The Apostle of Insanity

The woman crossed her arms, her piercing gaze locked on Azarel. "A Valcis, far from his lands? Now that's a surprise."

"Oh, so now you're interested in me? Clearly, I should've led with my name," he replied, smirking.

A dry chuckle escaped her lips. "Don't be mistaken. It's not you I'm interested in—it's your title." She leaned in slightly. "So, nobleman... still looking for some entertainment?"

Azarel straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels with deliberate ease before flashing a dazzling smile. "Absolutely. And as it happens, I'm exactly the man you need."

A charged silence hung between them, thick with ambiguous tension. The woman studied him for a moment, then made a sharp gesture, nodding for him to follow.

Azarel fell in step behind her, hands casually in his pockets, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

They left the grand hall, drawing curious glances from the few nobles lingering there. The receptionist remained frozen behind the counter, his face pale.

As they moved deeper into the hotel's plush corridors, Azarel shot the woman a sidelong glance. "So, what should I call you? Do you have a name, or should I improvise?"

She didn't so much as glance back. "You may call me Lady Elira. But don't be fooled—it's merely a courtesy title."

Azarel laughed. "Charming. Lady Elira."

She didn't respond, but the corner of her mouth twitched, ever so slightly.

Lady Elira strode confidently, her elegant gown rippling softly with each step. Azarel followed, his hands still tucked in his pockets, a sly smile playing on his lips. When they reached the door to what appeared to be her room, she stopped and retrieved a key, sliding it into the lock.

Azarel whistled softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, I must say, you're direct. I wasn't expecting an invitation quite this... swift."

Elira rolled her eyes but pushed the door open without a word.

The room was lavish—velvet drapes, a grand canopy bed, and a cozy seating area.

Azarel swept his gaze around before casually dropping into a plush armchair, his grin never fading.

"So," Elira began, shutting the door behind her, "what would you like to drink? Or eat, perhaps?"

Azarel raised an eyebrow, then slowly rose to his feet. In one smooth, deliberate motion, he stepped behind her, his hands brushing lightly over her waist. "Actually, I think my meal is already right in front of me."

He leaned closer, his hands sliding lower to rest firmly on her hips, then further still.

"I want this."

The woman didn't flinch, her sharp eyes locked onto his, unblinking.

"You're as bold as you are rude," she said, one brow arching elegantly.

Azarel laughed, loosening his grip slightly but refusing to step away. "Hey, you're the one who promised some fun. I'm just following the rules of the game."

A tense silence stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, the woman's lips curled into a faint smile. Slowly, her expression shifted, her lips parting ever so slightly.

"The rules, huh? Very well, let's play."

Azarel tilted his head, leaning in so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. She didn't move, her face a calm mask, though her lips parted just a fraction more.

Their faces drew closer. Their lips brushed lightly at first, then deepened into a fervent kiss.

Azarel's hand slid up her waist, while her fingers tangled in his hair.

When they finally pulled apart, Azarel stayed close, their foreheads almost touching.

"So, is this what you had in mind for entertainment?" she asked, her tone a mix of sarcasm and allure.

Azarel grinned.

"Not yet. But keep going, and you're getting close."

---

The restaurant of the prestigious hotel glowed with elegance, an oasis of refinement amidst the bustling city. The chandelier, composed of thousands of crystals, bathed the room in a soft, golden light, while a pianist in the corner played a delicate melody. Waiters moved seamlessly between tables, carrying plates like choreographed dancers.

Nora sat alone near the floor-to-ceiling window, her table set with meticulous precision. Silverware gleamed under the lights, and a fine crystal glass held clear water with a few thin slices of lemon floating delicately. Behind her, the murmur of other diners formed a low, indistinct hum.

Her gaze drifted to the view outside—the vibrant, hypnotic lights of the city stretching endlessly into the night.

A waiter approached, immaculate in his black-and-white uniform, stopping at a respectful distance.

"Madam, what would you like this evening?"

Nora looked up, almost startled to be pulled from her thoughts.

"The smoked salmon… and a Caesar salad."

The waiter inclined his head slightly before retreating, leaving Nora to sink back into her reverie. She ran a hand through her hair, the motion automatic, almost unconscious, as her memories came rushing back.

