Killed Me? Now I Have Your Power Chapter 457: Hands

Chapter 457 – Hands

"Ah... father... I believe I have fallen in love." Romia murmured. Her grin was stretched so unnaturally wide that it became a truly unsettling sight. She pressed her spine deeper into the wall, casting a gaze around with hidden reverence.

"The goddess truly favors you, Asael," she muttered, her words slurring together. "Such deep affinity is a rarity. When did this originate? Could it be since the era of the First Empress of the Damned Empire?" According to the Historian of Threnovar, only that individual—known as the Maid of the Murdered Sun—possessed the ability to manifest such shadow power.

This revelation brought her no comfort, for Romia was well-aware that the Goddess of Shadows never bestowed blessings upon a mortal merely for being pleasing to the eye. Something far more sinister was at play. Yet, it was precisely that dark element that caused her to shiver with a twisted, secret delight.

'Do not attempt to flee from me, Asael,' she whimpered to herself. 'The further you run, the more obsessed I become with ensnaring you. Have you forgotten my nature? I am an assassin. I have mastered the art of capturing my prey, even when the pursuit takes a romantic turn.'

She erupted into silent, voiceless laughter, as if the world around her had been stripped of sound. The atmosphere grew harrowing, as though both shadows and the very fabric of audible reality had vanished in her presence. However, this was not Asael’s doing; it was her own. Her expression shifted from shock to realization the moment a whisper reached her ears.

"Have you concluded your nonsense, Hora? If so, direct your attention here. I arrive under the Master’s command."

Romia—actually named Hora—glared with undisguised contempt at the crimson crow perched regally upon a wooden stake nearby. The bird tilted its head, its eyes, marked by black irises and web-like veins, locked onto her without a flicker.

Romia twisted her mouth in disgust. "Romia," she hissed, shedding the playful persona she had worn for Asael. "I instructed you to address me as Romia."

"That is a triviality," the crow retorted, its voice dripping with dismissal. "The Master demands a progress report on the current mission."

"It is still underway."

The crow narrowed its eyes curiously. "Too much time has elapsed. The Master grows impatient. You were selected because—!"

"Because of my superior capabilities," Romia interrupted, her gaze freezing over. "That alone should suffice. I am fully aware of my actions."

"We would never dream of questioning you," the bird croaked. "But the tempo is accelerating. Can you not perceive it? Can you not taste it in the atmosphere?" It lifted its beak, a tongue slithering out. "Can you not hear it? The Wheel spins, faster and faster with every passing moment."

These words instantly transported Romia’s thoughts back to that bizarre incident in the wooden house, where a wooden wheel had spun on its own while she stood beside Asael. During that encounter, he had revealed something she remained unable to forget: a handshake.

She looked back at the crow and tilted her head. "Has the prophesied Child of Threnovar been born?"

The crow remained silent for several moments, shaken by the unexpected inquiry. Then, in a rumbling tone, it replied, "There have been portents, though nothing is certain. However, the probability is distressingly high. At least, that is the Master’s current assessment."

"Do not doubt it," Romia said, tilting her head back. "The Child of Threnovar has arrived."

The crow narrowed its strange eyes. "What is your source?"

"Are you familiar with the meaning of a handshake, Crow?"

"Who within our Organization is not? It is our very Sigil. The hands serve as a metaphor for two distinct worlds colliding perfectly."

"Only we are privy to that meaning, correct?"

"Indeed."

"And yet, I encountered another who employed that exact handshake, Messenger." Romia offered a joyless grin. "Tell me, what does that signify? A mere coincidence? Hardly. As you previously stated, the Wheel is turning, turning, turning..."

The crow was silent, though its body trembled. "He... he is alive. No. He has been reborn!"

"Indeed, he has," Romia whispered. "His current position remains a mystery to me, but I have found a path. A way to learn more about our beloved Child."

"Who is this person?"

"I refuse to disclose that."

"Why—!"

"I will not," Romia said, casting a frigid glare. "Return to the Master and convey this message: I am not neglecting my duties. And soon enough... everything shall rest within his blessed hands."

She vanished into a ripple of sound. "...everything will be his."

...Tack! "YOU!" Loup shrieked, staring at the damp, pink underwear dangling from his hand. "What in the world is this!!!"

Dancer’s expression soured at the wolf boy’s shrill outburst. "Keep your volume down, dammit. Can you not see what it is? It is underwear. I received it from a lady at a shop two days ago. She insisted I take a memento of her before leaving."

"You certainly have a flair for odd details, handsome one," White chuckled, lounging on the dilapidated couch in Loup’s squalor. His eyes glowed with amusement as he watched Dancer. "Though you shouldn’t boast. My friend here is a virgin. He is so much of a virgin that he fell in love at first sight with that hulking Princess." White grinned. "The very same Princess who was hunting you down. Feeling jealous, newbie?"

"Like hell I am!" Loup growled, chucking the sodden garment away as his face turned crimson. "That Princess clearly intended to kill him. And because of you," he jabbed a shaking finger at Dancer, who sat on the floor with his chin resting on his hand, "we were nearly caught in your mess! Why can you not offer an apology?"

Dancer let out a long-suffering sigh. "I have already apologized."

"It didn't sound sincere!"

"And how can you be the judge of that?" Dancer retorted. "Do you possess some supernatural insight into human emotion or honesty?"

"No, but—!"

"Then hold your tongue, little stinky cub." Dancer scowled, shifting his attention to the grinning White. "And you, pale freak, could you stop staring at me with that smirk? It makes my skin crawl."

"I have been cursed by the sight of Newbie’s ugly mug for far too long," White replied. "Now that I have a handsome face to appreciate, why should I look away?"

"I am not interested in men."

"I am capable of being a woman for you. What is your preference? Perhaps old and curvy?"

Dancer stiffened, his eyes widening. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I possess exceptional intuition." White giggled, nodding toward Loup. "He prefers them hairy."

Loup’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, blending fury with shame. "Damn you, you girlish brat! Why must you always target me?"

Dancer observed the pair bickering with lighthearted abandonment, despite the harrowing events they had just survived. He was quietly astonished, having expected them to be paralyzed by terror. Instead, neither showed the typical reaction of a commoner facing the wrath of royalty. His focus sharpened as he watched them with genuine intrigue.

'Ah, the curse of Cupid’s beauty. Why not align with them? The pale one is unsettling but undeniably useful. He transformed into a cat—a shapeshifter? An extremely rare lineage; I have only heard rumors of such beings.' 'The wolf boy appears simple-minded, perhaps even dim, yet there must be some hidden substance to him if the pale one keeps his company.'

Regardless, after the recent chaos, he could not easily discard them. It would be too big a risk, and he avoided unnecessary hazards at this juncture. His plan was unfolding just as he had orchestrated. Minor complications had occurred, but nothing large enough to warrant banging his head against a wall. Besides, he was far too handsome to be seen acting in such an undignified manner.

Having reached a fundamental decision, he lifted his head to meet the boys' unwavering gazes. He flashed a smile that made Loup curse his charm and caused White to giggle like a smitten girl. "You know, there is an old saying—!"

"Cut the damn nonsense and state your business," Loup growled, crossing his arms with a defiant posture.

Dancer’s lip twitched in irritation. White merely waved a hand lazily. "Pay him no mind. Virgin boys are predictably temperamental. Perhaps you could assist him in loosening up? Alas, I have decided to relinquish that duty myself."

Loup whipped his head toward White, barely restraining himself from punching the pale bastard in the face. Taking a breath to steady his temper and reminding himself not to pick a fight with children, Dancer began again, "Let’s work together, boys."