The Apostle of Insanity

Nora stared at him, her brows furrowed, trying to decipher what was going on inside Azarel's mind. She wasn't entirely sure what she had signed up for anymore.

"An amusement tool? Really?" she asked softly. "The Shadows aren't just a band of thugs. They control the underground economy, have a network of spies, and—"

Azarel raised a hand, cutting her off with an almost playful smile.

"I know all that, Nora," he said calmly. "That's what makes them even more fascinating."

Nora shook her head, trying to remain rational. "But… what makes you think you can control them? I don't doubt what the Ls are capable of, but..."

Azarel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He regarded her for a long moment before speaking.

"You know, there's a type of game I love. The kind where you have to predict every move your opponent might make. There are always variables you can't foresee, but the real thrill is watching everything fall into place when you figure out the right pattern."

Nora stared at him, stunned. "You talk as if it's all already decided. You Ls… you've always been something else entirely."

Azarel laughed lightly, a soft, easy sound. "You know, there's no guarantee I won't get burned trying to pull this off."

Nora's eyes widened. "You're completely insane!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

Azarel shrugged slightly. "Maybe I am." He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So, Nora, are you ready to join me in this game?"

She studied him in silence for a moment, crossing her arms. After a brief pause, she sighed. "I already told you—I'll follow you. But listen closely: if I realize this isn't fun for me, I won't hesitate to walk away. I'm not here to watch you play games that don't benefit me."

Azarel nodded, a satisfied smile creeping across his face. "That's all I needed to hear," he replied gently. "Don't worry, I'll make sure we both have fun."

He stood and walked around the table to stand behind her. Nora tensed slightly as she felt his presence, but she didn't move.

"You'll see," he murmured near her ear, his tone almost reassuring. "I'll show you what it truly means to live."

Nora turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, then sighed, looking away. "Promise me one thing," she said.

Azarel raised a curious eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Don't make me regret my decision," she replied firmly.

Azarel smiled softly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I promise," he said simply.

"And what do I do?" Nora asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azarel looked at her thoughtfully before answering. "Do whatever you want," he said with a faint smile. "My only advice? Have as much fun as I do."

Nora stared at him for a moment, then, to her own surprise, a small smile tugged at her lips. "Fine. I'll try."

Azarel laughed, a light yet genuine sound. "That's the spirit. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

He returned to his seat and resumed eating, savoring the tranquil atmosphere now settling over them.

The dinner ended on a more relaxed note. Azarel stood first and, on his way out, cast a final glance at Nora.

"Tomorrow, we begin. Be ready," he said.

Nora nodded silently.

What on earth was going on in that young man's head?

She finished her meal calmly before leaving the table herself. As she wandered the mansion's corridors, she headed toward the quarters that had been assigned to her.

She had been living here for two months now. At first, none of this had felt like a privilege. She was merely a servant, bound to follow her master's commands—tasked with keeping an eye on a young noble she had deemed arrogant and useless. That was what she had thought her mission was.

But Azarel had proven to be far more complex. Far more dangerous. A sad smile played on her lips.

An L… She had never expected to encounter one again.

When she reached her room, Nora closed the door gently behind her. She undressed slowly, pausing in front of the mirror to study her reflection in the dim light of the room.

Her skin, smooth and unmarred, bore no trace of the curse that had once tormented her.

Azarel had truly set her free.

She placed a hand on her back, right where the cursed tattoos used to glow with an angry red. There was no more searing pain now, no constant reminder of her torment. But deep down, she knew the power those marks symbolized hadn't disappeared—only the agony that once came with it.

"Why did he choose to free me?" she wondered, slipping into her nightgown. "Was it because of my connection to the Shadows? Or my ties to them?"

Azarel's words echoed in her mind: You are free now.

A slight shiver ran down her spine.

This newfound freedom puzzled her. What did it truly mean?

Nora lay down on her bed, her thoughts swirling with images of the Shadows, Azarel, and this ambiguous liberty. Her mind drifted as sleep slowly claimed her.

---

The next morning.

The air was cool, and a faint sliver of light crept through the curtains.

Nora woke before dawn. She stretched languidly before sitting at the edge of her bed, her feet resting on the cold floor.

Her thoughts immediately returned to last night.

Tomorrow, we begin.

He hadn't elaborated, but it was clear something significant was about to unfold.

She got dressed quickly and left her room, moving through the mansion's silent halls. At this early hour, just past dawn, the place was shrouded in an eerie stillness. She encountered no one, not even a servant, and that suited her perfectly.

As she pushed open the doors to the courtyard, a gentle breeze greeted her, ruffling her hair. The garden, bathed in the soft morning light, appeared serene, almost ethereal. The meticulously trimmed hedges and dew-drenched flowers painted a picture of perfect tranquility.

But at the center of the courtyard, an inky, humanoid shadow stood waiting. Motionless and silent, it was a dark smear against the pale canvas of the garden. It had no face, no discernible features—just a vaguely human shape composed of smoky darkness.

As Nora approached, the shadow inclined its head in acknowledgment but said nothing.

Without a word, Nora pulled a small folded note from her jacket pocket and extended it to the shadow. Its formless fingers of pure darkness took the paper and inspected it briefly before lifting its gaze.

She was about to turn and leave when a voice, low and whispering like a breeze slipping through cracks, drifted to her ears.

"The master has summoned a meeting of the elites. You are required to attend."

She froze, her fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of her jacket, though she didn't turn around.

"Another agent will remain with the young noble," the shadow added after a moment.

Nora remained still for a beat.

A meeting of the elites? That's unusual.

She gave a small nod to show she understood, offering no further comment. Then, with a subtle, steadying breath, she turned and made her way back into the mansion. Behind her, the shadow dissolved into the air, vanishing as if it had never existed.

The trek back to the mansion was just as silent. As Nora ascended the entry steps and entered the grand hall, her eyes immediately fell on Azarel.

He was leaning casually against the railing of the main staircase, his arms crossed and a relaxed smile playing on his lips. It was as though he'd known exactly where she'd been.

"Well," he said, his mischievous eyes locking on hers, "are you ready to have some fun?"

Nora stopped a few steps away from him, meeting his gaze with an expression that was equal parts intrigue and exasperation.

She gave a small shrug. "I don't think I really have a choice."

Azarel straightened, his amused smile growing wider. He descended the stairs slowly, one step at a time. "Trust me," he said, a spark of excitement in his voice. "You won't want to miss this."

He stopped directly in front of her, standing closer than she would have liked. Towering over her by just a few inches, his presence was impossible to ignore.

After a moment, Nora sighed.

Azarel chuckled softly, then turned, heading toward the mansion's west wing. Nora followed, her steps hesitant and slow.