Vanessa felt as though she had become the wind.
Like a butterfly, she danced on a knife's edge. Every hairbreadth dodge seemed honed through countless trials, every fierce counterattack landing precisely on the man.
The movements themselves were not complicated; even she could perform them. But the timing and angles were exquisite.
Vanessa could not help marveling again and again. So even she, weak as she was, could fight like this.
Her enemy was strong even by the standards of grown men, while she was so frail she looked as though a gust of wind could knock her over.
Yet she held the upper hand throughout the fight!
It hardly even seemed like a fight. It was more like toying with him, as though the presence controlling her was enjoying this moment.
Vanessa could not help feeling stirred. Just how powerful was that presence?
If it could fight like this with her feeble body, then if its true form came...
The girl could not help shivering, then forced herself to focus on the fight.
The man charged wildly again and again, yet could not even touch the hem of her clothes.
Vanessa had once watched a bullfight. The matador had faced the bull without the slightest fear, gracefully and lethally sidestepping its charge before plunging a sword into its back.
That scene seemed to play out before her eyes again.
Only this time, she was not sitting in the stands. She was in the arena.
The feeling was truly... wonderful.
She grew distracted, slipping into a momentary daze.
Whoosh!
The man's heavy fist swept past almost close enough to graze her nose, carrying a rank gust!
Yet the girl felt not the slightest panic-sure enough, before her mind could react, the will that had descended upon her had already slid her body half a step backward! The wind from his punch brushed her cheek, leaving a cold, stinging sensation.
And at some point, a Folding Knife had appeared in her hand. By the time they passed each other, the knife was lodged in the man's throat.
Like the sword driven into the bull's back.
Vanessa's gaze fell on the Folding Knife, a trace of surprise and realization crossing her face-this was the one she had swiped from the Wild Dog Gang and kept stuffed in her pocket.
She had almost forgotten about it.
Only when she turned back to face the man did Vanessa realize he still had not fallen, even with a sharp knife sticking out of his throat and dark red blood running down its tip.
Wasn't this already beyond human limits? Wasn't this already a monster terrifying enough to frighten anyone?
At the sight, Vanessa froze for a moment. Then the corners of her mouth slowly lifted, and she actually began to giggle despite herself.
She did not know why. There was not a trace of fear in her heart, only the satisfaction of letting it all out.
In this city, she suffered. She lived her days in fear, suppressing her feelings and working day after day, until she had almost forgotten she was still a person.
Only now could she feel alive.
Perhaps she would die in the next moment. Perhaps everything she had was an illusion. Even now, her body did not belong to her.
But what did that matter? When had her fate ever been in her own hands? Even for an instant?
She no longer had any misgivings.
The world before Vanessa's eyes seemed to change. The alley, the goods, work, responsibility-all of it gradually faded away. Only her enemy remained before her eyes, and all she needed to do was fight.
Was she afraid of fighting?
Perhaps. She did not care.
She gave the wooden club a sharp flick, then released her fingers.
The wooden club spun once in the air and landed securely back in her hand. Its blood spattered onto the ground, and the end bristling with vicious spikes pointed at the man.
At that moment, she and Elliot seemed to share one mind. Two different wills cried out the same command within a single body-
[Charge]!
She drove off hard with her legs, her calfskin boots scraping against the ground with an ear-piercing screech as she shot forward like a bullet from a gun!
The man met her without dodging, lunging with his blood-dripping mouth open. The next instant, the spike-studded club smashed into it, sending a spray of broken teeth splashing out like water!
As though unable to feel pain, the man swept his arms around her like iron bands.
But the girl was like a swimming fish. She ducked low and slipped past his arms. In the instant they crossed, his clouded eyes reflected her wide grin, and-
The flash of a knife thrusting straight at him!
She had pulled the Folding Knife from his throat in the same motion and driven it savagely into his eye socket with a reverse grip!
The man lunged at empty air and crashed heavily to the ground. The knife's handle struck the ground, and with a wet squelch, the entire knife sank into his skull.
Yet even that was not enough to kill him. He shakily lifted his head, and then-
Bam!!
Vanessa gave him no chance to stand. She had already circled back, and her wooden club smashed hard into the top of his head, knocking him flat again.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Vanessa never stopped swinging. Amid dull thuds that made the scalp crawl, the man's battered head finally gave way, bursting like a leather sack filled with filth!
Thick red-and-white fluid mixed with bone fragments splashed onto Vanessa's leather boots.
Her body finally stopped.
The girl's chest heaved as she panted in short breaths, two patches of unnatural redness flushing her cheeks.
Somehow, she actually felt a little addicted to the sensation.
Violence, blood, the exquisite thrill of dancing on a knife's edge.
It took a long time for her feelings to gradually settle. Only then did she notice that the "stage" beneath her feet was covered in blood and filth. The man's corpse lay on the ground like a lump of rotten meat, and the wooden club in her hand was coated in blood.
Vanessa's eyes widened. She threw away the wooden club as though shocked by electricity, staggered to the corner, and doubled over, dry-heaving violently as bitter bile burned her throat.
This was Vanessa's first time killing someone with her own hands, her first time smelling that stench-unlike the stink of a rotting corpse, a freshly killed body had an indescribably nauseating odor. It was actually the smell of ruptured organs mixed with excrement and digestive fluids. Once smelled, it could never be forgotten.
She stumbled toward the mouth of the alley, then turned back, using both hands and feet to load her goods onto the cart before picking up the club and walking out.
The rest of the journey went surprisingly smoothly. Whether those casting ill-intentioned looks or the patrol officers maintaining order, everyone who saw the hospital emblem on the body bags and the Nail-Headed Club dripping with blood and filth changed expression slightly and gave way.
The next day, people discovered the corpse that had been smashed to a pulp.
Even in New Scandinavia, bodies in such a horrific state were rare.
The skull smashed open, the bloody holes stabbed into the body with a sharp knife, the wounds left by who knew how many nails, the limbs twisted completely out of shape... No professional examination was needed. One glance was enough to sense the brutality.
People exchanged looks and began talking all at once, gradually connecting the horrific scene with the figure who had left the night before.
After that day, the streets had a new legend.
It was said that the hospital's newly hired orderly was a madwoman. Wearing a loose Trench Coat, she pulled a Flatbed Cart with one hand and carried a spiked club in the other, roaming the city at dusk in search of her "patients."
Her cargo always arrived, never short of anything. Occasionally, there was even extra.
(Please send some monthly votes and keep reading. This book really needs everyone's help during its new-release period. It's very important to this book!)
Before you continue