A week had passed since those tears fell.
The atmosphere in the house had shifted.
The air, once cold and hollow, now began to feel... warm. Too warm.
There were wildflowers in a small vase on the dining table. A faint scent of lavender soap lingered in the hallway. There was the sound of footsteps—no longer hesitant, though still soft.
Alicia had begun to smile. A faint, fleeting smile, fragile as glass, but a smile nonetheless.
The problem was me.
My Pisces side swam comfortably in this gentle current, savoring the increasingly consistent coffee she brewed, enjoying the silence that was no longer suffocating.
But my Rooster zodiac—the predatory side accustomed to the efficiency of killing—was starting to itch.
Comfort is like moss.
It grows slowly, green and soft, but left unchecked, it will coat your tombstone before you even realize it.
My hands had started clenching for no reason. My muscles twitched, craving impact. I missed the rough friction, the smell of iron, and the sharp edge of reality.
Morning arrived with an unfamiliar tranquility.
There was no tension hanging in the air like a toxic fog. There was no girl standing paralyzed for two hours in the corner of the room, holding her breath for fear that consuming oxygen was a sin.
I sat in my recliner, sipping freshly brewed black coffee.
Steam rose, mingling with the morning light filtering through the large window.
From the kitchen came the clink of plates. A natural rhythm. The sound of domestic life.
Alicia emerged carrying a breakfast tray. Her steps were still careful, but no longer dragging. Her back was no longer hunched as if bearing the weight of the world.
She placed the tray on the small table beside me.
Toast, eggs, and sliced fruit.
"Please enjoy, Master," she said softly.
I glanced at her.
She didn't immediately retreat into the shadows. She stood there for a moment, her eyes fixed on my right hand holding the coffee cup.
The hand that, just an evening—no, a week ago—had held hers tightly. The hand that had given her permission to be real.
A faint blush crept up the tips of her ears. Realizing she was staring, she quickly looked down, pretending to adjust the spoon.
"Thank you," I said.
"You are welcome, Master."
She turned back toward the kitchen.
Her steps were light.
This house no longer felt like a stone coffin. There was another heartbeat here besides my own.
Yet, this peace...
I set the coffee cup down.
This peace felt itchy on my skin.
Too soft. Too comfortable.
Tap. Tap.
The sound of a beak knocking against the windowpane.
A brown owl—a Guild courier—perched there, a small tube tied to its leg.
I opened the window, retrieved the tiny scroll, and let the bird fly off again.
A letter from the Guild.
Not a special request. Just a backlog list—dirty jobs piling up because no high-rank adventurer wanted to soil their hands.
Vermin Eradication in the Eastern Sector. Earth Goblins and Giant Rats. Quantity: Hundreds. Urgent.
I read the paper.
Vermin. Weak creatures in massive numbers. Noisy. Foul-smelling. Filthy.
The kind of work I usually avoided because it was an inefficient use of time.
But today...
I looked at Alicia, who was humming softly in the kitchen.
Contrast.
I needed contrast. I needed the smell of blood and the sound of breaking bones to balance out this softness that was beginning to suffocate me. I needed to remind myself of who I really was. Not a kindhearted lord of the manor, but a predator who happened to wear a suit.
I stood up. I downed the rest of the coffee in one gulp. The bitterness burned my throat.
"Alicia."
The girl appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes, Master?"
"I am heading out for a while. There is work to do."
"Ah... understood." Her expression shifted slightly. Her servant instincts immediately kicked in. "I will prepare your equipment, Master."
She hurried to the weapon rack in the living room. She reached for my black spear, then the katana. She knew they were extensions of my body.
"No," I stopped her.
Alicia paused, holding the spear in confusion. "Master?"
"Leave them there."
"But... Master is going hunting without a weapon?"
I walked past her, heading for the front door. I was dressed only in a white shirt, a vest, and trousers. No armor. No cold steel.
"They are just trash," I said flatly. "Bringing heavy weapons would only make them feel honored."
The real reason was much more selfish.
I wanted to feel the impact. I wanted to feel the vibration when fist met flesh, when bones cracked under the grip of my fingers. I wanted to experience the violence directly, without the mediation of metal.
"Wait at home. Do not open the door for anyone but me."
"Y-Yes, Master. Please be careful..."
I stepped outside. The door clicked shut.
Leaving behind the aroma of bread and coffee, I headed toward the stench of sewers and blood.