Sweetness and Floral Fragrance Lingering in the Dead of Night

"Only one."

"I want to see someone."

Xi Wang thought for a moment before speaking.

"I want to see a priest named Enrique."

She should still be alive, right? Xi Wang thought.

"...No problem."

The young man did not hesitate for long before agreeing. It seemed Xi Wang's request had not surprised him.

"Your injuries need to be treated first... Don't worry, as my employee, you'll receive basic medical coverage~ As for the person you want to see... I'll arrange it for you."

The young man looked Xi Wang over again and smiled with satisfaction. Then he lightly snapped his fingers, signaling the others to take Xi Wang away for treatment first, saying that he still had matters to handle.

"..."

Xi Wang stared at him for a while before ultimately choosing to follow his arrangements—he had no choice.

After recovering for two days, the young man kept his promise and took Xi Wang out to meet Father Enrique.

The location was—the cemetery.

The Sweetness and Floral Fragrance Pervading the Late Night

At the cemetery, you stared blankly at Father Enrique's tombstone.

After searching through the news, you found reports from several days ago about Father Enrique's death from illness. According to them, Father Enrique had died from a sudden heart attack. There had not even been time to save him before he passed away in such a hasty manner.

As someone with a modest reputation in the world, Father Enrique's death naturally drew mourning from many people. Quite a few influential figures publicly expressed their regret and sorrow over his passing. The news devoted considerable space to recounting Father Enrique's life, praising his character while lamenting his departure.

Even at the end of his life, Father Enrique had still been running around for a church struggling to stay afloat—when you saw that sentence in the latter half of the article, you had a bad feeling.

Sure enough, although the latter half still spoke of Father Enrique's deeds, it kept bringing up that church from time to time, as though Father Enrique had shared some deep connection with it... This habit of trying to squeeze a profit out of everything, whether it was reputation or money, disgusted you.

And someone like Father Enrique, unless he had specifically requested otherwise, should have had his body taken back by the Church and buried in a Church cemetery, or transported back to his hometown to rest in his native soil. Yet now he lay in a public cemetery in the same town as that church, openly and subtly telling everyone, "Father Enrique had some connection to the church here." You felt that if they could have, they would have buried Father Enrique directly in the cemetery behind that church.

Father Enrique had clearly come here for the first time, yet they described it as though this place had been his hometown.

It was truly disgusting.

Moreover, Father Enrique had not "died from illness." He had been murdered—the young man who brought you here told you the priest's true cause of death.

You asked how he knew, but he merely smiled without answering.

You knew what he was trying to say, so you fell silent.

Seeing that you understood, the young man changed the subject and explained why Father Enrique had been killed... He had simply come into contact with certain things that could not see the light of day, and the priest happened to possess both the ability to expose them and the credibility to make the world believe him.

To keep the industries lurking in the dark running, even Father Enrique, who had some reputation in the world, had to die.

Of course, to save the Church's face, they naturally left his body intact. But that was all.

The young man said many things, including his own admiration for someone like Father Enrique, some veiled words of comfort for you, and the details of how you had gone from being a prisoner to becoming their "consumable."

You did not care much about any of that. As for his comforting words, you had long since become immune to them and could clearly distinguish what they were.

All you regretted now was asking him for help in the first place, causing him to end up like this. A portion of the reputation he had built through a lifetime of good deeds was being forcibly pried away by others, and he had even become a tool for others to amass wealth.

You wanted to cry, to weep for Father Enrique's passing, confess your sins to him, and apologize for bringing him to such an end.

But you could not. Your tears had long dried up in that place called a warehouse, which was in truth a prison.

You gently stroked the tombstone, as though doing so would let you touch the priest who had wanted to help you, as though it would convey your apology to him.

You let go of many things. You let go of the idea that you could be saved, let go of any intention of "calling for help," and your heart returned to the stagnant calm it had once possessed. The ripples that had resurfaced because of that girl's arrival were smoothed away one by one.

Ah, right... her too... that girl—Elysia. She was still alive... She was your last remaining prayer.

You no longer hoped to be saved, much less expected her to save you. You only hoped that she could live in peace, only asked that she remain safe... You only prayed that you could tightly protect that faint, hazy little light in your heart, that tiny hope which seemed like nothing more than a delusion you had imagined for yourself.

The young man beside you seemed to sense your thoughts. As if mentioning it casually, he told you that "only the priest had died."

You let out a slight sigh of relief inwardly—this was already the best news you could have received.

Afterward, having fulfilled his promise, the young man took you back. You officially began the rest of your life as a "blade."

Time passed swiftly. You cycled through training, resting, and carrying out missions. In what felt like the blink of an eye, you had gone from a boy to a young man. Just as the young man who led you had predicted, you became the best "blade" in the organization.

You killed swiftly and precisely. Not a single mission you had taken had failed. You never asked who the target was, never turned around and asked "why," and never cared about the details of the mission.

As long as you were given the information of "where, when, and who to kill," you could complete the mission without ever failing, even if the target was the leader of a country.

The organization also expanded greatly because of your "astonishing record." It established connections with many special forces, gained more clients with unusual identities, and gradually changed its original structure, becoming more standardized.

It was during this continuous expansion that the organization acquired its own name—Poison Chrysalis. And you became its sharpest "blade," Poison Chrysalis's Golden Signboard.

Normally, you were taciturn. Aside from occasionally wandering around aimlessly during breaks, you had no entertainment and no particular hobbies, like a machine that only knew how to kill.

Well... perhaps that was not entirely true? After all, you loved candy, especially star-shaped candy. You were particularly fond of that shape. This was something everyone in Poison Chrysalis knew, and it was the only preference others knew you had.

