Chapter 463 - : 463 : Her Salvation!
The alley was still. The only sounds left were the slow, thick dripping of blood from severed limbs. The blue moonlight painted everything in cold, merciless shades of silver and black.
The Witch of Death remained kneeling beside the unconscious raped woman, her long white hair falling forward like a curtain, bangs completely hiding her eyes. She hadn’t moved since the second cloaked woman finished her work. Her shoulders were still trembling, but the tears had stopped. She simply stared at the bruised, broken body in front of her, hands resting carefully on her own thighs so she wouldn’t accidentally brush against the woman’s skin.
The second cloaked woman turned toward the Witch of Death. She raised one gloved hand and snapped her fingers once, sharp and commanding.
From the deepest shadows at the far end of the alley, a figure in a plain dark cloak materialized as if stepping out of the darkness itself. The newcomer dropped to one knee immediately, head bowed low in perfect respect. No words were spoken. They simply waited.
"Take her," the second cloaked woman ordered, her voice low and cold. "Make sure she is treated well. Full care. No questions. No records."
The kneeling figure nodded once. They rose, walked over to the unconscious woman, and scooped her up with surprising gentleness, cradling her against their chest like something fragile. Before disappearing back into the shadows, the figure turned slightly and bowed once more — this time directly toward the Witch of Death.
Then they were gone. The raped woman vanished with them, leaving only a faint smear of blood and dirt on the cobblestones where she had lain.
The Witch of Death slowly pushed herself to her feet. She stood facing the second cloaked woman, her posture stiff, hands clenched at her sides. The blue moonlight caught the edges of her white hair and the faint tear tracks still visible on her porcelain cheeks.
The second cloaked woman reached up with both hands and slowly pulled her hood down.
Long, silky blonde hair spilled out, but the thick ponytail was carefully tucked inside the cloak itself, hidden from view. Only the front strands framed her face. She was an elf — tall, regal, and coldly beautiful. Her skin was a smooth, pale golden tone that seemed to glow faintly even in the dim alley. Her face was sharp yet delicate, with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full, naturally red lips that looked almost painted even without any makeup. Long, elegant pointed ears extended from the sides of her head, the tips adorned with dangling emerald earrings that caught the moonlight and sparkled like tiny green flames. Her eyes were a vivid, piercing green, framed by long lashes.
She looked at the Witch of Death with an unreadable expression.
"Why are you here," she asked quietly, "drowning in your guilt instead of doing your job?"
The Witch of Death’s shoulders flinched. Her voice came out heavy and trembling, barely above a whisper.
"I... ah... I tried..."
The elf woman’s green eyes narrowed slightly.
"Tried?" she repeated, voice still calm but edged with steel. "What do you mean by tried?"
The Witch of Death’s breathing grew uneven. She hugged herself tightly, fingers digging into her own arms as if she needed to hold herself together.
"I— I touched him, okay?!" The words burst out, high and broken, filled with raw pain. "He didn’t die!"
The elf woman’s eyes widened. Real shock flickered across her beautiful face for the first time.
"What are you saying...?"
"I saw him die!" the Witch of Death cried, voice cracking. Tears spilled freely from beneath her white bangs again. "I felt his life force leave his body! His heart stopped! He collapsed right in front of me! But then... then he just sat up. Like nothing happened. He jumped on me. He grabbed my hands so I couldn’t move, but he still didn’t die. He was... he was immune. The only person in this entire world who is. And he... he didn’t look at me like I was a monster. He looked at me like I was... like I was just a woman. And then he kissed me."
She looked up at the elf, voice shaking violently.
"Just tell me who he is... please. Just tell me who he is."
The elf woman stood frozen, staring at her. The shock in her green eyes was genuine and deep. For several long seconds she said nothing. The only sound in the alley was the Witch of Death’s ragged breathing and the distant drip of blood.
The Witch of Death’s voice dropped to a broken whisper.
"Please... tell me who he is."
The elf woman finally exhaled, slow and controlled. She looked at the Witch of Death for a long moment, then spoke.
"His name is Aiden Nightshade. The one you were sent to kill."
The Witch of Death’s body went rigid.
The elf woman continued, her voice low and serious.
"What you were not informed of... is that he is the Child of Prophecy. The one who will become the bridge between demonkind and humankind. The one destined to change the balance of this world."
The words hit the Witch of Death like a physical blow.
She stood completely still, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her lips parted slightly. A single tear rolled down her cheek and dripped from her chin. Then, slowly, the smallest, most fragile smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was barely there — just a faint, trembling curve — but it was real. For the first time in over a century, something that looked dangerously close to hope flickered in her expression.
She whispered, almost to herself,
"...Really? He... he is the one...?"
The elf woman watched her for a moment longer, then turned and began walking past her toward the mouth of the alley.
"Let’s go," she said without looking back. "We need to inform this immediately."
The Witch of Death stood there for a few seconds, still hugging herself, still wearing that tiny, broken smile. Then she nodded once, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and followed.
The two cloaked women walked out of the blood-soaked alley together — one an ancient cursed being who had finally found someone immune to her touch, the other an elven operative carrying the weight of a prophecy that had just become far more complicated.
---
The two women walked in silence through the narrow, dimly lit corridor deep beneath the city. The walls were made of old stone, damp and cold, lined with faint glowing runes that provided just enough light to see. The air was thick with the scent of old incense, metal, and secrets. This was one of the hidden corridors of the assassination network — a place where names were never spoken loudly and death was discussed like business.
Both walked with their hoods up once more, lost in their own thoughts. The events of the alley still lingered heavily between them.
After a long stretch of silence, The Elf womam spoke without turning her head.
"Elysara... you said he kissed you." Her voice was calm, but there was genuine curiosity in it. "So... how was it? I mean... how did it feel?"
Elysara turned her head slightly, clearly surprised by the question.
"What? Aeloria... why are you asking me that?"
Aeloria kept her gaze forward as they walked.
"Well... it’s not like I’ve kissed someone before. So, I just wanted to know what it felt like... for you. That’s all."
Elysara was quiet for a moment.
"I didn’t know you were the type to be interested in such things."
Aeloria gave a small, dry chuckle.
"And I didn’t know a single kiss from a man could crack that cold expression of yours. He sounds like he melted ice in your heart."
Elysara stopped walking.
Aeloria continued a few steps ahead before realizing and stopping as well. She turned around.
Elysara stood still in the middle of the corridor, her gloved hands slowly clenching at her sides. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and honest.
"When he did it... I was surprised. But then... it became strangely calming. I stopped thinking. For those few seconds, my mind went quiet. I didn’t know a man’s lips could feel like that."
Aeloria looked at her for a moment, then gave a short nod.
"Oh... sounds harder than killing someone."
Elysara started walking again. Aeloria fell into step beside her.
A few seconds passed before Elysara murmured under her breath, almost thinking out loud.
"I want to meet him again."
Aeloria glanced at her with a faint smirk.
"Really? You’re already head over heels for him."
Elysara blinked beneath her bangs.
"Did I say that out loud?"
"Yes," Aeloria replied simply. "You did."
Elysara was quiet for a few steps. Then she spoke again, her voice steady but carrying a rare trace of vulnerability.
"Can you blame me...? I can finally touch someone who doesn’t die because of these cursed hands."
She looked down at her gloved hands as they walked, flexing her fingers slowly.
Aeloria’s expression softened just slightly. Her tone remained calm, but there was quiet certainty in it.
"You’ll meet him again. I just know it."
---
END OF Chapter : 463 : HER SALVATION!
---