Chapter Forty-Four: Pierre’s Final Day

Stepping silently over the carpet of fallen leaves, Pierre drew quietly nearer to the small grove.

The wind carried the words of lovers lost in their passion.

The words startled Pierre.

A man’s voice followed: “Love has urged me to uncover this secret place; it has guided my steps, lent me eyes I never had. I am no sailor, yet if you were on a distant shore, I would brave the storm and search for my dearest treasure.”

Damn it, they’re not talking about me, Pierre cursed silently.

From afar, a girl’s voice drifted: “Thank goodness night has cloaked me, or else you would see the blush of shame on my face from what you have just heard. I should deny my words, if I followed custom, but I will cast away such empty rules tonight! Do you love me? I know you will say ‘yes’; I will believe you. Yet perhaps your vow is but a lie—some say the gods merely smile at lovers’ broken promises. Oh gentle Ivo! If you truly love me, confess it honestly; if you think me too easy, I shall feign anger, act stubborn, reject your offer, so you must plead with me—for otherwise, I would never refuse you. Handsome Ivo, I am hopelessly devoted, so perhaps you find me bold; but believe me, my loyalty will one day outshine those who feign reserve. I admit, had you not caught my confession unawares, I would have been more restrained; forgive me—night has betrayed my secret, do not mistake my promise for shamelessness.”

Ivo... so it’s you.

“Oh!” The boy’s voice rang out: “By this bright moon, its silver spilling over the treetops, I swear—”

“Ah! Do not swear by the moon, for she is ever-changing, waxing and waning each month; if you swear by her, perhaps your love will be as fickle.”

“Then by what shall I swear?”

“No oath is needed; or if you must, swear by your own beauty, which I adore as an idol—your word alone I will believe.”

“If my love, born of my soul—”

“Enough, no more oaths. Although I love you, I do not love tonight’s secret meeting; it is too sudden, too reckless, too unexpected—like a flash of lightning that vanishes before a word is spoken. Farewell, my dear! This budding love, warmed by summer’s gentle breeze, may blossom bright when next we meet. Good night, good night! May peaceful sleep visit both our hearts!”

...

Such beautiful words, such moving confessions, such intoxicating declarations—Pierre drew a long breath. These shameless lovers, flaunting their desire so brazenly. God, let these fallen souls be consumed by Your wrath!

And I am the hand of punishment!

Pierre felt the urge to laugh up at the sky.

Avril had never imagined she would find herself acting out such a scene of moonlit confession with Hugh Eglair.

Until then, she had only watched others perform, never taken the stage herself.

But as she recited Juliet’s heartfelt confession to Romeo, she suddenly felt as though these words were the echo of her own heart.

Softly, she murmured, “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, draw the sun to his resting place; let Phaethon speed you westward, that dusk may swiftly fall. Unfold your dense curtains, night—grant love its hour! Hide the eyes of wandering souls, that Ivo may slip into my arms unseen and unremarked! Lovers bask in the radiance of their own beauty; if love is blind, so much the better, for night is its companion. Come, gentle night, you modest matron, teach me to lose in love’s gamble, staking innocence for innocence. Drape my blushing cheeks in your dark veil, until the love I harbor grows bold and I am no longer shamed by showing what I feel. Come, night! Come, Ivo! Come, bright day in night’s black shroud, for you will lie on night’s wings, whiter than new snow on a raven’s back. Come, tender night! Come, lovely dark night, bring me my Ivo! And when he dies, scatter him among the stars, so the sky is adorned so beautifully that all the world will fall in love with night and forsake the worship of the garish sun. Oh, I have bought the mansion of love, but do not yet possess it; though I have sold myself, the buyer has not yet claimed his prize. How tiresome is this day, like a child with new clothes, restless for the morning before the festival dawns.”

Though she spoke Ivo’s name, in her heart the image of Hugh Eglair appeared.

The boy, wearing his impish mask, was receding from sight.

According to the script, they would leap to the next scene—Juliet and Romeo’s confessions and mutual demise.

That would be the climax of the play, full of despair at reality and longing for love.

Avril obsessed over the lines of the next scene, but in her heart she joined herself again and again to Gong Hao, as if those destined to die at the finale were not Romeo and Juliet, but themselves.

At that moment, she finally understood why Juliet was so sorrowful.

She realized at last that her feelings for Hugh Eglair were far from simple friendship.

