Prologue: Death of the Harvester
Ssss—
The sound of reeds rustling in the wind was echoing in my ears. The poison that had spread through my body a long time ago made my vision blurry. It was difficult to breathe due to the hot blood rising from my insides. While my head was immersed in the dirty mud, I could only raise my eyes with difficulty. The man I trusted and loved more than anyone in this world was smiling suspiciously.
He said in a voice filled with hatred:
“How do you feel with your head stuck in the mud, Kayla?”
It turns out that the only man I've ever loved is capable of speaking in that malice-filled voice. I did not know this truth until now, when I was about to die. I felt like laughing bitterly.
He continued sarcastically:
"Yes, I know it's hard for you to answer. The blade is laced with poison. You must know what kind it is, right?"
Ian Angel.
The only man I ever loved, and the deputy commander of the greatest assassination squad on the continent, “King’s Breath.”
(Was I really that oblivious?)
No, actually I always knew what it was. A meticulous, cold-hearted man who only sees the goal set before him. All I wanted was to be his only exception.
“I thought the Reapers wouldn't die even if they were killed. It seems that's not true.”
Ian pressed his foot against the dagger embedded in my back, burying it deeper. Then he squatted down next to me and grabbed my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. In his gray, ruin-like eyes, a ferocious flame burned. Once upon a time, I found those eyes so irresistibly worthy of love, but now they were so unbearable.
She muttered in a broken voice:
“Why…why?”
I was hoping to hear at least one reason from him, but he just smiled wryly.
He said calmly and with features I had never seen before:
"Who knows? Why do you think? ... You should be the one who knows the reason. Are you really asking because you don't know?"
And if the face of the man who stabbed me in the back looked sad, does that mean I've lost my mind?
After a short silence, he suddenly stood up. My face was pushed back into the mud with his movement.
He said as he looked away from me coldly:
“Then take this opportunity to think carefully...why I am doing this....in the other world.”
He turned his back without hesitation, a cold atmosphere surrounding him. Then the black shadows that were standing behind him rushed out, as if waiting for his command. Their rapid movement was unmistakable.
“Burn her. Don’t leave even ashes.”
The killers approached, wrapped in black, carrying torches. Someone poured oil over my body, leaving no part untouched.
She whispered desperately:
“Ian, please...”
But begging was useless in front of them. They threw the torch at me without hesitation. The oil-tinged fire burned to a black glow, ready to devour me to the bones. I felt my whole body disintegrate in an instant, without even having time to scream.
Whether it was luck or bad luck, the poison that coursed through my body made me feel no pain.
(Is this the end of me?)
For a life I fought so hard to live, it was a truly miserable end.
Finally, I slowly closed my eyes. The day the lover of my life stuck his blade in my back, the day my body was consumed by fire while it was still alive and breathing, I lost everything:
The organization I have served my entire life.
The lover I loved more than myself.
And the life that I held on to until my last breath.