The Thief Who Stole Her Heart
Moonlight filled the room with a pale silver light, filtering through an open window awning in pale silks. Breeze soughed softly through, ruffling the curtains. Leon’s golden eyes shone as the system prompt glowed before him:
Cultivation: Grandmaster
[Love Meter: 82% - Growing attachment detected.]
Leon’s lips curved into a soft smile.
"Then... it actually is Nova," he spoke softly to himself.
His golden eyes squinting a bit in amusement as his eyes fixed on the lit-up percentage: 82%.
His thoughts went back to what the system had previously taught him regarding the interpretation of the Love Meter. Below 50 was distance or warning—someone who didn’t easily trust or hadn’t gotten close. At 50, it indicated neutrality—neither close nor far, just conscious. Above 60 indicated increasing affection, a loosening up.
That was real emotional attachment—a connection built not only out of interest or momentary attraction, but something more and deeper.
And there it was now—82%.
That figure informed him Nova had already established a real relationship with him... perhaps even love.
Leon’s smile expanded, slow and reflective. That someone like her had started to feel something genuine—it warmed his chest, even as the chill night air hit his skin.
A low rumble of laughter cleared his throat.
"The nation’s most fairest beauty," he breathed, "famous throughout the kingdom and beyond for her war-hardened, unyielding spirit. A woman feared by mercenaries and generals from abroad and neighboring countries alike... actually possesses a heart."
He grinned, golden eyes flashing with mischief.
And in that heart... He chuckled. "There’s a place in heart who carved for me."
Still leaning against the windowsill, Leon’s gaze softened as he looked at Nova’s sleeping form, swaddled under the silk blanket. She slept on her side, back to the window, her black hair spilled across the pillow like a cascade of ink. She hadn’t moved—not once. Serene in sleep, utterly oblivious that somebody had glided into her room like a ghost.
He arched an eyebrow.
"And here I am... dangling from the third floor like a thief in love."
Shaking his head with quiet amusement, Leon moved carefully. With steady hands, he pulled himself through the window. His boots touched the polished whitewood floor without a sound—his movements smooth, practiced, almost second nature.
The gold lamp resting above sent a warm, glowing light throughout the room. Green and white drapes lined the walls, and a large white bed edged in gold was the room’s centerpiece. There was a rich emerald carpet that swallowed up even the lightest of footfalls.
He remained frozen for an instant. The curtain behind him danced lightly on the breeze of the night. The magic lamp’s glow enshrouded the room in a dreamy heat.
His eyes looked over to the bed.
She was still there. Still fast asleep.
He slowly breathed out.
Then—his smile wavered. Mischief crept at the corners of his mouth. With slow, deliberate stealth, Leon started edging forward. Every step was tediously soft, every movement smooth and silent, like a thief advancing into a lady’s private chamber.
Nearer and nearer he drew. Each step was counted, each breath calculated. In that instant, the battle-hardened warrior was far from a soldier—he glided like a roguish rake, enjoying the excitement of the illicit.
Reaching the bed’s edge, Leon ascended slowly. The mattress sagged only slightly under his weight. In the shadows like a panther, he slid silently, plopping onto the edge without making a single creak.
Inch by inch, he edged toward her slumbering form. His heart thumped—not with fear, but with excitement. She slumbered serenely, oblivious. His hand hung suspended in the air, poised to sweep her up from her bed.
A jolt ran through him. All his body hair stood on end.
A fierce, atavistic warning flashed through his senses.
A killer’s aura advanced toward him like a stricken viper striking without provocation.
Before he had a chance to react, Nova whirled with lethal ease.
As a sword awakened from sleep, she spun in one smooth motion—her fingers closing around the blade concealed under her pillow. In a sweeping arc of fluid motion, she drew it out and struck directly at his head.
Leon’s reflexes burst into being. Voidbreaker Art blazed through his meridians like dark lightning.
In the space of a blink, he fell from the bed, the blade whizzing past him like an avenging specter. He landed softly on the floor, though his boots slipped a little on the shiny surface.
He opened his lips. "Nova—!" he started.
But before he could utter another syllable, she attacked once more—quicker, sharper.
Leon drew in air sharply. His left hand solidified as Voidbreaker essence coalesced in his palm in the form of an onyx steel layer.
Steel clanged against steel. The ripple of shock from impact coursed through his arm, his body shuddering from the blow—but the sword didn’t cut through.
He barehanded caught the next one.
Despite his position, the impact of the blow sent shivers coursing down his arms, shaking his center. His hands shook with them, and his knees flexed to take the hit.
Nova blinked on the other side of him as the vibration coursed up her blade and into her hand. Her eyes grew wide—surprised, but still afire with rage. She did not hesitate. She struck again, without pause.
"Who are you?! How did you come into my room?!" she snapped, her voice slicing the air like steel. Hard. Sharp. Demanding.
Leon took a step back, both hands up in defeat. His voice came fast, in a hurry.
"Nova—it’s me! Leon! Cut it out, you combat nutcase!"
The instant she heard him, her sword hung suspended in mid-air.
Her green eyes widened. Confusion took the place of the flames, but suspicion remained. She did not drop the blade, but her face changed—startled, unsure.
"Leon...?" she breathed softly, her voice softer now, but still guarded.
Leon had the opportunity to straighten his shoulders, exhaling slowly. With one hand, he pushed back the loose black strands of hair that had slipped over his face in the struggle. His golden eyes clashed with her green ones—calm, steady.
He gave a patient, slightly sheepish smile.
"Yes, yes. It’s me. Leon. and you’re currently trying to slice your would-be husband in half."
For a moment, silence.
Then Nova blinked rapidly, her sword lowering by an inch. Her eyes shifted—slowly, carefully—trailing down the length of him.
He stood there wearing a crisp, light white shirt open at the top three buttons to show a smooth, pale chest. Black trousers cinched his waist, slipped into scuffed combat boots. Under the moonlight, he seemed more rogue prince than warrior caught up in some illicit quest.
But not until now had she really seen his face.
Even with tousled black strands falling over his forehead, those golden eyes locked onto hers with calm amusement—unshaken and warm.
The sword lowered fully, though she didn’t let it go.
"...You really are Leon," she murmured.