"You finally made it."
I looked up and smiled.
"You're a little late. The cleaning's already finished."
"W-What... exactly happened here?"
Damian felt dizzy.
The fragile noble lady he'd rushed here to save was nowhere to be found.
Instead, standing before him was a predator.
"Assassins."
Violetta casually shoved her massive iron club beneath the bed as if it were an umbrella.
"They were probably sent by Laura."
Then she hurried over and stopped directly in front of him.
"Oh, good timing."
"...Excuse me?"
"I was about to call for you anyway."
Damian blinked.
Violetta peeled the sheet mask from her face and tossed it neatly into the wastebasket.
Moonlight streamed through the shattered window.
Her face emerged from beneath the mask.
Clear.
Radiant.
Beautiful enough that no one would ever believe she'd nearly beaten three grown men into corpses a few minutes ago.
"I used up a lot of energy exercising."
She smiled.
"So I need to recharge."
Before Damian could react—
Violetta stepped forward.
And grabbed both of his hands.
"...!"
"Haaah..."
She closed her eyes in bliss.
"That's the stuff."
Then she pressed his palms against her cheeks and rubbed against them.
Like a cat rolling around in catnip.
Damian's heart nearly stopped.
Her skin was impossibly soft against his rough hands.
The sweet scent of aloe drifted from her hair and skin, completely erasing the smell of blood lingering in the room.
"L-Lady Violetta."
His voice cracked slightly.
"What exactly are you—"
"Hold still."
She nuzzled into his palms even more.
"One of those spirits sprayed poison earlier. My eyes are still stinging."
Her voice became sleepy.
"Your holy power works better than medicine."
Then she buried her face completely in his hands.
Trusting.
Defenseless.
Gone was the terrifying woman who had pulverized assassins with a giant club.
Dressed in silk pajamas, she suddenly seemed—
Small.
Fragile.
And, if he were being honest—
A little adorable.
...Dangerous.
Damian's instincts screamed a warning.
The assassins lying unconscious on the floor weren't the greatest threat in this room.
The woman in front of him was.
Far more dangerous.
To him.
The Nocturne.
The most exclusive social club in the Imperial Capital.
Tonight, it hosted one of the aristocracy's secret masquerade balls.
To everyone else, the venue was breathtaking.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead.
Nobles danced elegantly across polished floors.
Champagne flowed freely.
To me?
It looked like another layer of hell.
The chandeliers resembled masses of bleeding organs hanging from the ceiling.
The crimson carpet writhed like the tongue of some enormous demon.
"Relax your grip, Partner."
I glanced sideways.
"At this rate you're going to break my arm."
The man currently holding that arm stiffened.
Damian Lyriart looked absurdly handsome in a black tailcoat and silver half-mask.
The suit fit him so perfectly it felt almost unfair.
Unfortunately, he also looked like a predator desperately resisting the urge to draw his sword and start executing everyone in the building.
"...Had I known this place was like this, I never would have agreed to come."
His voice was grim.
"I can barely breathe."
His sensitive inquisitor's senses were detecting the thick, sticky miasma saturating the ballroom.
"Hang in there."
I patted his arm.
"We came here for the big catch, remember?"
I scanned the room.
"This isn't a ballroom."
"It's a buffet for demons."
I discreetly checked the collapsible baton hidden beneath the slit of my evening dress.
Excellent balance.
Excellent impact.
A proper self-defense weapon.
At that moment, the orchestra changed songs.
The tempo shifted into a lively waltz.
My eyes lit up.
Perfect.
The ideal rhythm for hunting.
"Can you dance, Commander?"
Damian looked wary.
"I know the basic steps."
"That's enough."
I smiled.
"Though tonight's choreography is a little different."
Then I dragged him toward the center of the dance floor.
Placing one hand on his shoulder, I began scanning for targets.
There.
To my right.
A black rat-shaped demon was hiding beneath the hem of a countess's dress.
"Commander."
"What?"
"Turn right."