Naturally, since you had done so much for Poison Chrysalis, Poison Chrysalis would reward you accordingly. The most obvious examples were certain "privileges" it granted you, along with longer vacations and more generous reimbursement limits.

But in your eyes, Poison Chrysalis's best reward was its willingness to provide you with information about "those people"—the people behind the priest who had tortured you back then.

Only after truly coming into contact with the complicated interests behind them could one realize just how tangled the connections were and how enormous the entire interest group had become.

By now, you had killed several hundred people connected to them in one way or another, yet you had only peeled back one corner of that interest group.

You could not kill them all. You simply could not. Perhaps people were still joining that group in an endless stream. Someone you killed might be replaced by a new person the very next day. This "industry chain" would never suddenly break just because someone was missing.

What you were doing was merely a drop in the bucket... But even so, you would keep doing it.

Because this was the only thing you "wanted to do" now.

At night, the bustling city was ablaze with lights. The streets were packed with people, and even the late hour could not dampen their enthusiasm. Playful children whined, hoping their parents would let them "play a little longer." Affectionate couples hurried to late-night movies, laughing as they discussed whether they should get another midnight snack afterward. Employees working the night shift sighed, wondering whether they should trade shifts with a coworker next time.

And amid this noisy place stood an extremely tall building that could be called a landmark. The lower floors were places for people to shop and have fun. The middle floors were a hotel, whose expensive prices deterred ordinary people. As for the upper floors... no one knew.

They were probably offices for some companies—most people guessed.

Perhaps they were private residences for certain people. After all, rich people liked doing that—some others joked.

Unfortunately, that small group had guessed right. This really was the "residence" of one—or rather, a group of—wealthy people.

If you entered one of the floors in that "residence," you would be shocked by its extravagant decorations, the expensive liquor piled on the shelves, the abundance of delicacies, the boys and girls wandering around in provocative clothing, and the obscene sounds faintly rising from booths and corners. If you entered certain special rooms, you might see even more "exciting" sights, or be assaulted into a daze by some thick, pungent smell—such as blood, or something else.

They played here, reveled here, and freely indulged their desires here.

They did not need to worry that their ugly desires would be despised or mocked—because everyone else had similar ones.

They did not need to worry about how bizarre the "games" they proposed were—because everyone else found them interesting too.

They especially did not need to worry whether what happened here counted as "crime"—though the answer was obviously "yes," they would not be caught, would they?

They fully displayed their "true selves," going further and further in pursuit of ultimate pleasure, day after day, night after night.

Of course, even this could not satisfy them, because this place... was too small. It could no longer satisfy them.

But they were not worried, because they had already contacted "those people" and obtained the right to go to that "island."

There, they could indulge themselves even more recklessly. They could do more... No, they could do anything they wanted.

As for the fact that their happiness was built upon hurting others... What did that matter? They had paid for it, after all!

As they ordered those boys and girls... Ah, no, they should be called "toys," instructing them to remove their clothes and strike poses that were either awkward or humiliating, they fantasized about whether they would have even more room to indulge themselves once they reached that "island."

But today...

"Say, did any of you replace the air freshener here?"

One of them sniffed twice and asked with a smile, pulling over a delicate-looking boy dressed in women's clothing.

Yes, a boy.

"There's a faint floral fragrance, and something sweet too... Honestly, it's pretty nice. Could I get some for my room as well?"

"Heh~ Now that you mention it, I only just noticed it too. It really does smell nice."

"I don't think anyone here ever asked for something like that... Maybe the manager changed it himself? Just ask him for some later."

The others did not pay much attention to it and merely responded casually.

"Sure, I'll ask him for some later."

The man who had spoken first nodded with a smile. After greeting his companions, he rose with the delicate boy and headed toward his own room.

When he pushed open the door, it revealed an interior not much different from that of a high-end hotel—of course it did, because unlike the others, he did not have any bloody or disgusting tastes.

He simply liked "trying all kinds of different partners." Boys or girls did not matter. Four years old or forty years old were all the same to him; he would sleep with them either way. In simple terms, his tastes were broad.

"All right, go lie down."

He lightly patted the boy's perky backside and spoke casually, then undressed and walked into the bathroom, intending to wash up first.

But when he came back out, he discovered that the boy had already fallen asleep on the bed.

"Seriously, do I have to do it myself this time?"

He frowned, somewhat displeased. But then he reconsidered. Sleeping with someone unconscious did not seem so bad, and might even be more interesting.

The air conditioner had adjusted the room to a comfortable temperature. Speakers hidden somewhere played soothing music. The sweet scent of air freshener spread through the room. Combined with the lovely boy asleep on the bed, dressed in lewd clothing and completely unaware of the outside world...

Ah~ I can't take it anymore~ I'll censor this myself~

Just as he excitedly prepared to begin, he suddenly felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck. Everything below his neck seemed to lose sensation in an instant, and his entire body went limp as he collapsed onto the bed.

...Huh?

He was still stunned, unsure of what had happened. Only when the pure white bed became stained red, only when the smell of blood reached his nose, did he realize why this had happened to him.

He had been killed... He had been killed in nothing more than a moment of distraction.

At some point, someone had entered his room, silently come up behind him, and killed him.

Who was it? Which one of them could it be? I obviously haven't provoked anyone lately, have I?

He struggled to recall, trying to force his thoughts to move, but unfortunately, his body could no longer support such effort. His pupils gradually lost focus, his thoughts slowly came to a halt, and in the end, they froze forever in that confusion.

The smell of blood gradually spread through the room, eventually mixing with that sweet scent that seemed like air freshener.

"Drip—"