episode_0089

As the door opened, a wave of warm, moisture-laden heat poured out. The sudden, sweltering heat—like stepping into a bathhouse at the wrong time—made the young man fan himself with his hand as he stepped inside.

The humid air was unpleasant, but at least, as a man, he had it better. The female pheromones thick in the air might have made his lower half tense against his pants, but it wasn’t revolting. The women accompanying him, however, had been scowling the moment the door opened.

Unless you worked in the red-light district, there were few chances to encounter such an overwhelmingly feminine scent. For a noblewoman raised in privilege, this reaction was only natural.

If the room had been filled instead with the scent of night blossoms, he’d have reacted just as strongly, if not more.

Walking farther in, he drew aside the bed’s curtains—and locked eyes with the woman he’d come for.

“Good morning. You had fun all by yourself after I left, didn’t you? Should’ve just listened to me. Would’ve felt much better.”

“Shut up. You bastard.”

Arina, her body aching from a night spent intoxicated by the drug, forced herself upright and adjusted her disheveled clothes. Miak forced sensations upon the body while delivering immense pleasure—but at the cost of equal suffering afterward. Even now, her body trembled faintly from the aftereffects.

Kyle watched her silently for a moment before finally speaking.

“I’ll ask one last time. This is the end—once your sentence is decided, there’s nothing even I can do.”

Then, gripping her left shoulder, he leaned in until their faces were nearly touching.

“Say you’ll be mine. Just nod. And you’ll avoid the worst. No—that’s the best outcome. You’ll be happier as my belonging than whatever else awaits you.”

Or at least less miserable.

There was no malice in Kyle’s outstretched hand; he truly meant his offer as kindness.

Though driven by personal desire, his proposal was undeniably the only way she’d survive.

“No.”

She knew that—and still couldn’t take it.

“Because of that man, Ian?”

“How do you know his name?”

“Did my research. Of course I’d put in effort for a woman I wanted. Ian Felix.”

Eldest son of the newly elevated Baron Felix House. Though a rural noble, his striking beauty garnered endless attention from high society and noble ladies. One foolish duke’s daughter even visited his fief just to meet him.

Surrounded by women his whole life, his behavior suggested little personal interest in romance—but strangely, he’d once worked as an adventurer.

Recently, he’d withdrawn from society and adventuring alike. Rumor claimed he’d been bewitched by a witch he met at the guild.

And sadly for the women who denied it, that rumor was likely true.

After reciting Ian’s details, Kyle added his own thoughts.

“Handsome, sure, but still just a rural noble. The only notable thing is his top-tier adventurer rank—anyone could achieve that if they tried. We just have different talents. And I’m not bad-looking either, right?”

“Don’t compare yourself to him. You think I like Ian for something so shallow? What he’s done for me means far more than that.”

“What does it matter? You’re already caught. You’re not seriously waiting for him to swoop in like some romance novel hero, are you?”

Surely she wasn’t that naïve.

He was right. Even Ian, who’d clung to her so stubbornly, couldn’t possibly intervene here.

Kyle offered his hand one last time.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t take this.”

“Never.”

Her confident tone grated on his nerves. In mere hours, that face would be painted with despair and tears. After a long staring contest, Kyle clicked his tongue and ordered the women with him:

“Wash her and change her clothes. Do her makeup too—like last time.”

At his command, the female knight hoisted Arina over her shoulder like luggage and marched straight to the bath.

Dumped into steaming water, she was scrubbed raw—so harshly it hurt, though skill ensured no wounds remained.

The makeup process was similar. While the result was flawless, the brushes stabbed her eyelids, and rough hands worked without care.

By now, she knew better.

These attendants were too skilled to make so many “mistakes.”

“Could you be gentler?”

“Know your place and stay quiet. Why should we serve some peasant bitch like you?”

“Because the prince ordered it? Don’t pretend this is for me. Did I ask for this? You’re just doing it so your precious nobles don’t have to see me looking filthy.”

