Overall, the assassin’s search for Kaelxi had been anything but smooth.
He’d heard Witt’s furious roar at the mine—and caught the name “Kaelxi.”
The assassin only knew the trafficker’s face, not his name. He’d assumed “Kaelxi” belonged to that man.
Disgust churned in his gut. Not only was the trafficker a gay man, but his name was disgustingly feminine too.
Following the address John gave him, the assassin arrived at the trafficker’s home—only to find it empty.
For days, he dodged patrols while scouring Cesecity, hunting for any trace of the trafficker.
By the end, he nearly gave up, convinced the man had fled Cesecity.
But that made no sense. The mine was destroyed, with no evidence pointing to him. The trafficker wouldn’t expect revenge—he had no reason to run.
Then it hit him: he’d overlooked the West District.
“That disgusting freak… could he be hiding as a beggar?”
Enduring the West District’s stench, the assassin searched for two full days before finding the trafficker barely alive.
The man twitched in a filthy gutter, his drug withdrawal flaring.
His legs looked intact but were crippled—Kaelxi had broken them, and the West District had no healers.
The assassin yanked him up by the neck. He wanted to slap him but recoiled at the grime on his face. Instead, he slashed the trafficker’s arm with his dagger.
“Hss—” Pain jolted the trafficker awake, temporarily suppressing his craving.
He recognized that face—John’s assassin.
Relief flooded him. Boss John would avenge him!
He parted cracked, sewage-caked lips and rasped with venomous delight: “Kaelxi… kill Kaelxi for me…”
Days among West District beggars had revealed the golden-haired Elf’s name.
Thanks to her foolish kindness—coming daily to hand out bread—he’d pried the Elf’s name from their mouths.
The assassin’s grip loosened. The trafficker crashed to the ground with a wail.
Fists and kicks rained down. “You sick freak! Who names themselves like a girl?!”
“Aren’t you disgusted by yourself?!”
“But don’t worry—I’ll kill you. Though it might hurt a little.” The assassin grinned savagely.
Terror widened the trafficker’s eyes. “No—not me! Kill Kaelxi!”
Revulsion surged. The assassin kicked harder. “Stop acting cute! Stop being ‘Kaelxi’! Stop disgusting me!”
“Don’t hit me! I’m dying! I need to see the boss!” the trafficker shrieked.
The assassin throttled him, snarling. “Cut the act! You got the boss killed! Join him in hell!”
The trafficker paled, his face twitching. “What? The boss is dead?”
His genuine shock confused the assassin. “You didn’t send the killer?”
Trembling, tears streaming like a child’s, the trafficker looked heartbroken.
Disgusted but realizing the truth was twisted, the assassin pressed his dagger close. “Tell me everything. Or I’ll carve up that ass of yours.”
Shaking, the trafficker confessed: Kaelxi was a golden-haired Elf. She’d broken his legs and left him here.
Once he had the intel, the assassin granted him mercy. The man had truly disgusted him.
At last, he’d found the real mastermind.
Searching door-to-door for a golden-haired Elf would waste time.
Kaelxi came to the West District daily to hand out bread. Better to wait here like a hunter.
So he hid, waiting for Kaelxi.
Now, he silently witnessed Witt’s one-sided battle with the patrol officer.
“That man’s strong. He must be the one who killed the boss.” That night had been too dark, Witt’s face too bloodied—he hadn’t seen his features clearly.
“As for Kaelxi… doesn’t look like a professional fighter.”
“But she’s got charm. No—she’s stunning.”
“He’s probably Kaelxi’s lover.”
“I’ll chop off his limbs. Let him watch as I make love to his wife.”
“That’ll avenge the boss… and give me pleasure.”
“Just thinking about it thrills me!” Lust glinted in the assassin’s eyes as he fantasized.
He was confident he could ambush Witt—but a fair fight might end like the boss’s.
“Not yet…”
“Let you two dance a little longer.”
The assassin faded into the shadows.
........
Kaelxi and Witt reached home late that night.
Exhausted, they washed up. After a quiet “goodnight,” Kaelxi collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep instantly.
Witt lay awake on his floor mat. He sat up, watching Kaelxi’s restless sleep.
She faced him on her side, hair spilling over half her face. One leg poked out, clamped tightly around the blanket. She hugged a pillow, a trail of drool glistening on her chin.
Witt couldn’t sleep. All day, Kaelxi’s wary gaze haunted him—so unlike her usual self.
She was beautiful, kind, thoughtful, gentle. It felt unreal.
How could someone so perfect exist?
If Kaelxi hadn’t appeared in his life, he’d never have believed it.
“Even her sleeping face is adorable.”
“But is it creepy to stare while she sleeps?”
Witt always restrained himself, even when unseen.
He’d never do anything that might upset her—even if she’d never know.
Just as he turned away to sleep, a muffled voice came from behind: “Witt… Witt…”
Warmth bloomed in his chest. She was dreaming of him.
“Stupid… foot fetishist…”
“?” Witt froze.
“Witt… so scary…”
He sat up again, staring at her.
“Why is she afraid of me?”
In her sleep, Kaelxi’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk.
“Silly… Witt… so easy to fool…”
“Easy to fool? What does that mean?”
Witt stared, dumbfounded. Her sleeping face remained beautiful.
So beautiful it felt… unreal.
