The Psychotic Girl’s Revenge

“…”

Paige could no longer bear to hear such words. Her already weak hand slackened, and the dagger fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

She looked at Enrico, only to find that he was no longer moving.

She stared blankly at the man in front of her. He leaned against her with his eyes closed, long lashes casting shadows, and his lips still faintly curved as if in agreement with his words-willingly.

He had passed out.

Paige, leaning against the wine barrel, struggled to lift her hand to touch his face. Her hands were covered in blood and grime, and she couldn’t bring herself to smear it on him. Lacking the strength, her hand dropped halfway down.

“No matter what kind of you it is, I have engraved you in my mind.”

So, don’t be afraid she’ll forget. She would remember every bit of him with her life.

Paige leaned against him, watching as everything before her was swallowed by the flames. The burnt leaves flew in the wind, resembling the end of a life. Her lips parted slightly, blood dripping from the corners.

In River Town, at a command, all the subordinates rushed toward the stone bridge. Many of them emerged, battered and bruised from a deadly battle, and hurried to the stone bridge.

Along the way, gunfire filled the air.

No one could tell how many of their own had fallen.

Emery sat on the steps of the stone bridge, his face pale, devoid of any color. He clutched his shoulder, where flesh and bone had been gouged out, his body wracked with cold and pain. He looked ahead.

The fire was growing larger.

Flames stretched from the wine barrels to his feet, forming a blazing barrier that obscured the two people inside.

Emery watched for a long time before finally ordering his men, “You, go check what’s happening.”

Why had there been no movement for so long?

“Yes.”

Several subordinates, guns gripped tightly, carefully kicked aside the burning bamboo and wooden planks as they cautiously approached the wine barrels.

Paige sat there, listening to the sounds. She glanced at the man beside her, and from somewhere, she mustered a surge of strength, lifting her hand once more.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Ignoring the excruciating pain, she shakily began to peel off the blood-soaked coat she wore. Once removed, she gritted her teeth, twisting the coat into a thick rope-like strand, pulling it taut between her hands.

Blood dripped heavily from the coat.

She could still go on.

She had to keep going.

She had to take Enrico and Temple in Heaven out of this hell.

Paige tilted her head, and upon seeing the barrel of a gun, she didn’t hesitate. She yanked the coat tight, whipping it around the attacker’s arm, pulling them toward her, covering their head with the coat. With all her remaining strength, she tackled them to the ground, seized the gun, and while lying on her back, fired in the direction of the approaching footsteps, illuminated by the fire.

One after another, men fell.

Paige fired frantically, but soon, the magazine emptied.

She was out of bullets.

Two men stood at a distance, fearfully watching her. Only after seeing her fire several empty shots did they realize she was out of ammunition. Emboldened, they slowly approached her.

“How is she still moving? After all those injuries, she can still fire a gun.”

One of the men swallowed his fear, tightly gripping his knife as they cautiously stepped toward her.

“…”

Paige lay there, reaching for the fallen dagger.

It was so close-just a little bit further.

Seeing this, the two men were certain she was done for. One of them said, “Let’s switch to the knife. One more cut, and we’ll take her arm with us.”

Emery wanted Paige and Enrico alive, but they were genuinely terrified of this woman. She had fought off dozens of men, her strength unimaginable. It seemed wiser to take her arm first.

“Okay.”

The two men switched to their knives and slowly approached Paige.

Paige lay there, still trying to reach the dagger. Just a little more-so close.

In the firelight, a cold gleam descended, aiming straight for her.

But the expected searing pain never came.

Lying there, her blood-drenched eyes widened, pupils dilating in shock. Under the night sky, dust and ash fell with the hot wind, like a fine, dense rain. A slender, well-defined hand had appeared in front of her, blocking the blade, stopping the cold light from reaching her.

It didn’t fall.

Paige stared in disbelief as the previously unconscious Enrico slowly stood up. With one hand, he halted the man’s knife, and beneath his sharp brows, his long lashes lifted suddenly, revealing eyes so deep they seemed almost otherworldly, devoid of any warmth-a chilling contrast to the blood-soaked city around them.

“…”

The two men stood frozen, their legs weakening the moment their gazes met his. They trembled in fear.

Enrico looked at them, his lips curving into a bloodthirsty smile as he spoke slowly and deliberately, “Do you think you can touch my woman?”

With a swift move, he grabbed the knife, and in a single fluid motion, the blade slashed across their throats.

They collapsed without a sound.

A streak of blood splattered across his sharp features, staining even the corner of his eye-a blood-red mark like a sinister charm, both captivating and dangerous.

“…”

Paige lay there, dumbstruck, watching as the man before her seemed to have changed into someone else entirely.

Enrico, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his face, stood there and looked down at her, their gazes locking.

His eyes were darker and colder than the night, revealing nothing. Paige couldn’t gauge his current state of mind.

She wanted to ask, but before she could, Enrico withdrew his gaze, stepped past her, and walked away.

As he left, the blood-stained coat unfurled and fell over her.

Enrico…

Paige’s breath hitched, and she struggled desperately to crawl forward, propping herself up on a nearby plank. She looked up, only to see his tall, deadly figure walking away.

The sound of battle filled the air.

The path to the stone bridge was now a road of flames.

Enrico stepped into the fire, kicking aside debris in his way. The flames curled around him, distorting his silhouette.

He climbed the steps, like a devil awakened, treading into the inferno.

“…”

Emery sat on the steps, watching Enrico approach. Despite being the same person, he now seemed entirely different from the man at dinner.

Emery’s heart sank, but excitement quickly followed, making his breath tremble.

This was the famous Enrico.

As Enrico approached, the men around him leaped forward to attack, only to fall one by one.

The ground was littered with bodies and blood.

Enrico didn’t even glance at those who tried to stop him. His face remained dark, his focus solely on Emery.

His white shirt was quickly soaked with blood, and the knife in his hand became so dull from the killing that it started to bend.

Panicking, someone finally raised a gun to shoot him, but Enrico grabbed the man, pulled him down, and drove the dull knife into his back.