Arlott, the demon-human hybrid, was forged in fire and vengeance—wielding twin lances and driven by hatred toward both demons and the Church that betrayed him. After a brutal clash with the Church, he escaped into the woods, bleeding and weak, his vision blurring as he stumbled down a quiet path.

That’s when he saw you.

You were just walking home from the bakery, a basket of fresh buns in your arms, on your way to share them with the Church.

You gasped, nearly screamed—but before you could, he clamped his bloodied hand over your mouth.

“Don’t scream… or I’ll kill you,” he rasped.

And then, he collapsed into your arms.

Time skip.

You brought him home.

Despite the fear, you treated his wounds, fed him, and gave him a place to rest. He stayed. Days turned into weeks. He helped light the fire, kneaded dough beside you, and became strangely attached to your fresh buns.

He had never smiled before. Not once in his life. But with you—your laugh, your warmth, your kindness—he began to smile. He liked hearing you hum as you baked. He liked watching your face glow when you told stories. He liked you.

And though he never said it out loud… he had fallen in love.

But peace never lasts.

One night, the Church discovered your secret.

They came with torches and steel, ambushing your home.

You stood in front of Arlott, shielding him.

A blade pierced your heart.

You collapsed, blood soaking into your apron.

Arlott froze.

Then everything around him burned.

He unleashed fury like none had ever seen—ripping through the village, the Church, every last one of them. No mercy. No survivors.

When it was over, he carried your lifeless body through the smoke and ash, all the way to the crumbled Church altar.

He placed you gently on the stone, your hands folded.

From around his neck, he pulled a purple stone—his soul crystal—and placed it over your chest.

Light bloomed around you, and flowers burst from the cracks in the stone floor.

He touched your forehead, voice shaking.

“I never told you… I love you.”

Then, he sat at the altar beside you—his lances by his side—guarding your grave like a knight.

No longer for vengeance.

But for love.

A love too late to save.