It had been a few months ago. She saw herself in that dark room, standing face to face with Azarel.

---

"Who are you?"

"The boss sent me," Nora replied, her tone sharp, almost scornful.

A wry smile had spread across Azarel's lips.

"So, you're my bodyguard?" he shot back, his voice dripping with mockery.

She matched his smile with one of her own, her gaze cold and disdainful.

"Don't flatter yourself, pup. I'm here to see if you're still worth anything to him."

---

Back then, she had felt strong, confident. But now, replaying the scene in her mind, she wasn't so sure anymore.

A sigh escaped her lips, drawing her back to the present as the faint clatter of dropped silverware echoed somewhere in the room. A bitter smile tugged at her mouth.

"He played me well," she murmured, her fingers brushing absently along the rim of her glass.

A single word slipped from her lips, so soft it could have been swallowed by the air:

"L."

Her eyes returned to the cityscape, the sprawling lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. For a fleeting moment, a creeping doubt wormed its way into her thoughts.

What if she was wrong? Azarel had never outright confirmed he was an L, never admitted to being tied to the group she was after. And yet… he knew her name. Her real name.

How could he possibly know?

A slow burn of heat spread through her chest—a volatile mix of anger and unease.

He's toying with me.

A subtle clearing of a throat broke her train of thought. The waiter had returned, carrying a plate where the smoked salmon looked like a masterpiece, every detail artfully arranged. Beside it, the Caesar salad emitted a tantalizing aroma, the blend of golden croutons, grated parmesan, and creamy dressing perfectly balanced.

"Your order, Madam," he said, placing the dishes down with practiced grace.

She gave a slight nod, barely acknowledging him, her focus drifting to the plates. Her eyes lingered on the salmon, and a word escaped her lips, barely above a whisper but loud enough for her to hear:

"Free."

The waiter withdrew, leaving her alone once more. Nora picked up her fork, her movements almost mechanical. She cut a piece of salmon and brought it to her lips.

At the first bite, her eyes closed. The smoky, tender flavor melted on her tongue, and an unexpected calm washed over her.

Free. The word echoed in her mind, heavy with irony.

She still didn't know who Azarel truly was or what he represented. But one thing had become undeniably clear: he had set her free.

Not just from the ridiculous curse, nor from the grasp of that man. No, it was deeper than that. He had shattered the invisible cage she hadn't realized she'd been trapped in for so long.

Who was he, really?

Deep down, she knew she had to stay by his side. Not out of duty. Not because she was compelled to. But for herself.

Nora kept eating, her fork moving with a rhythm almost childlike in its consistency. She savored the salmon, the salad, the crunch of the croutons. Her half-full glass of wine glimmered under the soft light of the chandelier, untouched for now.

So absorbed was she in her meal that she didn't immediately notice the man who had seated himself across from her. He sat there, perfectly at ease, his elbow resting on the table, head tilted slightly as his chin rested on the palm of his hand. He watched her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Nora deliberately ignored him, taking another bite and chewing slowly. Only after setting her fork down and taking a sip of wine did she finally deign to look up at him.

"What do you want? To die?" she asked sharply.

The man let out a short, genuine laugh.

"Die? Hardly." He tilted his head slightly. "I have to admit, I was… intrigued. Watching you eat with so much enthusiasm. For a moment, I thought you might actually feel something."

Nora placed her glass down with a sharp clink, cutting him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Spare me your amateur observations. What are you doing here?"

A smirk spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"I'm your host for the summons."

She raised an eyebrow, her expression mockingly surprised.

"You?" She let out a dry laugh. "Since when does a lowly errand boy like you get to attend a summons, let alone host it?"

If her sharp tone offended him, he didn't show it. On the contrary, his smile widened.

"Since the boss decided so. And might I remind you—you're not the only one he holds in high regard."

Nora's gaze darkened slightly.

"I see." She picked up her fork again, spearing a piece of lettuce with controlled indifference.

"So, what's your role here? To keep an eye on me or to distract me?"

The man shrugged.

"Maybe both." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering.

"You know, it's fascinating to see you like this. Free, relaxed… almost human."

Nora locked eyes with him, her smile hardening into something far more dangerous.

"Remind me to kill you when all this is over."

He burst out laughing again, his amusement unshaken.

"I'd love to see you try."