Moonlight was as cold as ice.
Deep within the palace, in Cecilia Lucas’s bedchamber.
The teeth of a comb made of pure gold slid across her scalp.
Once.
Twice.
The maid’s hand was steady and her breathing light, for fear of disturbing her capricious mistress.
But in the next second.
That hand froze.
A hand so pale it looked like it had been soaked in water for three days reached out from the shadows.
The fingers splayed open, gripping the back of the maid’s head.
No words.
No warning.
“Crack.”
It was the sound of a cervical vertebra snapping.
Crisp and pleasant to the ear.
The maid didn't even let out a scream; her body went limp like a pile of mud.
As she collapsed to the floor, her hand still clutched the gold comb tightly, tearing out several golden strands of hair in the process.
Cecilia Lucas frowned.
“That hurts.”
She touched her scalp, her tone carrying a hint of petulant complaint.
As for the corpse on the floor that still held some body heat?
She didn't give it a single glance.
It was as if she had just accidentally knocked over a vase.
The person in the shadows stepped out.
He wore an ill-fitting, wrinkled academy uniform. His blue bangs were long enough to cover half his face, and his glasses were as thick as the bottom of a beer bottle.
Horn Montfoss.
The cowardly club president who was always submissive in front of Bell and couldn't even put his socks on right.
At this moment.
He knelt down and looked at the corpse on the floor.
There was no fear in his eyes.
Only a greed akin to seeing food.
He reached out and dipped his fingers into the pool of warm blood.
Thick and crimson.
Then.
He ran his blood-stained hand through his messy bangs.
With a forceful swipe backward, the hair that had covered his eyes was slicked back, held firmly in place by the blood acting as hair wax.
It revealed a smooth forehead.
And those eyes.
The whites were large and the pupils small, like some kind of cold-blooded reptile.
He took off the heavy glasses and tossed them onto the expensive carpet.
“Crunch.”
He crushed them underfoot.
The cowardly, socially anxious tech geek was dead.
Standing there was an absolute madman.
“Good evening.”
Horn licked the remaining blood from his fingertips, a look of enjoyment on his face.
“Cecilia.”
Cecilia Lucas sat before the vanity, watching the man behind her through the mirror.
Her expression showed no ripple of emotion.
“You’re late.”
“And.”
She pointed to the corpse on the floor.
“You dirtied my carpet.”
Horn smiled, his mouth splitting into an exaggerated arc that revealed forest-white teeth.
“My apologies.”
“I ran into something interesting on the way.”
He walked up behind Cecilia Lucas and looked at the girl in the mirror.
“I saw your brother.”
Cecilia Lucas’s hand, which was tidying her hair, paused.
A vortex of what could only be called “obsession” instantly surged in her originally cold blue eyes.
“Brother...”
She murmured, as if reciting a mantra.
“How is he?”
“Does he miss me?”
“Does he have the scent of another woman on him?”
Horn shrugged.
“I don’t know if he misses you.”
“But I do know.”
“He is a genius.”
Horn’s voice carried a morbid tremor, like a shiver before a climax.
“A true genius.”
“That understanding of the soul, that coldness in treating life like building blocks to be pieced together at will.”
“He is simply a work of art.”
Hearing the word “genius.”
Cecilia Lucas trembled all over.
She spun around abruptly, cupping her burning cheeks with both hands.
Her eyes were terrifyingly bright.
“Right?!”
“Right?!”
“I knew it!”
“Brother is the best!”
“Those idiots don’t understand how wonderful Brother is at all!”
She was as excited as a little girl who had been given candy, squirming in her chair with her skirt fluttering.
“Only I know.”
“Only I know how perfect Brother is.”
“Ah...”
Cecilia Lucas let out a sweet, syrupy sigh, her legs involuntarily tightening.
“So charming.”
Horn watched Cecilia Lucas as she sank into her own self-induced climax, a trace of mockery flashing in the depths of his eyes.
Another lunatic.
But as long as she was useful, it was fine.
Cecilia Lucas panted a few times, forcibly suppressing that agitation.
The flush on her face hadn't faded yet, but her gaze had already turned cold.
Her face changed as fast as flipping a page in a book.
“What about that man?”
she asked, her voice laced with bone-chilling killing intent.
Leovet Victor.
The man who had beaten her and chased her away like a dead dog.
The biggest stumbling block preventing her from being “together forever” with her brother.
If she didn't get rid of him, she couldn't even get close to her brother.
“Can you kill him?”
Horn pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the blood from his hands.
“Leovet Victor...”
“The man who claims to see through all truth.”
“He is indeed a bit troublesome.”
“However.”
Horn threw the blood-stained handkerchief onto the maid’s face, covering the eyes that had died without closing.
“As long as he has a soul.”
“As long as he has desires.”
“He is food.”
Horn walked to the window and looked at the pale moon outside.
“Not just Leovet Victor.”
“The entire Royal Magic Academy.”
“Those self-righteous instructors, those high-and-mighty old fossils.”
“They will all become my sustenance.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
He made a gulping sound.
Gulp.
In the silent room, it was exceptionally clear.
Horn thought back to when he was a child.
Seven years old.
That was the first time he tasted “flavor.”
The little maid who had followed him around since they were small, calling him Master.
She had two dimples when she smiled; she was very sweet.
That day.
In a corner of the garden, he had tied her hands and feet with rope.
That was the first time he had killed someone.
When the knife went in, blood splashed across his face.
The girl cried and begged for mercy, saying “Master, it hurts,” and “Master, please let me go.”
But he didn't stop.
One stab.
Two stabs.
Until the girl stopped moving.
Until that white ball of light—which only he could see—drifted out from the corpse.
He opened his mouth.
And took a bite.
In that moment, the world exploded before his eyes.
Delicious.
Utterly delicious.
Ten thousand times more savory than any delicacy in the world.
That was the taste of a soul.
A fine wine brewed from a mixture of fear, despair, and pain.
From that day on, he couldn't stop.
His parents.
The butler.
The uncle and aunt who had raised him as their own son.
One by one, they all went into his stomach.
He learned to camouflage, learned to play the role of a submissive loser.
Because only then.
Would the prey let down their guard.
Only then would they expose their softest neck.
“Are you hungry?”
Cecilia Lucas’s voice interrupted his memories.
Horn turned around and looked at the girl sitting in the chair, swinging her legs.
“I am very hungry.”
Horn answered honestly.
“Especially after seeing your brother.”
“I’m even hungrier.”
The soul of Bell Lucas.
Though he hadn't tasted it yet.
Just the scent of it made every cell in his body scream.
It was a masterpiece—a blend of two worlds, having experienced the cycle of life and death.
If he could eat him.
Horn felt that he could probably become a god directly.
Cecilia Lucas tilted her head.
Her long golden hair fell across her chest.
She looked at Horn as if looking at a crawling insect, yet also as if looking at one of her own kind.
“Are you human?”
she asked suddenly.
Horn was stunned for a moment.
Then he smiled.
He smiled so wide his gums showed—the expression of a beast before a hunt.
“Human?”
He raised his hand and looked at his long fingers.
The same hand that had just snapped a neck.
“No.”
“Just like you.”
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