The young man's breath hitched as Reon leaned in slightly, his gaze dark and unreadable.
"You said my sword had no intent to kill, right?"
Reon smiled.
But to the man, it was not the smile of a human. It was something far worse—a demon's grin, a cruel, merciless expression that emerged straight from the depths of hell.
The once-proud assassin was nothing more than a mutilated slab of flesh, his body a ruin of severed limbs, blood pooling around him like a grotesque offering to death itself.
His lips quivered. His soul shook.
"D-D-Devil…" His voice cracked, pure horror dripping from every syllable. "Please… someone… anybody… help me!"
Reon tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Your voice is as irritating as ever. Asking for help, are you? But I'm right here."
His voice was mockingly sweet, dripping with cruel amusement. "Of course, I'll help."
His smile deepened.
"I'll make sure you leave this world quickly… without too much pain."
