exposing her scar-ridden back to Xiao Ling.
Human?
In the deepest part of the Demon King’s fortress?
A human girl, captured by a succubus, then “confiscated” into public service, now sent to care for a captive Heroine?
Heroine Furenna very slowly released the pressure of her knee and her grip on the wrist, but her body remained poised, ready to strike again at any moment.
She looked down at the little girl curled up on the ground, still trembling, then at the puddle of spilled “potion” with its faint herbal scent.
The story was too bizarre, so bizarre it seemed more like a carefully crafted lie.
But… Furenna’s gaze swept sharply over every inch of the girl.
The nose and eye rims reddened from crying, the body trembling faintly from fear and pain, the small, rough, calloused hands,
and the look in her eyes—that near-despairing urgency to prove herself…
It all felt too real, too much like the reaction of a truly helpless child.
The Dollmaker Lili Ai’s craftsmanship could indeed create perfect imitations, but Furenna had felt the maid Doll up close.
Their “liveliness” was imitation born of precise design, always carrying a hint of an indescribable stiffness, especially under extreme emotion.
This girl before her, however, her fear, pain, and grievance all carried the rough, uncontrollable quality of a living, breathing being.
The girl’s appearance was also unmistakably pure human.
Though certain demons could take humanoid forms, even the best imitations usually had subtle flaws or a slight stiffness in expression as a tell.
Of course, there was the possibility of magic or racial illusionary talents.
Although her power was utterly sealed in this demonic wasteland, as a former top-tier spellcaster, Furenna’s sensitivity to magical fluctuations hadn’t completely vanished.
She focused her remaining awareness, like listening for the faintest sound in silence.
There was no trace of disguise magic on the girl, no fluctuation of illusion,
but that still wasn’t enough for complete trust.
The demon races were numerous; perhaps there existed a race capable of perfectly mimicking a human aura. Who could know?
“Prove it.”
Furenna finally spoke again, her voice low and rasping, carrying an interrogative tone that brooked no argument.
“You say you’re human. How do you prove it? Tell me the differences between humans and demons. Besides appearance, what can you show me right now?”
The little girl’s sobs gradually subsided into small hiccups.
She lifted her tear-streaked face, looking at Furenna with confusion and helplessness, as if struggling to grasp the complex question.
After a few seconds, she shook her head miserably, whispering,
“I… I don’t know how to prove it… We look the same, don’t we? I can’t really say how I’m different from demons either…”
Her voice trailed off, filled with frustration.
Clearly, for a little girl captured by a succubus as a pet and then relegated to the lowest menial labor, “racial differences” were too profound and distant a topic.
Yet this very statement caused a slight loosening in the tightly strung cord of Furenna’s heart.
If the other was a scheming imposter, now would be the time to offer some seemingly powerful, yet actually flimsy “evidence” to gain trust.
Like swearing knowledge of some human-only custom, or displaying some so-called “human characteristic”—that would be more suspicious.
This kind of confusion, this earnest admission of being unable to prove it, felt, in a way, more genuine than any clever words.
At the very least, it fit the state of a young human captive.
Moreover, as she herself had judged, the girl lacked signs of magical disguise,
and her vivid emotional reactions were distinctly different from the known, illusion-specializing succubus race.
Just then, Furenna, after a long silence, seemed to come to some decision.
She bit her lower lip, forcing down her still-trembling body, closed her eyes,
and suddenly thrust the arm Furenna had just twisted, still bearing scratches, right in front of Furenna. Her other small hand clenched tightly into a fist.
“If… if Heroine Sister still doesn’t believe me…”
The little girl’s voice was tearful, yet held a stubborn, desperate resolve,
“then… then cut my hand open! See what color the blood is!”
“I heard… from my original… that bad succubus… that human children’s blood is bright red!”
“Demon blood comes in many colors! My blood must be red! You’ll believe it when you see!”
She squeezed her eyes shut, long eyelashes trembling, her pale face filled with tragic resolve, as if facing a real blade.
Furenna looked at the thin arm thrust before her, marked with old and new scars and small scrapes,
then at the girl’s tightly closed eyes, terrified yet forcing herself to endure. The last shred of sharp suspicion in her heart
dissolved into an almost inaudible, deeply bitter sigh.
“Silly child…”
She murmured, her voice carrying an indescribable weariness.
“Demon blood isn’t all different colors.”
“Some minority demonic lineages have bright red blood too. Color alone can’t determine it.”
Her words made the girl’s eyes fly open. Her lake-green eyes were filled with shock and a flicker of disappointment at her “good idea” being refuted, followed swiftly by deeper dread—
If even blood couldn’t prove it, what else could she do?
