His Kindness Is A Lie - Chapter 2

The man exuded an unmistakable aura of killing intent. Bella was certain—if she turned her back and ran, he would pull the trigger without hesitation, just as he had ruthlessly killed the rabbit moments ago.

Yet, she couldn’t just sit there frozen. She had to try to escape, but her body felt as though it were bound tightly, refusing to obey her commands. The man, observing her with detached interest, lowered the gun slightly and tilted his head.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to run?”

His voice was as cold as the wind that swept through the land, piercing her ears with a biting chill. He looked genuinely puzzled, as though he couldn’t understand why his prey was cowering on the ground instead of fleeing. His expression hinted at boredom, as if her inaction disappointed him.

It was then that her survival instincts kicked in. She couldn’t just sit there like a fool. She had to run. If those hands, which had so mercilessly pulled the trigger, caught her, she knew there would be no mercy.

Every fiber of her being screamed at her to get as far away from him as possible. Her trembling legs finally found the strength to push her upright, though her knees wobbled. As she stumbled and turned to run, her gaze fell upon the rabbit’s lifeless body, its blood pooling on the ground. The stench of it filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.

Still, she forced herself to look forward and began to run. No matter what held her back, she had to escape him. That singular thought consumed her mind.

Fear of the man, the icy dread of his gaze on her back, and the haunting image of the rabbit flashed in her mind.

Clutching all these crushing emotions, Bella ran through the forest like a madwoman, branches tearing at her skin as she pushed forward.

But why? Why, no matter how hard she ran, did the man seem to remain close behind?

She could feel his chilling gaze fixed on her, unrelenting. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill, but she had no time to cry. Amid her panicked thoughts, she heard it clearly: the sound of the man raising his gun once more.

Then came another deafening gunshot that echoed through the forest.

She didn’t know where the bullet landed, but instinctively, her body collapsed to the ground.

“Ugh…”

Her pounding heartbeat roared in her ears, but as the initial shock faded, her senses slowly returned.

Her palms stung from being scraped against sharp stones and twigs. Her body bore fresh cuts and scratches from her frantic flight through the forest. A burning, throbbing pain flared up in her ankle—it was hard to tell whether it was from the bullet or from slamming it against a rock.

As the sound of dry leaves crunching under approaching footsteps grew closer, Bella exhaled a trembling breath. It was a resigned breath—there was no way she could run again in her current state.

The man crouched down on one knee to examine her, clicking his tongue in disapproval when he saw her condition. Then, in a gesture completely at odds with his earlier actions, he gently grabbed her swollen ankle with what seemed like surprising tenderness.

“Well, looks like you’ve hurt your ankle,” he murmured, almost as if pitying her.

His tone, tinged with feigned sympathy, sent a shiver down her spine.

As she instinctively tried to pull her foot away, a sharp, searing pain shot through her injured ankle. The man had tightened his grip, applying deliberate pressure.

“Ah…!”

Her pained gasp escaped her lips, but the man simply continued to stare at her intently, as though observing her reaction.

The mounting pain in her ankle was unbearable, and a new fear began to take hold—that he might break it entirely. With tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Bella finally managed to plead in a soft, trembling voice.

“P-please… let go. It hurts.”

Her lips quivered, her voice was frail, and her entire demeanor radiated desperation. She was like a fragile bird, trembling and utterly vulnerable.

Bella worried that her timid plea might provoke even more brutal violence, but to her relief, the man released his grip on her ankle. Instead, his hand moved to her chin, tilting her head up so she was forced to meet his gaze directly.

When was the last time someone had looked her in the eye like this?

She searched her memories but found only recollections of contemptuous or fearful stares—people who regarded her as if she were a monster.

This unfamiliar experience left her amethyst-colored eyes darting, unsure where to settle. The man, however, seemed unconcerned as he spoke again.

“Are you an outsider? You must be, to wander in here and trample through this place so recklessly.”

His tone dripped with irritation, making it clear he was far from pleased.

Had she known this was private land, she would never have entered.

Her eyes fell instinctively, and that’s when she noticed the weapon lying beside him. She froze.

The object was unmistakable. People called that cruel piece of metal a “gun.” It was a tool that had seemingly appeared like magic from the hands of devils, ending lives mercilessly and without warning.

“I… I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’m sorry. Please, let me go. I won’t ever come back, I promise,” she stammered, her trembling voice spilling out in a frantic rush. Her words, disjointed and desperate, held no trace of deceit. There wasn’t a chance she’d ever want to return to such a terrifying hunter’s forest.

The man smiled faintly.

The sight of it shocked Bella. She hadn’t expected him to smile in this situation, and part of her wanted to believe her eyes were deceiving her. But they weren’t. His dark crimson eyes curved ever so slightly, creating a smile that was unsettling yet stunning in its cruel beauty.

“Let you go?”