It was a love so deep, etched into the bone, never to be forgotten!

Yes, it was love.

She thought.

She gazed into the darkness where Hugh had disappeared, and standing alone by the fire, she uttered the final lines: “Why do you remain so fair? Here, oh, here will I rest forever, shaking off the yoke of inauspicious stars from this weary flesh. Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your last embrace! Lips, you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss! Ah! Have you gone so soon, my Ivo? Never again shall there be light; I will... fall forever into darkness.”

“Yes, you will fall forever into darkness.”

Pierre’s cold voice sounded behind her.

“Pierre?” Avril stared in disbelief at the man who had suddenly appeared, crying out, “You bastard, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, what else? I came to hear your shameless words, and then, as the wrath of the gods incarnate, send you—who has defiled love—down to hell.”

“My God, Pierre, you’re mad! How dare you treat me so rudely?” Avril failed to realize she was dressed as a maid, masked, her voice altered.

“Rude? Not merely rude.” Pierre chuckled darkly.

He threw back his head and drew a long breath. “Such moving confessions, such radiant moonlight! Truly, I have never heard such intoxicating words. You’re a poet, darling. I never imagined you could speak so poetically.”

“Who’s your darling, you damned bastard? How dare you insult me so? You’ll pay for this!” Avril shouted furiously. Her reaction was so proud and fierce that Pierre was momentarily stunned—this was nothing like Isadora’s demeanor.

Still, he sneered, “Oh, is that so? Then let me punish you. I’ll show you what pain is, what joy is. Before you die, I’ll bring you to your final ecstasy, my beautiful, adorable little whore. You’ve aroused my every desire! Oh God, I feel my whole body burning!”

Pierre shouted, striding toward Avril.

“No!” Avril screamed. “You’re insane, you bastard!”

Seeing Pierre advancing with a face twisted in malice, seizing her hand and tearing at her clothes, she could no longer care for anything else and cried out desperately, “Hugh! Hugh, save me!”

“Hugh?” Pierre hesitated for a moment.

Wasn’t it supposed to be Ivo?

And the girl before him—why was her figure unlike Isadora’s?

He hurriedly ripped off Avril’s mask, revealing the terrified, unmistakable face of the princess.

Avril? The shock sobered Pierre instantly.

How could this be? Why wasn’t it Isadora?

He lingered between astonishment and fear, when suddenly he felt a surge of magical energy crash into him from behind.

“Ah!” Pierre roared, feeling his body erupt in flames of wild, unrestrained desire.

Desire’s fire? Soul shock?

Those were Pierre’s final clear thoughts.

In the next moment, his body was seized by primal instinct.

Her! Kill her! Carve out her organs and keep them with me forever!

Princess, maid—it makes no difference! I must do this!

I’ve endured for twenty years!

Twenty years!

He howled at the sky, his cry echoing through the woods and awakening those slumbering in the castle. His consciousness was rapidly fading, overwhelmed by primitive impulse.

He seized Avril’s hand, ignoring her struggles as he tore at her clothes, intent only on ravaging her.

“Hugh, save me!” Avril screamed in despair.

She could never have imagined that seeing her face only drove Pierre into greater madness. She was certainly no match for a man—though alchemists were not physically powerful, he was more than enough to overpower a girl not yet fourteen.

Her maid’s uniform was shredded, fluttering in tatters through the air, leaving only thin undergarments to cover her pale skin—only driving Pierre further into frenzy.

At the instant he was about to force Avril to the ground, a figure burst from the woods and kicked Pierre away.

It was Gong Hao.

“Master Pierre, please calm yourself. This is the princess,” Gong Hao said firmly, having removed his mask.

He turned and wrapped his apprentice’s robe around the half-naked Avril, shielding her exposed skin.

“Even if she is the princess, it’s the same! I’ll have her! I’ll kill her! Anyone who stands in my way dies!” Pierre growled, lost to the depths of his long-suppressed desire.

He lunged for Avril again.

A cunning glint flashed in Gong Hao’s eyes.

He noticed a surveillance node nearby flicker briefly.

That meant, back in the Alchemy Tower, Heinz had heard the commotion and was scrying the area with his crystal ball.

“Master Pierre, you know I must not raise a hand against you. But if you insist on assaulting the princess, I cannot allow it.”

