After hearing a young woman’s voice, Nevia felt a little more at ease. At least she hadn’t stumbled into some creepy kidnapper’s trap. Compared to a pervert, a mysterious assassin girl actually sounded kinda cool.

She stood obediently as instructed, sneaking glances backward from the corner of her eye. All she could make out was a shadowy figure draped in black.

“Don’t move.” The warning came again, weaker this time. Nevia sensed the speaker’s exhaustion—the voice lacked strength.

*What now?*

Countless ideas flashed through Nevia’s mind before she settled on a plan: *play cute*. This little girl’s body frustrated her, but it was also perfect armor. Few could bring themselves to harm an utterly harmless child—especially an older woman.

“Okay… Nevia will be good,” she chirped in a timid, childish tone.

When she thought of well-behaved kids, Alyssa’s gentle face popped into her head—that look that made everyone want to tease her. *Oops, bad thing to think about a friend… but Alyssa really is everyone’s favorite.*

Mimicking Alyssa’s expression, Nevia let out a trembling whimper: “P-please don’t hurt me…”

Her cheeks burned. *Ugh, embarrassing.* But she’d played the child for years—what was a few more minutes? *Might as well go all out.*

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you…” A weak cough followed the reassurance. “*Cough… cough…*”

*She’s badly injured. Perfect.*

A faint smile tugged at Nevia’s lips. Seizing the moment, she spun around abruptly and kicked with all her might at the wrist holding the dagger. Though this frail body paled next to her former Demon King physique, instinct remained. Her supple limbs could still execute complex strikes.

But even wounded, the assassin reacted instantly—dodging backward, dagger retreating from Nevia’s neck.

Now visible was a slender figure draped in tattered black robes. Gashes marred pale skin rarely touched by sunlight. Exhaustion carved deep lines into her face, stirring pity.

Stunned by the sudden counterattack, the assassin barely registered the shift from pitiful child to fierce opponent. Training overrode shock: as her dagger flew, she lunged for Nevia’s throat with the blade.

Yet her breathing grew ragged.

Nevia charged first. Her small body slammed into the assassin’s chest, drawing a sharp gasp. Even light movements strained her wounds. The metallic scent of blood thickened in the air.

Nevia pinned the girl’s limbs with her own slender arms and legs. The assassin struggled feebly, a pained groan escaping her lips.

*Plan worked.* Nevia’s heart fluttered with triumph.

“Nevia? What’s wrong?” Her mother’s voice floated up from downstairs.

“Oh! Just a stray kitten flew in through the window!” Nevia called back loudly, feeling the girl beneath her tense. She winked. “Right?”

The assassin managed a tired, crooked smile. “Do I even have a choice?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Nevia shook her head, retrieving the fallen dagger. She tested its edge with a flick of her wrist. “Nice blade…”

“What’s your name?” Nevia asked, meeting the girl’s storm-gray eyes.

Silence. Labored breathing filled the pause.

“Fine, keep it secret,” Nevia sighed, then smiled warmly. “You need treatment. These wounds will fester. My mom’s a skilled herbalist—she says every life deserves saving. Sinners face judgment by the Holy Light, not mortals.”

*Truth?* Nevia saw no malice in those weary eyes. *Plus… she’s got that mysterious charm. And I’m in charge here.* She’d never waste pretty words on a man—just bash his head in and send him to meet the Holy Light.

“You follow the Holy Light?” the assassin asked abruptly.

“Yep. Mom baptized me.”

“But you’re nothing like them.” Confusion flickered across her pale face.

Nevia tilted her head. “It’s the doctrine.”

The assassin studied Nevia’s delicate features. “Just doctrine. And you’re no ordinary child.”

“I’ve always felt mature,” Nevia declared proudly.

“Maybe.”

In a flash, the assassin twisted free, flipping Nevia onto her back. Pain contorted her triumphant smirk into a grimace.

Nevia stifled a giggle.

The dagger pressed cold against Nevia’s throat. “Stand. Turn around.”

“Alright, I surrender,” Nevia muttered, rising and facing the window, shoulders slumped.

“But how? You were exhausted!”

A pause. “I can’t fail here.” The words were soft but ironclad.

“That’s not an answer…” Nevia grumbled.

“It’s conviction.”

“Still don’t get it. But your body won’t last as long as your will.”

Silence.

“Let me treat you? These cuts are deep.”

“Threatening me?”

“I’m just a kid.” Nevia shrugged innocently.

“A cunning kid.” The assassin sighed.

“No I’m—” Nevia huffed. “I’m just finding reasons for you to spare me.”

No reply came.

“Hey?”

“Hello?”

Nevia turned cautiously. The assassin stood motionless, eyes closed, sunlight tracing her fragile silhouette. *She fell asleep standing? How utterly drained.*

Nevia carried her to the bathroom—surprisingly light, like holding a kitten. A faint, sweet-iron scent clung to her skin, stirring half-forgotten memories of crimson-stained battlefields. *How long since I last saw that color?* Peace had softened her. *Those fools under me were right sometimes—even I got careless.*

Gently laying the unconscious girl on the bath’s edge, Nevia whispered an apology. “Sorry! This is purely medical!” She fumbled with the torn robes, fingers trembling. “Gotta clean these wounds or they’ll get infected…”

After a struggle, she gasped. “Whoa… no underclothes? How bold…” Her breath hitched. Eyes squeezed shut, she muttered, “My conscience’s killing me…”

○

Steam curled in the humid air as Nevia carried the towel-wrapped girl to her sunlit bed. Golden light gilded the assassin’s pale cheeks and Nevia’s hair, wrapping them in a soft glow.

“Good afternoon,” Nevia whispered, closing the door behind her.