"Yes... but sir, that thing isn't dead yet," she said, staring at the creature in horror — remembering the final moments of the fight between the lizard and the martial master before she ran. She recalled the creature's headless body decapitating the master, then swelling grotesquely before regenerating its head completely.
The man started walking toward the elephant-sized lizard. He picked up his sword, and in the next moment swung it down in a quick, casual motion — slicing open the lizard's chest as he spoke to the lady.
"You don't have to worry about their annoying regeneration or persistent life force. If people like me behead it, it will stay headless."
Stretching his black leather-gloved left hand into its body, he retrieved the heart. Then he took its kidneys and a blood-red stone that continuously released a mist of blood-like gas.
"Bloodstone... this guy's lived for quite some time, and during that long life, he's killed many people," he said casually, his mature voice calm and detached.
He placed the harvested organs and the Bloodstone into a leather pouch at his side. Then he took out a small bottle filled with red, blood-like liquid and threw it at the corpse. The bottle shattered on impact, and the creature immediately began to burn wherever the liquid touched it.
He pressed his palms together in prayer, closed his eyes, and murmured silently to the deceased.
Ten seconds later, he whispered, "Amen."
Turning toward the woman — who had watched him warily the whole time, unsure if he was also among those hunting her — he placed his bloodied left hand over his chest, bowed slightly, and began walking away into the alley.
The woman wanted to call out to him but held herself back... until he finally disappeared into the darkness of the night.
After a few moments of dazed silence, she rose, gathering the pearls. As she moved, something fell from her torn dress. She recognized it immediately — it looked just like the parchment paper the stranger had used to heal her, marked with the same dark blue runes.
Did he forget it? Or did it fall while he was fighting the lizard? she thought.
Turning the parchment over, she froze — then started running toward the road where the fight had begun.
When she arrived, she found him — Ghrosweav — leaning weakly against a building. He had told her to run, and she'd assumed he was dead.
"Seems like the stranger saved you, madam... cough, cough... I'm grateful for his kindness," Ghrosweav said weakly.
The madam noticed a note written on the back of the parchment:
> 'Your butler said you haven't paid him his salary yet — he'll be waiting to die until you do.'
She immediately understood and rushed toward her butler, her adopted son with the sick sense of humor.
"Ghrosweav... what kind of twisted joke is this? I thought you were dead!" she shouted.
"Madam... cough... honestly, I don't know how I'm still alive. Cough. Probably thanks to that strange man," he said, spitting blood.
"Stop talking. I'll heal you," she said, kneeling and raising the parchment.
"Haha... since when did you become a healer? Still, I'm grateful for your care. But I know my body best, and I don't think I'll—"
Before he could finish, the madam tore the parchment in two. A dark blue gas flowed into his body, and his wounds began closing at a speed visible to the naked eye.
"—make it out alive," Ghrosweav finished, stunned by what was happening.
"See?" the madam said with a smirk, though she herself was equally shocked — such miracles were the stuff of fairy tales.
After a pause, Ghrosweav spoke again, curiosity replacing pain.
"Madam... are you a witch?"
The question snapped her patience. She smacked him hard.
"It was the stranger's item! He used one to heal me before killing that monster — he probably left this one for you," she snapped.
"He... killed that monstrosity?" Ghrosweav asked, wincing from the slap.
"Yeah... he was pretty weird, I'll admit — his clothes, his behavior, those parchments... and the way he killed that thing," she said, half in awe.
"I guess heroes really do exist," Ghrosweav muttered as they both turned toward the approaching light — likely the police.
---
Meanwhile, in another place...
The stranger walked through the nave of an ancient cathedral. Cracked walls were lined with murals of saints, angels, and other holy figures. A slow, somber hymn echoed from the choir loft above.
The air felt both light and dark — the atmosphere one of kenopsia, an emptiness heavy with sacred memory.
At the altar stood a single figure, hidden in shadow. The stranger approached and bowed deeply.
"Your Excellency, Zephaniah," he greeted.
"May the Lord be with you," replied the figure, clad in a purple and black pallium — the vestments of a bishop.
"Have you completed your mission, oh Melancholia One?" the bishop asked.
"I have, Your Excellency," the stranger replied, taking something from his bag.
The bishop's eyes widened as he saw it.
"Viscount Veruletos' heart...!?"