His question was short, and Bella frantically nodded.

“Yes, yes! Please let me go.”

The faint smile from moments before sparked a tiny glimmer of hope within her. Perhaps he really would spare her.

“Is that what you want?”

His question came again, and this time it gave her pause. She reflected on it, unsure.

There had been countless moments in her life when she thought she didn’t want to live. The only reason she had survived this long was because her fear of death outweighed her desire to escape her misery.

Even now, faced with this merciless man, she didn’t want to die. The raw instinct to survive surged stronger than anything else.

“…Yes, I want to live,” she finally said, her voice trembling but resolute.

“If I spare you, what can you offer me in return?”

She didn’t have much—almost nothing, really.

How much money did she even have right now?

Bella instinctively thought of money as the price for her life. But the contents of her pocket amounted to only a few silver coins, and she had no savings to speak of.

“…How much should I give you?” she asked cautiously.

The man’s gaze swept over her slowly, his expression laced with disdain as if the very suggestion was absurd.

“Money? Are you seriously suggesting that you’ll pay me to spare your life?”

Even though she was caked in dust and dirt from the forest floor, her clothes were already worn and shabby to begin with. By contrast, the man’s attire was lavish to the point of being almost suffocatingly extravagant—something no ordinary hunter would ever wear on a hunt.

It finally occurred to her how strange this all was. No regular hunter would dress like that. And with this realization came an unsettling sense that something was very, very wrong.

She didn’t know what it was that he wanted, but one thing was clear: it wasn’t money.

Bella regretted her naive question immediately.

The man grabbed her chin more firmly, tilting her head so her eyes met his. His lips twisted into a smirk, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Bold of you.”

Then, with a sudden motion, he released her chin. She hadn’t noticed how hard he’d been gripping it, but the lingering ache told her just how strong his hold had been.

The man straightened, towering over her. Now that she was looking up at him, his sheer size and presence became even more overwhelming, like an oppressive weight bearing down on her.

Without a word, he bent down to pick up the gun he’d left on the ground. The sight of him holding it again made Bella’s shoulders stiffen instinctively.

A curt command fell from above her like a thunderclap.

“Stand up.”

Her legs were weak, and it took all her effort to obey. Struggling to steady herself, she tried to plant her feet firmly on the ground, but her mind was racing with thoughts of what might happen next.

If she were shot and left to bleed out, sold off to some unknown place, or reported to the temple and handed over to the knights, only to burn at the stake—no matter which path lay ahead, the outcome would be nothing short of devastating.

As soon as Bella stood up, the man issued another command.

“Turn around.”

She couldn’t disobey him, not now. Resigned to whatever fate awaited her, Bella slowly turned her back to him.

Not being able to see what he was doing only heightened her anxiety. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip in an attempt to suppress the waves of fear, but it was no use.

Then, the man’s hand rested on her shoulder.

The unexpected touch made her small frame flinch violently.

He stepped closer, so near that she could feel his breath grazing her ear. Bella instinctively held her own breath, her chest tightening.

“Run.”

What did he mean? Was he truly letting her go? Or was this… something else?

He had given her the chance to run before. Yet that time, after she fled in a panic, he had fired a shot into the air, as if bored by the sight of her retreating back.

“This time, you’ll have to run like your life depends on it. Because if I catch you again…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

But the unspoken words echoed clearly in the air: I’ll kill you.

The man gave her a light push on the back.

“Run.”

It might have been another cruel game to him, but to her, it was a desperate chance to survive.

Bella turned and sprinted back the way she had come, running with every ounce of strength she could muster. She pushed herself to her limits, trying to banish the image of his crimson eyes that seemed burned into her mind. Yet no matter how hard she ran, those eyes refused to fade from her thoughts.

Contrary to her fears, the man didn’t follow her. He remained rooted in place, his gaze lazily fixed on her small figure as she stumbled and fled without looking back.

The cold wind brushed against his face, but the warmth lingering in his hand felt strange and foreign. He could still vividly recall her tearful, desperate plea for mercy.

Lowering his gaze, his attention was drawn to something she had dropped.

A worn handkerchief, aged with time, lay there in plain sight. Without much thought, he picked it up, letting his fingers trace the embroidered name on its surface.

Bella.

A name he had neither wanted to remember nor been able to forget.

No matter how common that name might be—shared by hundreds, even thousands—it relentlessly gnawed at him.

Beliar ran his fingers slowly over the delicate stitching of the name, his face a mix of quiet contemplation and something darker.

The name brought with it the conflicting emotions he despised most: the ruthless cruelty he prided himself on, and the fragile weakness he loathed.

The handkerchief crumpled in his grip, the fabric folding under his fingers as if to match the turmoil in his chest.

“I thought I’d try a little mercy for once,” he murmured.

But as fate would have it, cruel coincidences only fed the twisted curiosity stirring inside him.