"...Pardon?"
"Right now."
Without warning, I yanked his arm and spun.
We turned elegantly.
Gracefully.
And at the exact same moment—
My stiletto heel came down.
Hard.
On the edge of the countess's dress.
Or more accurately—
On the demon's tail.
SQUEEEEK!
The creature exploded into black smoke.
Damian nearly stumbled.
I kept moving.
"Next target."
I pointed behind him.
"Four o'clock."
Before he could protest, I dragged him into another sequence of steps.
To everyone watching, we looked like passionate lovers lost in an intense and dazzling waltz.
In reality?
We were playing a rhythm game called:
Stomp the Demons Before They Escape.
Step.
Step.
Turn.
Crush.
Stab.
Scream.
The demons' dying shrieks blended surprisingly well with the music.
"Lady Violetta."
Damian's voice tightened.
"Your dancing is... excessively violent."
I grinned.
"People are staring."
"Let them."
I spun beneath his arm.
"We're supposed to look madly in love."
Then—
The music stopped.
Abruptly.
The ballroom fell silent.
The chandeliers dimmed.
A sinister red glow filled the room.
On the stage, a man appeared.
The owner of Nocturne.
And tonight's primary target.
The host of a mid-level demon.
"Welcome."
His smile widened.
"My lost little lambs."
Slowly, he removed his mask.
The crowd erupted into applause.
What I saw was slightly different.
His facial skin was sagging and melting.
Massive goat horns protruded from his forehead.
The goat-headed demon beneath the disguise fixed us with blazing crimson eyes.
"I smell something..."
Its voice echoed through the room.
"A disgusting scent."
"The scent of holy power."
Immediately, the surrounding nobles began moving.
Their eyes lost focus.
Like puppets.
Like zombies.
One by one, they surrounded us.
Damian instinctively stepped in front of me.
His voice dropped into a growl.
"...A trap."
His jaw clenched.
"Damn it."
"I should have brought my sword."
I laughed.
"It's not a trap."
"What?"
"We deliberately walked into the tiger's den."
"This isn't the time for jokes."
"Commander."
I smiled.
"You know that saying?"
His expression darkened.
"Which saying?"
"If you want to catch a tiger..."
I pulled out my collapsible baton.
"...you have to enter the tiger's cave."
With my free hand, I suddenly grabbed his tie.
Hard.
Damian lurched forward in surprise.
Before he could regain his balance, I rose onto my toes.
My lips brushed close to his ear.
"I need a quick recharge."
I glanced toward the goat demon.
"That one looks annoying."
Damian blinked.
"...What?"
Then—
Kiss.
Without hesitation, I pressed a firm kiss against his cheek.
My body possessed a peculiar constitution.
It could absorb holy power from others and convert it into energy.
Simple physical contact worked.
Holding hands worked.
Hugging worked.
But direct skin-to-skin contact near strong pulse points?
That was a completely different story.
The thinner the skin.
The stronger the life force.
The closer the connection.
The more efficient the transfer became.
It was essentially a rapid-charging port.
The instant my lips touched his cheek—
A torrent of holy energy surged into me.
Electric.
Powerful.
Overwhelming.
Damian froze.
Completely.
His eyes shook as though an earthquake had struck his soul.
Beneath his silver mask, his face turned bright red.
"Y-You...!"
His voice cracked.
"W-What do you think you're doing?!"
I released him.
Refreshed.
Fully charged.
Ready for violence.
"Recharge complete."
I twirled the baton.
Holy flames burst to life along its surface.
The immense power flowing through my veins made every muscle hum with energy.
I flashed him a grin.
"Let's go, Partner."
The goat demon roared.
The zombie nobles surged forward.
I pointed the burning baton toward the orchestra.
"Musicians!"
The terrified performers jumped.
"Start playing again!"
I raised the weapon.
"Loud."
A savage smile spread across my face.
"Louder."
Then I charged.
CRACK—!
And my elegant—
utterly merciless—
hunt began once more.