placing her hand firmly over Nami’s wrist just as she raised the dagger once more.

  Nami looked up, surprised, her grey eyes meeting Sarah’s. “What’s the matter?” she asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

  “It’s enough,” Sarah said, her grip steady.

  Nami chuckled, withdrawing her hand from Sarah’s grasp but keeping the dagger in her other hand. She rose to her feet, standing at eye level with Sarah. “Oh, I see,” she said mockingly. “Are you going to start getting moral on me now?”

  “Nami...”

  “No, really,” Nami interrupted, her smirk fading into something more pointed. “You’re lecturing me? Weren’t you the one who just killed that guard in the other room? What was his name? Doesn’t matter. He probably had a family, right? A wife, maybe even kids. And you killed him without hesitation.”

  “That was different,” Sarah said, her tone even but firm.

  “Was it?” Nami took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. The way his life faded in your hands. Don’t pretend you didn’t feel that rush, Sarah. I bet it felt... exhilarating.”

  Sarah didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she held Nami’s gaze, her expression unreadable. Finally, she sighed, releasing Nami’s wrist and stepping back. “Do whatever you want,” she said, her voice with a hint of fatigue. She turned backwards and began walking toward the door.

  Nami watched her leave, her smirk returning. “That’s what I thought,” she said softly, turning her attention back to Martin.

  Sarah didn’t look back as she left the room, the muffled sounds of Martin’s cries fading behind her. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway, the cool air brushing against her skin as she moved further from the mess.

  She wasn’t entirely sure why she had intervened. Perhaps it was the monotony of Nami’s cruelty that grated on her nerves, or perhaps it was something deeper—a faint twinge of something she couldn’t quite place. Either way, the screams of the dying held little interest for her tonight.

  As she walked, her thoughts lingered on Nami’s words. Was there truth in them? Had she truly enjoyed taking that guard’s life?

  Sarah sank into the plush couch in one of the manor's living rooms, letting out a long sigh. The silence around her was oppressive, broken only by the faint crackle of a dying fire in the hearth and the screams that still could be heard. She leaned back, staring at the ornate ceiling, her mind a storm of thoughts.

  Nami was... kind of right.

  She didn’t feel bad for what she’d done. The guard, his pleading, the life slipping from his eyes—it didn’t weigh on her conscience. If anything, she’d enjoyed it. The thrill, the rush of power, even the pain of the sword piercing her chest—it all felt... exhilarating.

  She looked down at her hand, flexing her fingers slowly as if the answer lay in the movement. Was this really her?

  Back on Earth, she was normal. A good young woman, or so she thought. Sure, she wasn’t perfect—who was?—but she wasn’t cruel, wasn’t heartless. She had laughed with friends in the past, helped strangers when she could, and cared about people. She wasn’t a saint, but she wasn’t bad either.

  But now?

  Her chest tightened as the questions swirled in her mind. She told herself it was all necessary, that these were the steps she had to take to achieve her goals. She said to herself that killing that guard was necessary… but was it? She could have easily wiped his memory, mind controlled him, or whatever. There were tons of ways to avoid killing him.

  The truth was undeniable. She enjoyed it. The blood, the violence, the raw, unfiltered power. Even watching Nami torment Martin hadn’t horrified her—it had only been... unpleasant. She hadn’t felt shock or disgust, just irritation at the noise and the monotony of it.

  Sarah’s gaze lingered on her hand as she whispered to herself, “Is this... me? I don’t know anymore.”

  She clenched her fist tightly, her nails digging into her palm, as if the pressure could force clarity into her thoughts. Was she a good person and this was a result of the lore of her demon character taking over her own thoughts and transforming her personality? Or was this just who she had always been, buried beneath the expectations and constraints of her old life?

  She shook her head slightly, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter. Whatever she felt—or didn’t feel—was irrelevant.

  For now, all that mattered was moving forward.