Albert sobbed loudly, then crawled forward on his knees toward Lessa's body.
Blood had painted the floor a deep red around her.
He gently lifted her and laid her in his lap.
He cried loudly as he hugged her cold, pale body.
His hands were stained with her blood.
He wept without pause until night fell.
No one in the village dared to approach the manor.
Beside him lay the knife that had killed her—its black blade and silver tip soaked in blood.
Tears mixed with the blood on her lifeless form.
Albert's mind was clouded; he could think of nothing except the crushing weight in his chest.
When he finally raised his head, he saw it—
a glowing blue paper floating above him.
In bold letters, it read:
[Soul Collected Successfully!]
"Are you mocking me?!" he shouted in rage,
though confusion gnawed at him. Why was it there? What did it mean?
"What am I supposed to do now?
I have nothing.
Everyone who cared for me is dead…"
His gaze fell on the knife.
A bitter thought struck him—there was no reason to live anymore.
"I can't continue this miserable life…"
He picked up the knife, speaking in despair.
He pointed the tip toward his neck.
The scent of blood filled the room.
A brief silence hung in the air as he hesitated,
then he pushed himself forward, whispering:
"There's no one left… I have nothing…"
And then he laughed—wild, broken laughter, full of rage and grief he could no longer contain.
"Hahaha… hehhahhah…"
---
Until the knife that he was slowly sinking into his neck finally stopped, making him spit blood.
Blood streamed from his neck like a fountain.
Then he felt numb. He could no longer feel his body. Sleepiness overcame him as countless images flashed before his eyes.
He slowly fell, and with every passing second, fragments of his past flashed before him.
The past, where he was the only one inside their library.
Every night, he read books until he fell asleep.
No one could read to him.
His parents were never there, consumed by their greed to collect books from all over the world.
And then, he saw…
After his body finally touched the bloody floor beside Lessa,
he saw the happiest moments of his life.
He saw himself—alone—until a little girl appeared.
She smiled at him, read with him.
They smiled and played together.
A memory as clear as the rising sun.
As he fell, the sound of splattering blood echoed in his head.
And his last words were—
"Lessa…
I'm sorry…"
Words carrying deep emotion and regret.
He could no longer feel anything after speaking them.
He accepted his demise with peace in his heart.
With his final strength, he looked at Lessa's face and smiled, tears flooding his eyes—
until he closed them,
seeing only darkness and emptiness.
Meanwhile, the glowing blue paper floating above their bodies began to change its letters:
[Tenth Rule:
Auto Protection for the Holder.
Commencing Spell Addition.
Soul Type: Positive
Effect Type: Internal
Picking Appropriate Spell…
Adding Effects…
Creating Name…
Spell Finished!
New Spell Name: Auto Regeneration.
New Spell Effect: The holder will automatically regenerate their body, no matter how fatal the damage.
New Spell Type: Auto]
Each letter appeared as though someone was writing it in the air.
When the final letter stopped appearing,
its swirling blue aura moved, lifting Albert's body.
It circled him until a big, dark blue orb floated above his body.
Blood fell from him.
Then the orb slowly sank into his chest.
He fell down.
He hit the ground, splashing blood that covered Lessa's face.
The open wound on his neck, its flesh folded and hanging,
began to close and connect on its own.
His chest, which had stopped moving, started to pump air out through his mouth and nose.
Four days passed.
The wind carried the rotting smell of a dead body.
The villagers started to notice, and they tracked down the source of the scent.
Everyone wore masks—they could not bear the strong stench of decay.
When they traced it to the manor, they saw the butler—who usually stood and roamed outside—was nowhere to be found.
The door was left open, yet in the past days no one had dared to get close.
"Where is that old man?"
Someone asked while stepping carefully through the door, sword in hand.
The others followed him inside, their faces weary. Some assumed the chief must be dead.
Others spoke of Albert, the librarian, who had not been seen and had not opened the library.
Someone speculated:
"He must have killed the chief and the daughter, then skipped town because of his parents' death."
Another asked,
"Why would he do that?
I thought Lady Lessa and Albert were dating?"
The one who had accused him replied,
"No, man…
he's always been a cold boy…
since the day he was born…
very different, and he always ignored us even when we tried to sympathize with him…
he's literally a psychopath," he claimed.
When the one leading the group opened the door, he stumbled and fell to the ground.
The others, upon seeing inside, panicked as well.
Some covered their mouths, others closed their eyes.
They found Lessa's corpse, with Albert's body lying beside her.
Someone quickly ran to grab a blanket and covered her body.
Then a doctor knelt and checked Albert's pulse.
He gestured to the group—Albert was still alive.
Everyone who saw it was in disbelief.
They searched the manor and found the chief's body in his room.
When they realized Albert was the only one alive, covered in blood yet without a single wound or scratch,
they argued. Some insisted he was the killer, but others refused to believe it and suggested they wait until he woke up—
to hear every word he said before making a proper conclusion.
They eventually calmed down and agreed.
The house was cleaned, and a proper funeral was prepared for the chief and his daughter.
Albert was taken to the home of their best doctor.
Two days later, morning sunlight streamed through the window into the room where Albert lay.
His fingers twitched, then clenched.
Suddenly, he woke and cried out loudly:
"Lessa!"
His hand reached upward—then froze. He was shocked to realize he was still alive.
"Why?…
Why am I not dead?!"
His voice shook, echoing through the room.
He lowered his head, his face twisted in grief.
"It's my fault… If I hadn't attacked carelessly…
She…
Lessa…
If I hadn't… I could still see her bright smile right now…"
As he wept and cursed himself, the doctor entered with a tray of coffee and bread.
"Young man, I'm glad you're awake," the old doctor said gently, placing the tray on the small table beside the bed.
"Take your time. Don't blame everything on your poor soul. Enjoy your day."
With that, he left and closed the door.
Albert calmed slightly, sitting up and wiping his face with a cloth from the table.
"I'll accept whatever punishment they give me. Every action in the past shapes the present's outcome."
Inside, he had already accepted that they might accuse him—and he would not defend himself.
Because, to him, there was nothing left to protect.
He had lost the will to live.
He did not want to go on living in trauma and regret.