Beneath a Godless Sky

The end of her protest trailed off foolishly.

She had realized, albeit belatedly, that if she finished saying she did not want it, her life might well be forfeit.

He placed Chloe’s wavering hands upon his shoulders.

If they slipped even slightly, he forced them back into place with a savage growl.

His shield-like palm hovered within her sight as though ready to strike her cheek at any moment, throwing her vision into confusion.

He lowered his head and bit into her slender nape.

Like a gourmand savoring a rare delicacy, he licked along her skin.

He did not leave her breasts alone either, pinching them repeatedly.

At times he squeezed each one in his fists as though milking a cow.

The fatal coupling continued without end.

Chloe came to realize firsthand that the first act of penetration had been nothing more than a spark.

He far surpassed the human assumption that a man would tire by now.

At some point the mist cleared and the sun rose.

The white sun climbed to the peak of the sky before staining yellow and tilting toward the west.

How many times had his seed spilled within her womb.

Even after release, he did not withdraw, regaining firmness soon after.

Thus the boundary between ending and beginning blurred into a ceaseless act.

I will die like this.

Tormented by a s*x that shattered all her past experiences, she understood it keenly.

Without even noticing the fall of dusk, her consciousness slipped away from reality.

Chloe had always believed that great gods existed only for the great.

She thought the Empire’s religion, the Sky Radiance Faith, must be far too busy answering the prayers of those who donated lavishly.

Surely the gods must safeguard the Emperor’s divinity and defend the Empire from foreign invasion.

How could she dare hope her turn would ever come.

Among the Twelve Principal Deities of the Sky Radiance Faith, she revered Estira, Goddess of Twilight.

She had never once stepped into a temple, yet she feared tempting fate, so she quietly chose one great deity to honor in her heart.

Had she incurred wrath for failing to serve properly.

Or had bowing to a false god through a heretical sect been the true offense.

Upon her fell the heavenly punishment of returning to life.

What greater torment could there be than being forced to entwine flesh once more with her enemy.

If this were divine mercy granting her time to live well again, it would not have been so cruel.

Not only was she trapped in Hector’s hands, she had even begged to be embraced.

Yet if given the chance, she wished to protest before anyone.

In her previous life, she had no other choice.

From the moment she became aware of her surroundings, Chloe had been in an assassin training camp.

A mud hut with rainwater pooled across the floor had been her first world.

A moldy straw mat served as bedding.

Fodder fit for cattle and pigs was her three daily meals.

Most children her age perished under the harsh conditions.

When one died, another soon took the vacant place.

She had been among the few who endured from a very young age.

If she fell ill, it had to be only slightly.

Medicine was given only if the cost of treatment was less than the expense of acquiring a new child.

She had no memory of her parents.

Perhaps they had sold her in poverty.

Perhaps she had been kidnapped and never found.

Or perhaps she had always been an orphan.

During the years when the camp was her entire world, she could not grasp the concept of family.

She had learned in lessons that ordinary people lived together with relatives in homes.

But for Chloe, who knew only how to master killing techniques and obey orders, family was an abstract idea.

A family that could not even fill her stomach held no interest.

Her real worry lay elsewhere.

She lacked talent as an assassin.

Malnourished, she was always gaunt.

She was markedly smaller than even those who entered later than she did.

She could not keep up with basic training and often collapsed.

Beyond physical disadvantage, she had poor natural athleticism.

She had no skill with firearms, blades, or hand-to-hand combat.

“You’re fit only to be a human shield.”

The instructors berated her relentlessly.

They mocked the miracle of her survival with such pitiful ability.

In truth, Chloe loved reading.

But she told no one.

Theoretical lessons were scarce, limited to the bare minimum knowledge needed for assassination.

Among the instructors, theory was deemed the most useless subject.

“If it is the will of our Great Leader, I shall gladly offer myself as a shield.”

In her early teens, she praised the Leader so fervently that it exasperated her instructors.

The assassin camp did not merely train killers with weapons.

It was itself a religious order.

The Eternal Order.

Its head, Philip Larouge, was called Commander by the assassins and Leader by the faithful.

He was revered as a living god.

When news spread that he had obtained the title of Count, Chloe’s devotion reached its peak.

She worshiped him all the more fervently, believing that the god of the afterlife had risen to high rank even in the mortal world.

The camp stood on an isolated island.

From the southern beach to the northern cliffs, one could run across it in under an hour.

The children dared not attempt escape.

No one knew what became of those who had leapt from the cliffs.

Philip visited the camp only rarely.

Thoroughly indoctrinated, Chloe would scrub her ragged clothes clean and wait eagerly for his arrival.

Every trainee was a devout believer of the Eternal Order.

“The Leader has come.”

“Leader…!”

“O Great Leader. May you enjoy eternal life.”

In her first life, she had wept merely to behold the living god.

She did not know that Philip regarded the children as expendable tools.

He rarely spared the trainees a glance, heading straight for the director’s office.

Yet one day, passing before Chloe, he halted abruptly.

His indifferent expression shifted as his gaze fixed upon the small girl.

“This trainee?”

She did not understand why he stared.

She was simply astonished that one so divine had noticed her.

Whatever the reason, she was overwhelmed by the mere blessing of his words.

Bowing too deeply, she eventually prostrated herself flat.

She raised both arms high before placing her palms on the ground.

“It is my honor to receive your words. I am Trainee 017, Chloe.”

“Ten? Eleven?”

“I am fourteen.”

She was at least three or four years smaller than average.

No one ever guessed her true age.

Even the Leader mistook her for much younger.

“Lift your head.”

Philip raised her chin with the scepter symbolizing his authority.

His wrinkled eyes widened.

At that time, Chloe did not realize she possessed a beautiful face.

In the camp, beauty had no value.

Only the ability to kill was respected.

But Philip took note of her appearance, unusual even in youth.

After passing her without further comment, he later summoned the camp director and spoke in confidence.

That Trainee 017 would be opened to another path to fulfill the will of God.

Chloe left the camp, newly assigned a different use.

Thereafter, she did whatever the Leader commanded.

In her previous life, she had worshiped Philip Larouge as a god.

That changed once she learned it had all been deception.

The deeper her faith had been, the greater the backlash.

Reborn through time, Chloe did not hesitate to drive a blade into Philip’s chest.

The resentment born of her devoted sacrifice to the Eternal Order ran deep.

It was the same with Hector.

Terrifying memories were carved into her soul.

And she had once again shared flesh with him.

She pushed aside those memories of her past life and opened her eyes to the present.

A pitch-black gloom pressed upon her shoulders.

What horrified her most was that when he had driven deep inside her, she had felt something that was neither pure pain nor pure pleasure.

It should have been only agony.

Why, then, had her body trembled in confusion.

At the hands of such a depraved and base man.

That fact unsettled her deeply.

Then as now, Hector’s tastes leaned toward the vulgar.

As proof, he casually retrieved the crimson velvet mantle he had rolled upon between the rocks and put it back on.

He cared not that stains marred the garment symbolizing imperial nobility.

He flicked the cloak lightly, casting Chloe a sidelong glance.

On the lining, usually hidden from view, a dark red bloodstain showed.