But makeup? A simple wash would’ve sufficed.

Was this at the Beast’s request? He might’ve arrived by now—it’d been hours since her capture was reported.

Whatever punishment awaited, the outcome was the same: returning to the Hero’s party… and surrendering her body once more to the man she loathed most.

This really is the end, huh?

Revenge, happiness, life—everything was over. No escape, no resistance, not even the final refuge of death, barred by the slave crest.

“Tch. Look at her. Too pretty even without makeup? Don’t get cocky just because Ian chose you.”

“Nobody said—wait, you know Ian?”

“Knew him way before you! We even danced together at a soirée!”

Ah. So that was the attitude.

Unfortunately, Ian likely didn’t remember her. He’d refused countless dance requests, though lately, after a rejected lady’s father protested violently, he rarely turned anyone down.

In short—they were nothing to each other.

“What now?! You ruined Ian’s life because of you! How will you take responsibility?!”

“Does it matter—”

—what you think?

The woman acted like she had some claim over Ian—annoying, though not unlike Millen’s behavior.

But did these feelings even matter anymore?

“…Not like I’ll ever see him again.”

If he saw her now, reduced to the Beast’s slave, he’d be devastated.

Even if she got the chance, she couldn’t face him. She no longer had the right.

But just once—

Once more. Even if just to say goodbye.

I miss you.

Twisting through maze-like halls, descending stairs, the scrape of heavy metal doors—blindfold ripped away, blinding light stabbed her eyes.

“Liel Frost. Raise your head.”

“Your Majesty.”

King Gall Foldragon Gilias. Despite being born late, his age gap with the seated Kyle left him an elderly man—white-haired, wrinkled, eyes dull but still radiating charisma.

Shifting her gaze, she spotted the Aetrian Emperor and Pope Arkazhal.

“Your Imperial Majesty, it’s been a while. And Your Holiness—not as long.”

“Indeed. It’s a relief to see you again, Miss Liel.”

“Wish it were under better circumstances.”

All three rulers of humanity’s lands stood assembled. The scene resembled the Hero party’s departure—but none of her former comrades remained at her side.

“You know the weight of your crimes. How will you answer for them?”

“I only defended myself.”

“That’s your excuse? The kingdom lost its Swordmaster.”

“…You mean Knight-Captain Cecil? But I—”

“Half the Paladin Order still suffers from their injuries.”

“The Empire lost its Flame Knight,” the Emperor added. “Though that could be undone if you freed her.”

But it wouldn’t resurrect the fallen soldiers or reclaimed battlefields. Arina’s fight with the knights wasn’t an isolated incident—and many grieving families blamed her.

“So—all of this is my fault? Surely you’re not claiming ignorance of the Hero party’s situation?”

Three members—excluding Yuria—had simultaneously become pregnant. Meanwhile, Liel Frost disappeared, only to be found as a woman, now refusing to rejoin.

Anyone with half a brain would suspect something—and investigations followed. And though just speculation, if they’d dealt with Dennis, they likely learned the truth through Daniel.

“Then it’s not me who should be standing here. Bring me the Beast’s head, apologize, and beg me to fight again—maybe then I’d rejoin. But what did you do?”

“Enough! Have you forgotten who stands before you?!”

The female knight who’d escorted her roared, grabbing her collar as if to strike—halted only by the Emperor’s intervention.

“Let her speak. We’re not here to make enemies.”

Glaring reluctantly, the knight lowered her fist. Spared a beating, Arina still glared back at the looming monarchs.

“Bit late for that.”

“We owe you an apology, but we hope for your understanding.”

“Liel Frost. You have three choices.”

“Spare me. It’s rejoin or execution, right? Don’t think I’ll obey whatever the third is.”

Her enslavement had begun around this time last year—its term nearly expired. They could forcibly extend it if they wished, but she’d never comply willingly.

“The Kingdom. The Empire. Or the Holy Nation. You must bear a successor for one of these three.”

“…What?”