“Lady Rita, please have a drink before you go.”
Kros extended the wine glass, filled to the brim, with both hands toward Rita.
But the glass did not hold only wine—it also contained the bodily fluid Kros had obtained from that succubus.
Under immense pressure, Kros had secretly poured it in behind Rita’s back.
The simple act of mixing the foreign substance into the wine was more exhausting, difficult, and nerve-wracking than anything else she had done today.
Fortunately, Rita seemed unaware of anything unusual.
This was her last safeguard.
As long as Rita drank this cup of wine, all of Kros’s and Lady Mel’s troubles would be over.
Thinking this, Kros pushed the glass forward a little.
She noticed the liquid inside rippling—the tremor came from her own unsteady hand, unable to hold the glass steady.
Though she wasn’t drunk, her body seemed to betray her.
Every movement Rita made froze in Kros’s eyes like a still image.
Rita slowly lowered her gaze to the cup she had used tonight, as if trying to read something from the clear, fragrant wine.
Kros’s heart pounded wildly.
If she hadn’t just personally dropped the succubus’s fluid into the cup, she wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss—no ordinary person could detect the difference.
After a long while, Rita finally raised her hand, preparing to take the glass.
It might have been only a few seconds, but time stretched endlessly for Kros, feeling as though centuries had passed at the station she had missed.
But Rita’s hand froze just before touching the glass.
Her eyes looked from the cup back to Kros.
“Kros.”
Rita’s voice carried a sigh, tinged with subtle disappointment.
“Lady Rita, I am here,” Kros said, her heart racing as she met Rita’s gaze.
Rita raised her hand again—not toward the wine glass in Kros’s hand, but toward Kros herself.
Halfway up, she lowered it again.
“Forget it, it’s nothing,” Rita shook her head. “You must be careful.”
“W-what do you mean be careful?”
“Lock the doors and windows tight. Don’t go out at night, and don’t go to places like that alone. It’s dangerous. If there’s a next time, who knows what could happen.” She lowered her lashes and sighed once more. “Now, give me that glass of wine.”
Is she… comforting herself?
So close now, just one step away—and yet a trace of hesitation bloomed in Kros’s heart.
Has Rita done anything?
Does she have any reason to die?
Besides Lady Mel’s coercion, does Kros have any reason to send her off?
Her mind was a mess, and she clumsily handed over the wine glass—but her hand suddenly trembled, and the cup slipped from her grasp, shattering on the ground.
“I’m sorry…”
Kros whispered an apology.
“I’ll clean this up. You… go on ahead.”
Kros didn’t know that this accidental act had saved her own life.
Rita took a deep breath of the cold night air, calming herself down as quickly as possible.
Thankfully, she hadn’t struck Kros after all.
Not a vile assault, but a true attempt to twist her neck off.
Kros’s neck had been so close to her hand—Rita could have ended it with a flick.
The cause? That last cup of wine laced with succubus fluid.
That audacity—using my own magic against me!
But Kros was human, which was why she resorted to such a clumsy method to ambush her.
If she were another succubus, it would have been much easier to scatter some charming aura during an intimate moment than to poison wine.
Because Kros was human and had that substance, Rita was more certain than ever that what the other woman wanted wasn’t her body.
If not her body, what could be left worth taking? Money?
Or her life?
She had saved the other woman out of kindness—and yet Kros tried to make her drink such a thing?
But also because Kros was human, Rita hadn’t immediately snapped her neck.
She simply couldn’t bring herself to kill.
Fortunately, Kros seemed to understand the threat and was so frightened she dropped the wine glass, allowing Rita’s tight chest to release some of its pressure.
If she had handed the glass over, could Rita have continued to restrain herself?
What feelings should she have now?
Rita couldn’t say. Complex was the only word that came close.
She took another deep breath, hoping the night breeze would cool her blazing emotions.
But this time, she caught another scent in the air.
The rusty smell of blood, the charred odor of burning organic matter, and a faint yet unmistakable presence—something not of human origin.
Rita hurried out of the alley onto the main street.
It felt like another world.
This was the first time she truly understood the meaning behind those four words.
The scene before her was starkly different from when she had entered Kros’s home.
The entire city of Solus had shed its daytime splendor, now cloaked beneath a suffocating cloud of death.
Even Rita wasn’t foolish enough to believe this was coincidence.
She had been dragged out all day, and then everything changed drastically.
Such a commotion—who could be the target?
As these thoughts churned, the resentment in Rita’s heart grew stronger.
She shrugged off her coat.
Two pitch-black wings unfurled from her waist, a heart-shaped tail extended from her coccyx, her slender fingers turned into sharp claws.
A pink aura of charm enveloped her entire body, dyeing her long silver hair a soft pink.
On tiptoes, she launched herself like a shooting star into the night sky, speeding toward the Lord’s Manor.
Rita had calculated the fastest method, the optimal route, even revealing her true form and discarding the clothes she had worn during the day.
She had even disguised her hair color as pink.
Yet there was one thing she hadn’t considered: why, in this moment, did she not choose to flee?
Why was she rushing without hesitation to Cecilia’s side?
Protecting the girl she’d only known for days, a stranger in many ways, had become instinct.
The howling wind roared in Rita’s ears, and the devastation below was clear from above.
The damage wasn’t severe, but like a series of gaping wounds, scars that would take a long time to heal.
There was no time to care about these now.
Flapping her wings, she raced forward.
Luckily, she flew fast and high enough that no one could easily trace her in the deep darkness.
But what if someone else had the same idea?
A shadow, like a raven cloaked in the night, came rushing toward her at a speed that rivaled Rita’s.
Black hair whipped in the wind, black wings stirring the darkness, a black heart-shaped tail bouncing with her movements.
Only those crimson eyes—the same vivid red as Rita’s—stood out as an anomaly in the high sky.
A succubus.
And one flying from the direction of the Lord’s Manor.
Succubus, Lord’s Manor—put those words together, and the implications were ones Rita refused to imagine.
A bomb seemed to explode inside her mind, igniting the fury she had just suppressed and burning away what little reason remained.
The succubus widened her eyes when she saw Rita approaching, then smiled with joy.
“Are you here to help? Listen! That princess—she—”
Before the words left her lips, the black claws had already pierced the succubus’s exposed, delicate shoulder.
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