Please Kill Me - Chapter 145
What should he say when these steps stop?
The growing anxiety in his chest made him feel nauseous.
Should he admit how much he’s fallen apart, just as he thought moments ago? Or should he worry that she might hate him for being so pathetic? Should he say he missed her, ask how she’s been, or act as if he never cared at all?
With each step, the moment when he would have to face these questions drew nearer. He saw the woman waiting for him on the deserted terrace.
The end of this prolonged game of chase was at hand. As the distance between them closed, Leonid’s mouth slowly curved into a smile.
And then, when he was close enough to discern the color of the eyes behind the mask, his expression abruptly hardened.
“…You.”
His steps stopped.
As Leonid was about to react, the woman by the terrace’s railing leapt towards him swiftly, brandishing a pair of familiar daggers.
“Ugh!”
Leonid grimaced and quickly stepped back to avoid the initial attack. He glared at the woman, who nonchalantly adjusted her grip on the daggers as if the failed attack meant nothing.
“You’re not Yekaterina.”
If he had been a second slower in recognizing her, he might have been caught off guard.
The resemblance to Yekaterina was so striking that he had almost been deceived, but as the distance closed and their eyes met, he realized the truth.
‘The woman before me was not Yekaterina.’
And he had fallen into a trap.
The bait, a decoy mimicking Yekaterina, was a tactic straight out of the hunt he had used against Sergei. The woman’s appearance, the twin daggers. He didn’t know what the intention was, but the intentions and purpose were clear.
Everything about her was a transparent trap designed solely for Leonid.
Just as he made this realization, the woman’s leg swept past his face with considerable force. Even though he narrowly avoided the blow, he could feel the pressure from her movement.
Before he could fully process the fact that she wasn’t Yekaterina, the woman adjusted her stance and launched a series of rapid, relentless attacks. Her daggers aimed straight for Leonid’s vital points, each strike following close behind the previous one.
Though Leonid was skilled enough to evade these attacks, the sheer proficiency and intensity of her strikes made it clear that she wasn’t an ordinary fighter.
‘Is this an assassin sent by Offenbach?’
The way she wielded her daggers was reminiscent of Yekaterina’s style. If he hadn’t faced Yekaterina himself, he might have admired the speed, precision, and aggressive onslaught of her attacks.
However, Leonid knew Yekaterina’s true skill. The more he fought the silver-haired woman, the clearer it became that she wasn’t Yekaterina.
‘Her techniques are not as refined or fast as Yekaterina’s.’
There were moments when Yekaterina would have landed several blows, given the openings the woman left. Yekaterina had the ability to alter the trajectory of her attacks mid-air and execute strikes with unparalleled speed and precision, unlike the woman before him.
The more Leonid faced this woman, the more repulsive the situation became. He could feel his teeth grinding as he narrowly avoided her strikes, and his frustration mounted.
Suddenly, Leonid shifted his approach. Though unarmed, he knew well that a weapon isn’t defined by its original owner. If he could seize the enemy’s weapon and use it himself, it became his weapon in battle.
From his experience fighting Yekaterina, he also knew the weaknesses of such an aggressive style. When wielding daggers at close range, attackers often have to swing their arms widely, leaving their torso exposed and vulnerable to counterattacks.
Spotting the opening he had been waiting for, Leonid closed in with the precision of a predator.
“Ugh!”
He quickly overpowered the woman, pinning her arms and rendering her weaponless. With a swift, decisive strike to her solar plexus, he subdued her in a matter of seconds.
Leaning over her, Leonid retrieved one of the fallen daggers and held it to her throat. His voice was fierce and demanding.
“Who sent you? Was it Dmitry Offenbach?”
“……”
“Answer me!”
As Leonid pressed the blade against the woman’s carotid artery once more, she finally groaned and spoke up.
“Yekaterina Offenbach.”
“…What? Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying. It’s Lady Yekaterina Offenbach herself. She sent me.”
Leonid’s vision wavered. He expected a denial, but the thought that crossed his mind was troubling.
‘Is there anyone other than Yekaterina who could orchestrate something like this?’
Someone who could use an assassin from Offenbach and mimic Yekaterina’s appearance to lure Leonid into a trap.
This was an idea only someone who knew how obsessed Leonid was with Yekaterina could come up with. Only someone who knew that using Yekaterina as bait would definitely catch him.
But Dmitry couldn’t possibly know Leonid’s feelings. At least not unless Yekaterina was collaborating with him.
So, ultimately, the only person who could set up such a scheme would be Yekaterina herself.
