Dark Fantasy Normalized-Chapter 64
That day, before heading to visit Lisir in the infirmary, Pien returned to her quarters.
She stood before "that item," which she had kept in the corner of her room.
It was the handkerchief she had used to wipe the blood-soaked Lisir during his overload episode.
Pien felt an intense wave of self-loathing.
The fact that she had neither washed nor discarded a handkerchief stained with someone else’s blood, and instead kept it, struck her as the behavior of the pests who constantly tried to woo her.
With an expression laced with disgust, Pien brought the handkerchief close to her nose.
Her small nose twitched repeatedly.
“...”
She felt an overwhelming sense of revulsion as she lowered her head.
The scent of Lisir’s blood on the handkerchief was not significantly different from the metallic tang she had smelled before. If anything, it was even more pungent and unpleasant—a scent unique to old, dried blood.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, that smell brought her unparalleled joy.
Simply because it was his blood.
From that day on, smelling the handkerchief became a coping mechanism for her stress.
It was quite effective.
The problem was that it didn’t just relieve her stress.
“Haa… Haa…”
As the days passed, the time she spent smelling the handkerchief grew longer.
Her efforts to suppress her desires grew more strenuous, and the backlash from her repressed hunger became even stronger.
What started as a way to alleviate stress turned into a cycle of stress creation.
No.
I can’t keep doing this.
If he saw me like this, he’d surely despise me.
Like balancing on a tightrope, Pien was holding on to the last shreds of her sanity.
Until the pest brought up his name.
“You’ve been visiting the Mage Tower often these days, haven’t you? Do you have an acquaintance there?”
The implication behind the comment was crystal clear:
"If you don’t meet me, I’ll track down your friend at the Mage Tower and harm them."
Pien’s stress peaked.
Her desires also reached a boiling point.
Late at night, Pien fled to Lisir’s quarters.
The sight of him peacefully asleep greeted her.
And then, she lost control.
Pien approached him and leaned over to bite his finger.
“...”
But at that moment, a thought came to her, overtaking the promise of pleasure his blood might bring.
She saw an image of Lisir’s face, teasing her with nonsensical words.
If he saw her like this now, how would he react?
Would he still treat her the same as always?
Of course not.
He would despise her.
Despise her for being a monster who craved human blood.
“I don’t want that…”
Her trembling hands let go of his fingers.
The denied desire of an Ancient One began to tear at her body.
The pain and hunger she felt were akin to—or even greater than—that of a human on the brink of starvation.
Unable to control herself, Pien collapsed onto Lisir’s bed.
The faint presence of him beneath the blanket soothed her raging hunger, if only slightly.
Pien climbed onto the bed and lay atop him, burying her face into the handkerchief.
Please.
Please.
Let this pass without incident.
She prayed desperately that he wouldn’t wake up.
“Pien…?”
Her prayer went unanswered.
She flinched, lifting her face from the handkerchief.
Her eyes met Lisir’s.
“Lisir…”
At that moment, all her pain and hunger vanished, replaced by pure despair.
It’s over.
Now that he had seen her monstrous side, he would surely despise her.
Their relationship would crumble.
The silly conversations they shared? Gone.
Her attempt to live like a normal human? Over.
Maybe this is for the best.
Pien thought she should feel relieved.
The whole charade had been ridiculous to begin with.
An Ancient One pretending to live like a human?
Go ahead and despise me. I don’t care what you think.
Pien resolved to speak with defiance.
“I’m sorry…”
But what came out of her mouth was a trembling, fragile voice.
“I… for a moment, I wanted to drink your blood.”
“...”
“Disappointed? I’m not the kind of being you thought I was.”
Pien closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself like a child awaiting punishment.
“That’s… kind of obvious, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Pien, you’re an Ancient One, aren’t you? It’s natural for you to crave blood.”
Pien blinked, stunned by his unexpected response.
The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Lisir’s face. His expression mirrored hers—dazed and nonchalant, as if saying, What’s the big deal?
It wasn’t the face of someone looking at her with disgust.
“Why…?”
Pien was at a loss for words.
His lack of prejudice often left her speechless, but this time, it was particularly jarring.
Then Lisir noticed the handkerchief in her hand and her pale complexion.
“Agh…”
A sigh escaped his lips.
To him, Pien looked like a pitiful child who hadn’t eaten for days.
“Why did you let it get this bad?”
“Because you told me not to harm humans!”
“I meant not to hurt innocent people…”
Pien couldn’t believe it.
Even now, his expression was filled with guilt.
Why are you the one feeling guilty?
Unable to hold it in, Pien burst into laughter.
After a moment’s thought, Lisir asked,
“Pien, what happens when you drink someone’s blood?”
It was a ridiculous question, but ironically, Pien herself didn’t know much about the mechanics of vampirism.
Having once been human, she had always harbored a deep aversion to blood.
Her method was simple:
She would use mental interference to calm her target, make a small cut on their finger, and let their blood touch her skin.
“That’s it. The worst it does is leave them a little tired.”
“Really? Then—”
Lisir tilted his head and exposed his neck.
“Want mine?”
“Ahhh!”
Pien shrieked and fell off the bed.
“W-What are you doing, you shameless man?! Cover yourself up!”
