"It’s unstable."

It was the night after the formation of the special assault team that would face Leon Benning directly. Maxime stared at Christine's finger pressing against his left chest. Following the line of her arm, his gaze slowly moved up to Christine’s face. As usual, whenever she was dissatisfied, her green eyes trembled like glass marbles, and her cheeks puffed out slightly.

“What’s unstable?” Maxime asked.

Christine lifted her head to meet his eyes. A sharp, pained glint in her gaze didn’t reproach Maxime but rather herself. Before Maxime’s expression could shift to awkwardness, Christine quickly opened her mouth to speak.

“The seal I placed to contain your curse. You probably didn’t notice, but as the caster and someone sensitive to mana, I can feel it clearly.”

Christine lowered the finger she had been pressing against his chest. A faint sense of emptiness, like a residual current, lingered, and Maxime unconsciously touched the spot over his heart. He felt the steady, almost imperceptible beat of his heart, as if it were always there and not there at the same time. Watching him, Christine let out a short sigh.

“Is the power of the seal weakening?”

Maxime tilted his head and asked, but Christine shook hers.

“It’s not that the seal is weakening. The power of the curse is growing stronger. This happens when the strength of the caster who placed the curse increases dramatically. I can’t even imagine what Leon Benning has done to the point where it’s challenging even a seal imbued with the essence of my mana.”

Christine bit her lip. Maxime was simply grateful that she still cared enough to worry about him. Even if now wasn’t the time for such sentimentality.

“Is there a solution?”

“There’s only one permanent solution to any curse: killing the caster. But if the curse being restrained by the seal is released, it’ll all be for nothing.”

“…Is there a way to temporarily hold off the curse breaking through the seal?”

“There’s no such… thing.”

Christine trailed off, leaving an awkward silence in her wake. She avoided Maxime’s gaze, clearly aware of his unyielding stare.

“Christine.”

“I can’t. There’s no way I’m telling you.”

“So, you’d rather have me fall victim to Leon Benning’s curse, unable to recognize you and turned into a puppet?”

Christine’s head drooped. If she were a puppy, her ears and tail would have sagged. Maxime found his lips curving upward faintly. Christine’s feeble fist landed weakly against his chest, once, twice, three times. Maxime’s heartbeat thudded against an uneven rhythm compared to the soft impacts.

“You always pick the words that make things hardest for me. That’s why people call you insufferable, you know? Got it?”

“If the curse drives me mad, and I end up hurting or killing you all, that would be far worse than my own death. You know that, Christine.”

“…Who said I’d let you kill me? Worry about keeping yourself intact before making declarations like that.”

Christine seemed to have decided to stop complaining and composed her expression. Yet, it was Maxime who bore the brunt of the burden. It was also Maxime who had to make the decision. If she withheld the path forward, it would be far too selfish a choice.

“I don’t want you to suffer, or to get hurt. But, if this is the only way to end this once and for all…”

Christine’s words trailed off as her gaze fell on White Fang hanging from Maxime’s belt. When Maxime handed her the sword in its sheath, Christine drew it and stared at the pure white blade. Crafted from the purest material, white steel, it was unrivaled in its ability to channel mana. With a light infusion of her golden mana, the blade shimmered, reflecting Christine’s energy.

“This method is going to be a bit extreme. If they’re strengthening the curse on their end, then we’ll need to amplify the power of the seal on ours.”

Christine gripped the sword hilt and pointed the blade at Maxime.

“To directly interfere with the curse, I’d need to apply my own spell to the curse formula. Do you understand what that means, Maxime?”

Maxime silently stared at White Fang. Pain etched itself into his body. He could vividly imagine the sensation of that sharp, white blade piercing through his flesh and into his heart.

“You’re telling me to stab my heart.”

“I’ll cast a spell on the blade, and you’ll need to stab yourself. That way, the seal and the curse will harmonize temporarily. You won’t die immediately, and it’ll buy us some time. Not that it eliminates the risk of death.”

Christine’s voice was calm, almost cold. Maxime shrugged.

“Well, it’s not like there’s another option. At least this isn’t a guaranteed death sentence, right?”

Christine let out a startled laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Do you think stabbing your own heart while under the curse’s influence is going to be easy? If you succeed… well, with someone helping, survival isn’t entirely impossible.”

Maxime nodded as he took White Fang back from Christine. As if it knew what its master intended, the sword hummed faintly. Sliding the blade back into its sheath, Maxime let the heavy silence of their conversation settle around them.

“Save me.”

Maxime looked up and said suddenly.

“…Even if it means killing you, I’ll save you. So don’t worry.”

“If Theodora finds out, she’ll never let me go through with this. Keep it a secret, will you?”

“You’re terrible, Maxime. Using me right up to the end, is that it?”

“If I’m going to use you anyway, might as well use you completely. What’s the harm?”

Maxime’s cheeky addition made Christine laugh despite herself.

The memories returned slowly. Like someone writing a diary on a blank sheet of paper, Maxime fumbled to piece his thoughts together, blinking as clarity began to take hold.

Yes, my name. I am Maxime Apart, eldest son of the Apart barony and a knight of the Second Guard. Fighting alongside me is Theodora, my ex-girlfriend. A stunning knight with platinum blonde hair, and eyes like storm clouds—beautiful, striking, and strong.

The heavy pain radiating from his chest seemed to quicken his thoughts. Maxime steadied his staggering body using White Fang. Every movement felt as though his body was being torn apart. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding, coughing up a clot of thick, blackened blood.

“Gah!”

He blinked, trying to clear his spinning vision. Yellow sparks of light floated like specks before fading away with a few more blinks. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Maxime glanced at the blood staining his skin and clicked his tongue softly.

