~Chapter 9~
Bang!
Lovelace opened her eyes with a start. A faint blue glow shimmered in the pre-dawn darkness. Reflexively, she tried to pull the blanket over her head—but couldn’t. Someone had stopped her.
“I am here to serve you, Miss Lovelace.”
A stranger leaned over her.
“AAAaaaah!”
Lovelace screamed. The man looked startled—and then furiously tried to calm her as she shouted.
“Miss Lovelace, I am no suspicious person. I am a divine messenger on behalf of His Holiness, the Pope….”
“Go away! I said—GO AWAY!”
Lovelace leapt from the bed and sprinted down the corridor. In that moment, she understood why Larvihan had been angry at the guards.
A stranger had barged into his lady’s chamber—unthinkable!
“Miss Lovelace, the Pope waits for you! Miss Lovelace!”
The stranger’s panicked calls faded behind her. All Lovelace felt was terror—someone big, with burning eyes, watching her while she slept.
She ran as fast as she could—until she tripped.
“Miss Lovelace… *Gasp… Lov—gas—Lace, miss—”
The stranger, short of breath, was crawling toward her.
“You lunatic, get lost!”
Lovelace raised her hands in defense. Suddenly, a stream of cold water shot from her palms.
“AAAAaaaah!”
Whooosh!
The water and her screams echoed through the hall. The intruder flew down the length of the corridor and crashed into the wall.
“Well? What is this?”
Lovelace stared at her hands, bewildered.
Clap, clap, clap.
Applause echoed from the opposite corridor. Shocked, she turned to see Nicolai and Larvihan standing together—Nicolai stunned, and Larvihan beaming.
“…Larvihan?”
“Looks like my girlfriend isn’t just good at digesting things—her absorption skills and creativity are equally impressive.”
He appeared beside her, slipping his arm under her to lift her off the floor. He checked her for injury, then draped her in his robe.
“I… smell… blood.”
Lovelace frowned. Larvihan leaned close and whispered, “Sorry.” He explained a surprise guest had arrived in the morning.
“But—what just happened?”
“You just cast magic.”
“Excuse me? I didn’t—I’ve never been taught magic!”
“That was my power—that awakening was very well done. Now… Ray, should we teach that jerk a lesson?”
He smiled—using “Ray,” a nickname—something he’d begun using, perhaps out of convenience. Lovelace suspected he found her long name tedious.
With satisfaction, he stroked her hair while nodding toward the unconscious intruder.
“No need for him to die—I think I’ve punished him enough.”
Lovelace looked at her hands again. It hit her: she had done it. She had used magic! A mage, like in the novels! And it was Larvihan’s power. A strong and rare ability, clearly.
For the first time in days of struggling to survive this bleak world, she felt a spark of hope.
“Maybe God did give me a chance after all.”
She’d despised the brutal story she’d fallen into. But now: mage. Self-reliant, between Larvihan and Nicolai—perhaps she could survive this.
Her face brightened.
“Congratulations, Lovelace! Perhaps we should celebrate?”
Larvihan looked more delighted than she felt. You do know that’s your power, right? Why are you so happy?
A creeping intuition told her this urge to be glad was dangerous.
Later, Nicolai watched with grave concern as remnants of the clash between Larvihan’s guards and the intruder littered the estate grounds.
“This cleaning will take some time,” Larvihan muttered.
“May I return to my room now?” Lovelace asked.
Larvihan inclined to meet her gaze, lowering himself so she needn’t lift her chin.
“You tired?”
His eyes brimmed with warmth.
“Not exactly…”
“Then I want you to do something important for me.”
“What is it?”
Lovelace followed his gesture to a pile of rubble. It made her frown.
“That atrocity… was caused by the Pope.”
She nodded. Larvihan’s eyes darkened momentarily—enough to unsettle her—but she forced a smile.
“Ray.”
He used the nickname again. Uncomfortable though it felt, she knew it meant something.
“If I don’t provoke, I’m calm. So, Ray,” he held Lovelace’s hand. She’d sustained a small scratch. Larvihan raised her hand and kissed the wound lightly.
“Don’t get mixed up with thieves like Nicolai, understand? So stay home today.”
He escorted her to her room and then stepped out.
“Guard her well. Or you won’t see the sunrise tomorrow.”
He addressed his knights chillingly, then departed for the Vatican—intent on retaliating against the Pope who had assaulted his domain.
Crack!—He let that violent streak shine through.
Seeing the ruined west gate of the Vatican cheered him. But he wanted more. He moved toward the south entrance.
“What are you doing, Lord Larvihan?!”
“You who stand against the sacred house of faith—do you serve this place or defy it?”
Priests stood in his way. Larvihan smiled—but only his lips curved; his eyes stayed hard.
“Didn’t you hear? I hate blocking traffic.”
He drew his sword. Its blade was instantly wrapped in a cold, blue aura.
“W-W-W-Weapons are forbidden in the Vatican, I—agh!”
He didn’t finish. His blade slashed through the priest’s throat. Blood spurted like a fountain.
A drop of that blood hit Larvihan’s cheek. Casually, he wiped it off with his hand and realized he wasn’t wearing a glove.
Should he put it on? His mentor had made the glove to help restrain his bloodlust.
Since childhood, Larvihan had been notorious—for wherever he went, there was blood and smoke. His mentor worried.
“Violence begets violence. Let mercy guide your hand.”
Conscious of that wisdom, Larvihan usually wore the glove. Clearly, this morning’s chaos had rattled him enough to forget.
Why? Because of her—Lovelace.
When he saw her in pajamas fleeing a priest, he nearly lost control. She’d unleashed a stream of water that saved him.
Even thinking of that made him smile.
I’m insane, aren’t I?
Glove on, the killing impulse cooled, but not entirely. He turned to face the priests again.
The Pope’s sanctuary doesn’t excuse his crimes. Under my hand—but only mine—his crimes will be judged.
And then Nicolai appeared.