Her face flushed a deep red, visible even in the dim light.
“?”
Lisir, confused, covered his neck again.
“What? Isn’t this how it’s done? Then how do you normally do it?”
“Do you even realize what you’re saying right now?”
“Nope.”
He smirked.
“Might as well drink mine. Better me than risking someone else, right?”
I want to be your only target.
That was Pien’s interpretation.
“I… uh…”
Pien covered her small face with both hands.
“You shameless man… How can you say something like that so casually…”
“?”
A moment later, Pien peeked through her fingers, carefully observing Lisir’s reaction.
“Are you serious? You won’t regret this later?”
“How much are you planning to drink—?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
With another cautious glance, she added,
“You won’t… change your mind later, will you?”
“Of course not. What am I going to do, ask you to return the blood?”
“That’s not—never mind.”
You won’t hate me later… will you?
Pien decided not to ask. Judging by his reaction, it was unnecessary.
Timidly, Pien reached for his hand.
“Are you really sure? This is your last chance to back out!”
“Oh, come on. It’s getting cold.”
“...I don’t care anymore.”
Chomp.
Pien bit down gently on Lisir’s finger.
“...!”
Her eyes widened.
She looked like a child tasting sugar for the first time.
Her tongue hesitated before touching his finger.
Then it began to explore, wrapping around it.
As the bleeding slowed—
Sluurp.
Pien carefully sucked on the wound.
Haaam.
Haaam.
Her breath, tinged with moisture, escaped in soft sighs.
Lisir closed his eyes.
For entirely different reasons.
Damn it. This is way more suggestive than I expected.
Though Pien’s actions were purely (and innocently?) for feeding, the sight alone risked sending his thoughts spiraling.
He couldn’t let that happen.
FBI, open up…!
Determined to banish such thoughts, Lisir drew upon his past-life memories.
There was one surefire method for situations like this:
Imagine the least arousing person in a bikini.
Who fits the bill?
Unfortunately, the first image that came to mind was of an old man with dreadlocks.
ARGHHHH!!!
Though his intrusive thoughts were eradicated, the mental cost was severe.
“...?”
Pien tilted her head, puzzled.
Why had his hand suddenly gone cold?
***
Plop.
The soft sound filled the dark room as Pien withdrew Lisir’s finger from her mouth.
A thin, translucent thread of saliva glistened in the faint light before slowly descending.
“...”
Quickly, Pien grabbed a clean handkerchief—not the bloodstained one—and carefully wiped his hand.
“Pien… don’t tell me that spit-soaked handkerchief is also…!?”
Thwack.
Pien hurled the handkerchief straight at Lisir’s face.
She then hurriedly lowered her head and bolted out of the room.
From beyond the door, a small voice filtered through.
“…Stupid man.”
Tat-tat-tat.
Her footsteps faded into the distance, light and carefree.
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***
“Miss, it’s dangerous to wander around at this hour. Hmm? Who could possibly be at the Mage Tower that’s worth heading out so late at night?”
On her way back to her quarters after parting with Lisir, a group of men blocked Pien’s path, feigning coincidence.
It was Tord and his entourage.
She had been in such a good mood.
Just as the joyful expression on her face was about to falter—
“...”
Lisir’s words from earlier suddenly resurfaced in her mind:
“I just meant, don’t hurt innocent people…”
Pien’s gaze shifted to the pests standing before her.
Were they truly innocent?
Then came another memory, the words of a courtesan who followed her:
“Miss Pien, please don’t get involved with them… People who cross their path always vanish without a trace…”
“Hah…”
Pien chuckled.
“What’s so funny, Pien? Are you that happy to see me?”
“…Yes, I am.”
For showing up at just the right time and in just the right place.
Pien had always wanted to become self-reliant in Bondales.
She didn’t want to burden him.
More than that, she wanted to become someone he could acknowledge.
Someone he could respect—perhaps through achieving a position of social prominence.
“I just meant, don’t hurt innocent people…”
Still brimming with confidence and energy, Pien realized there were many paths to her goal.
“Tord, I have a question for you.”
“Finally?”
Just as his eyes began to gleam with lecherous intent—
In the darkness, the Ancient One’s eyes began to glow.
The pristine white of her gaze turned to a deep crimson, like rich wine.
***
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[The target is now under the influence of Dominion of Command.]
[Target: Tord (Lv.35)]
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***
The next morning.
Lisir’s honorary mage induction ceremony was a grand success.
He received countless congratulations from the mages, officially becoming a recognized member of the Gray Tower.
And then, that night.
──────────
[The target is now under the influence of Dominion of Command.]
[The target is now under the influence of Dominion of Command.]
[The target is now under the influence of Dominion of Command.]
[The target is now under the influence of Dominion of Command.]
[The target is now under the influence of Dominion of Command.]
…
…
…
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The northern backstreets of Bondales were undergoing a sudden, radical transformation.
***
Recently, strange rumors had begun to circulate in the backstreets of Bondales.
It was said that the ruler of the northern backstreets of Bondales had changed—
but no one knew who this new ruler was.
"Given the circumstances, Lisir, be cautious if you ever need to pass through that area. It’s better to take a longer route if you can."
"Ah, what a troubling world we live in."
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▷ Fate86: The Brokers - Deactivated.
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