“Damn, this hurts like hell.”

Muttering under his breath, Maxime looked down at his gaping chest. There was no bleeding; instead, it felt as if his heart’s mana was waging war with the curse. Though the aftermath of this battle was slowly killing him, Maxime trusted Christine’s words: he could endure it.

All that remained was driving his sword into that accursed count. Leon Benning, his limbs stiffened, watched Maxime rise unsteadily, dumbfounded. Then, with a dry laugh, Leon shook his head.

“So, that damned magician was involved. I didn’t expect her to be this capable.”

Maxime’s breaths came shallow, as though a breeze passed through the gaping wound in his chest. Leon’s expression showed neither concern nor amusement, only a glint of disdain as he fixed his gaze on Maxime.

“Crude, but it seems effective enough.”

The connection seemed lost. Maxime should have regained control over the curse, yet Leon Benning let out a hollow chuckle. As always, his laughter was both bitter and unhinged. It continued, long and drawn out. What was so amusing? Was it despair over how far things had escalated? Self-reproach for his lack of thoroughness? Or was it anger toward those who had betrayed and cornered him like this?

“Ahahahahaha.”

Leon laughed without pause. Maxime silently watched him, his expression unreadable. The count gave no impression of preparing to draw his sword again or unveil some hidden, sinister plan.

“Truly absurd. I’ve always known there are situations I cannot control. But I never considered such situations might become variables.”

Leon’s voice trailed into rambling, his monstrous nature spilling out as though there were no longer any need to contain it.

“No, even when a situation was out of my hands, I believed I could block every variable. In hindsight, the flaw wasn’t the plan itself. The fault lay with me—not being perfect enough to fully execute a perfect plan.”

He leaned back, staring at the collapsed ceiling of the great hall. The weather today was bright, a sharp contrast to the perpetually overcast skies of this winter. A sliver of sunlight streamed through the broken ceiling, and Leon gazed directly at it, unblinking despite the searing pain.

“The imperfection was me. I could conceive the plan, but I wasn’t perfect enough to carry it out. And now, I see it so clearly.”

He let out a strange noise, halfway between laughter and sobbing. It was impossible to tell if it stemmed from amusement or sorrow. Then, abruptly, Leon stopped laughing. A cold winter wind seeped through the broken gaps, and dust fell like snow onto his shoulders.

The clouds drift by.

The winter sky felt higher than autumn’s. Normally, clouds seemed within reach if one stretched out a hand. But now, no matter how hard one tried, they seemed impossibly distant. Leon didn’t reach for the clouds; he merely watched them pass beyond the blinding sunlight.

What should I do now?

Had there ever been anything out of his reach before? Was this failure his miscalculation? Leon asked himself, but no clear answer emerged. One final question lingered unusually long in his mind: Have I failed?

“Humans truly are strange creatures.”

His whole life, he’d tried to understand them. He’d killed them, subjugated them, and still found them elusive. A monster trapped in a human prison, Leon could only wonder at the essence of humanity. This curiosity, his search for what humans were, had led him here.

There they are.

His gaze shifted to Theodora, supporting Maxime. To Leon, humans were tools. Their sight gave him no sense of sentimentality, only the faint realization that he could never be like them. A lifetime of avoiding doubt had finally given rise to an unshakable unease.

“What a baffling world, don’t you think, Maxime Apart?”

A faint, practiced smirk played on his lips as he spoke. It was the kind of smile he always wore—crafted and hollow. Yet, his gaze now shifted to Theodora. Curious about her reaction, he made his move.

“I killed your mother, Theodora.”

Theodora froze. All the mana that had been saturating the room dissipated, replaced by a dense aura of platinum killing intent. She didn’t question Leon’s words, as if she’d always known them to be true. Beside her, Maxime looked at her face with concern.

“Why say this now?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“There’s no need for a long explanation. She was someone I found interesting for a time. When that interest faded, I disposed of her as I pleased.”

Leon lifted his sword from where it was planted on the ground. Even with Lilia’s Life Vessel impaled on its tip, the grotesque artifact squirmed faintly. He pulled it free, the black mana within releasing wisps of acrid smoke.

“I.”

Theodora’s voice cut through. Leon turned to her, his gray eyes narrowing slightly.

“I can never understand you. No, I can’t even figure out what you are.”

Her voice was brittle, but thick with killing intent. Leon met her gaze and absorbed the weight of her animosity.

“Just as you cannot understand me, I cannot understand you—or any other human, for that matter. Even Bernardo, who I thought similar to me, was no different from the rest.”

Leon glanced at the Life Vessel in his left hand. A pulse of mana caused the artifact to throb grotesquely.

“In the end, mere humans dare to think of themselves as gods.”

It was Maxime who spoke this time, his voice faint but resolute. Leon scoffed.

“Indeed. Hearing such words from someone barely clinging to life is amusingly pitiful.”

Raising the Life Vessel to his mouth, Leon bit down. Darkness deeper than night engulfed the great hall, and his maniacal laughter echoed throughout.

“If I kill you, it will prove that I am different from the likes of you!”

Leon spread his arms wide. The world around him shattered and began collapsing into a single point. For the first time, he laughed with all his teeth bared. Life’s purpose was trivial, but in this moment, Leon felt as if his existence had culminated in this battle. Even as black magic tore him apart from the inside, pain eluded him. As his vision darkened and only outlines remained, he remained indifferent.

“Come at me with that blade, Theodora, Maxime Apart.”

His voice spiraled on the wind, rising like a storm. Mana surged around him, lifting him higher.

“Defy me! Prove that I am no different from you!”

With that final cry, Leon Benning was consumed by the swirling black wind.