The Last Paragon in the Apocalypse

In truth, Klaus\'s past—his life as Fruity—made him extra protective of Hanna. He carried memories of the time they had spent together, the love and care she had shown him, and the ultimate sacrifice she had made for him and his in the end.

Klaus knew just holding her hand as they slept wouldn\'t be enough to repay that. In his heart, he vowed to make her happy, to ensure she never had to worry about anything again. That night, they both drifted off to sleep with peaceful smiles on their faces.

At 4 a.m. the next morning, Klaus quietly got up and went to his room. He had an assassin under his spell, and it was time to check on him. The senior had told him to be patient—the spell would work on its own, but it required time.

When Klaus entered the room, he found the assassin sitting silently, staring at his poison dagger. The man looked like he was thinking about ending his own life, but something was stopping him. The Bewitching spell wouldn\'t let him take that final step.

"So, are you ready to talk, or are you still holding on to that loyalty?" Klaus asked casually, his expression relaxed.

Number 91\'s hands trembled as he stared at the mocking smile on Klaus\'s face. He wanted nothing more than to sever that head off his neck while that infuriating grin was still there, but he couldn\'t. No matter how much he tried to muster the strength, he was powerless. His stubborn loyalty was eating away at him, but it wasn\'t just that—his very soul was being consumed by the spell.

In truth, Klaus could\'ve ended it easily. If he used the Eye of Malevolence, he\'d be able to extract some memories from the man\'s mind, it would be painful for both of them. He doesn\'t yet have the mental and Soul capacity to do such a thing.

But even if he could, a part of him didn\'t want to. He was savoring the situation, watching the once-loyal assassin squirm. Another part of him thought it would be far more satisfying to record the man spilling his secrets and send the footage to his employers.

They had tried to kill him, and now Klaus wanted to strike back—hard. The best way to do that was to show the Dark Order that he could turn anyone. When he said "anyone," he meant even the most loyal could be bewitched.

"Let me make this clear," Klaus said, his voice cold and sharp. "You will die today. Or maybe tomorrow, depending on how fast you talk. But instead of getting your fingers cut off, then your toes, then your hands, feet, tongue, ears—every piece of you, little by little—your death could be quick. Painless, even. All you have to do is tell me what I need to know."

Number 91\'s breathing quickened, sweat dripping down his face. Klaus\'s words cut through the room like a knife, leaving the assassin no room for hope. He knew Klaus wasn\'t bluffing. The man standing before him had no mercy, and the only thing keeping him alive now was his silence.

But for how long?

Klaus\'s cold eyes gleamed as he watched the assassin\'s internal battle. The assassin\'s resolve was cracking, his defiance hanging by a thread.

"So," Klaus continued, his voice even colder now, "what\'s it going to be? Are you going to keep holding on to that worthless loyalty and suffering... or are you going to save yourself from unnecessary pain?"

"The Dark Order sent me," Number 91 muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked down, avoiding Klaus\'s piercing gaze. "And before you ask who they are or where to find them, know this—I\'m just an assassin with the designation Number 91. I receive orders and payment, and that\'s all I can tell you."

Klaus raised an eyebrow, amused. "That\'s all you can tell me? Or all you will tell me?" He leaned in closer, his tone dark and menacing. "Because right now, you\'re not in any position to make that choice."

Number 91 swallowed hard, his throat dry. He had given Klaus something, but it wasn\'t enough. The name of the Dark Order meant nothing to Klaus, and he knew that. It was like throwing a scrap at a wolf and hoping it would walk away.

Klaus smirked, clearly unimpressed. "I\'ve heard about the Dark Order. They think they\'re untouchable, moving in the shadows, sending their puppets to do their dirty work." He stepped closer, his eyes locked on Number 91. "But you\'re wrong if you think you\'re just a nameless pawn. You do know something, and I\'m going to get it out of you."

Number 91\'s heart pounded in his chest. He knew there was no escaping this. The spell, the pain, and Klaus\'s cold gaze on him are menacing enough.

"Now, let\'s try again," Klaus said, his voice chillingly calm. "Tell me everything. Names, locations, and how they operate. Don\'t make me ask twice."

"I receive orders through an envelope, and that\'s about it," Number 91 said, his voice trembling slightly. "But there are safe houses in every city. To access them, you need a key. This ring—" he lifted his hand, showing a plain black band on his finger, "—is that key."

He paused, his breathing uneven. "Like I said, I don\'t know where the Dark Order\'s headquarters are. Not even at the Regional level. If you\'re trying to find them, the best place to start is their safehouses in the cities."

He looked up at Klaus, hoping that was enough, that he\'d finally said all he knew.

Klaus studied him for a long moment, his eyes sharp and calculating. There was no hesitation in Number 91\'s voice, no flicker of a lie. Klaus could tell the man was being truthful. Maybe he didn\'t know everything, but what he had given was valuable.

Klaus nodded slowly, his expression neutral. "You\'ve done well," he said, his tone flat but with a hint of something darker beneath. He took the ring from Number 91\'s trembling hand, examining it briefly before slipping it into his pocket.

Number 91 let out a shaky breath, unsure if this meant his suffering would soon end. His eyes darted to Klaus, desperate for any sign of mercy.

"So, where is the Dark Order\'s safe house in this city? Or in Ross City?" Klaus asked, his tone sharp and demanding.

After a tense pause, Number 91 finally gave up the locations. His voice wavered, barely holding together as he shared the secret he had sworn to protect. Klaus listened carefully, memorizing every detail.

Once Klaus had the information he needed, he stepped back and looked at Number 91 with cold, emotionless eyes. "You should have picked a different line of work," he said, his voice low and harsh. "Instead of getting paid to kill people."

Klaus\'s gaze hardened. "But for telling me what I needed to know, I\'ll grant you a quick death."

With that, Klaus\'s sword materialized in his hand, glowing faintly with power. In one swift, fluid motion, the blade sliced through the air. Number 91 didn\'t have time to react as his head rolled from his body, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Klaus slid his sword back into his space ring with a swift motion, the blade vanishing from sight. He bent down, encasing the severed head in an ice sculpture, preserving it perfectly before tucking it into his space ring as well.

The body was a different matter—he glanced at the lifeless form and with a flick of his fingers, ice began to creep over it, freezing it solid. Once it was completely encased, Klaus shattered it into fine pieces, dissolving it into nothingness.

He stood there for a moment, satisfied with how clean the process was. No trace, no mess. Just like that, he had secured a lead.

"Now the Dark Order will know exactly who they tried to kill," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Even if it was just a contract from someone else, they would soon realize their mistake for trying to kill him and making those around him worry.