“Die!” Pierre bellowed, swinging his fist at Gong Hao.

The two spells Gong Hao had used targeted Pierre’s greatest weaknesses.

Soul magic had effects that ignored levels—resistance depended on willpower alone. A strong-willed person, even if bedridden and frail, could withstand a hundred desire-burnings unharmed. But those consumed by desire and lacking restraint, struck by such a spell, often succumbed to madness.

Pierre’s obsession with beautiful young girls was abnormal; hit by desire’s flame, his longing surged, devouring his sense. And he was further struck by soul shock. Though Gong Hao was just a beginner in such spells, the timing was exquisite—Pierre’s mental defenses were at their lowest upon realizing his victim was not Isadora but Avril.

Gong Hao’s soul shock at that instant was like a spark in alcohol, throwing Pierre’s thoughts into chaos.

These spells were not powerful in themselves, but struck at Pierre’s core, unleashing a hundredfold their effect.

Mental confusion, coupled with surging primal desire—together, they amplified one another. Now, even if it was his own mother before him, Pierre would not have spared her.

In this state, he was no longer the stern man of before, but a beast driven by instinct.

Gong Hao, however, was a knight under Lancelot, already advanced to the second rank. If he wished, he could have easily beaten Pierre senseless with one hand.

But now, he feigned helplessness, offering no resistance. He let Pierre’s fists rain down on his back as he clung to Avril, crying, “Master, please stop! You must not treat the princess this way!”

His voice was loud and clear. If Pierre’s earlier roar hadn’t woken the castle, this shout certainly would.

The surveillance node’s tiny eye flickered in the darkness, easily visible to any observer—Heinz was rapidly focusing the scene, trying to hear more clearly.

Gong Hao clung to Avril, using his body to shield her from Pierre’s blows.

He even withdrew some of his own protective energy.

Pierre’s wild punches landed furiously, making Gong Hao cough blood, spattering it over Avril’s hair and face.

She screamed in terror, “Hugh! Hugh!”

“Don’t... hurt... the princess...” Gong Hao pleaded in a trembling voice.

He appeared almost done for—after all, outwardly he was just a boy of ten or so, being battered by a grown man, left barely clinging to life.

Yet he clung to Avril, giving Pierre no chance to touch her.

Pierre’s rage only grew more intense, his strikes harsher.

Gong Hao’s flesh was torn, blood flying.

“Hugh...” Avril wept bitterly. “Why are you so foolish? You could have escaped yourself.”

“No,” Gong Hao said weakly, “I swore—even if I must give my life... I will protect you.” He coughed up more blood.

Despair and helplessness were feigned, but Pierre’s fists and the pain, and the blood, were all too real. Gong Hao felt as though his insides were being shattered—if this continued, he might truly be beaten to death.

At last, he could endure no more. He loosened his hold, gazed at Avril, and slid to the ground in exhaustion, his eyes filled with hopelessness.

Like Romeo gazing upon Juliet’s lifeless form in despair.

A flawless performance—a boy dying to protect his princess, beaten to death by an evil sorcerer. Even more moving and unforgettable than a hero’s rescue.

“Hugh!” Avril screamed, her voice tearing at the night.

Pierre let out a triumphant roar, reaching for Avril once more.

“No!”

A voice rang out, powerful and sudden.

Cross!

The princess’s most formidable red-robed sorcerer, realizing something was amiss in the woods and that Avril was not in her room, arrived instantly. His mastery of earth magic allowed for short-range teleportation.

Cross’s shout, imbued with immense mental force, snapped Pierre momentarily out of his madness.

He looked bewildered, wondering what had come over him.

Cross raised his hand and struck Pierre with a shock spell. Not too strong—Cross did not intend to kill Pierre. The priority was to rescue the princess, then interrogate Pierre about what had happened.

Given Pierre’s character, there was no reason for him to do something so self-destructive.

But Cross had not expected that, just as he cast his spell, Gong Hao, lying on the ground, would spring up like a leopard, shouting, “Don’t hurt the princess!” As if in a final desperate act, he flung himself at Pierre.

As the shock spell hit Pierre, Gong Hao tackled him to the ground.

A surge of energy exploded from Gong Hao’s right hand pressed against Pierre’s chest, detonating inside Pierre—

“Sir, rest in peace.”

That was the last thing Pierre ever heard. Even in death, he never understood what had happened.