Seeing the tears instantly pool in the girl’s eyes again, the tightly strung cord in Furenna’s heart finally loosened a little more.
Such a scrawny little girl, to gain her trust, could offer such a “self-mutilating” suggestion.
Regardless of any hidden circumstances behind her identity, at the very least, this desperate, simple-minded urgency to grab onto any possible “kindred” in this dire situation did not feel fake.
In this desperate situation surrounded by demons, a possible member of her own kind,
no matter how weak, how suspicious, was like a tiny point of light in the darkness,
impossible to snuff out completely with a hardened heart.
“Enough.”
Heroine Furenna finally relaxed her defensive posture completely, leaning back against the wall.
The violent movement tugged at her wounds, making her frown again, but her tone softened considerably.
“I… believe you. For now.”
She paused, looking at the little girl whose arm was still raised, tear-stains not yet dry on her face, and added,
“Just now… I’m sorry. I hurt you.”
This gentle apology made the girl freeze for a moment, as if she hadn’t expected such a thing.
She blinked her teary eyes, looking at Furenna’s pale, exhausted face,
then at her own outstretched arm, and slowly pulled it back.
The fear on her face slowly faded, replaced by a complicated mix of grievance, relief, and a faint, almost shy sense of being flattered.
“I-it’s okay…”
She whispered, wiping her face clumsily with the back of her hand, trying to smile, though it looked more like crying.
“Heroine Sister, you… you must have been in a lot of pain, that’s why… why you did that…”
Her clumsy attempt at comfort struck a chord somewhere in Furenna’s heart.
This girl seemed truly guileless.
“You…”
Furenna hesitated, then asked,
“What’s your name?”
“Me? I’m Xiao Ling! I’ve heard stories about you before, Sister!”
The girl hurriedly answered, a barely detectable spark of joy in her voice, as if she’d received some kind of approval.
“Xiao Ling…”
Furenna repeated the name, her gaze resting on the girl’s face.
“You said you’ve heard stories about me?”
“Yeah!”
Xiao Ling nodded vigorously. Her lake-green eyes instantly lit up with a light of near-worship, making her look completely different from the cowering, fearful girl of moments before.
“The adults in the village all said the Heroine was sent by the Goddess to protect us, the strongest, most amazing, kindest hero! I… I never dreamed I’d get to see the Heroine herself one day! Even if…”
Her voice dropped, and she stole a glance at the welts and bruises on Furenna’s body. The light in her eyes dimmed a bit, turning to confusion and worry.
“Even if… the Heroine looks like this?”
She gathered her courage and cautiously asked the question that had been hovering in her mind.
“Heroine Sister… didn’t we win against the demons, with your help? Weren’t they driven back to the wasteland?”
“Why… why are you here? And being…”
She didn’t dare finish, but her eyes swept over the wounds and shackles again, her meaning clear.
Furenna opened her mouth, but her throat felt blocked.
What flashed through her mind was the cold blade from a once-trusted back,
the humiliating contract she had to sign to protect an innocent child,
and this current predicament of being imprisoned, her dignity trampled, her power stripped away.
The images of betrayal, Timo’s tear-filled, fearful eyes, the triumphant smile on Demon King Iris’s face as she presented the contract…
They surged into her heart like a tide, bringing a sharp, stabbing pain far worse than the lashes on her back.
She looked at Xiao Ling’s confused and faintly expectant eyes, eyes that were clear and naive, as if still believing the fairy tale where the hero always defeats evil.
Those eyes, in a certain moment, overlapped faintly with Timo’s trusting, admiring gaze from her memory.
Her heart ached with another dull throb.
“It’s a long story.”
In the end, Furenna only squeezed out these four words, dry as dust, and looked away, unwilling to watch the light in Xiao Ling’s eyes dim at her silence.
She took a deep breath, trying to suppress the churning emotions and pull her focus back to the present.
“These things… can wait. For now… just rest. I’ll tend to my wounds myself.”
As she spoke, her gaze fell on the kicked-over bucket and the spilled “potion,” then on the crisscrossing, vicious welts on her body.
Even if the potion was truly effective, the idea of this little girl helping her…
She still felt a flicker of instinctive resistance and wariness.
Exposure and touch had become abnormally sensitive and hard to endure after everything that had happened in the pink room.
Xiao Ling looked at the puddles of water on the floor, then at Furenna’s weak posture—clearly forced, clearly sustained by sheer willpower alone.
and at the horrifying wounds on her neck and shoulders. A childlike stubbornness seemed to flare up inside her.
She shook her head, scrambling up nimbly, not bothering to brush off the dust, and hurried over to right the overturned wooden bucket.
Luckily, the bucket was wooden and hadn’t broken. A small amount of the clear liquid remained inside.
“No, no!”
Xiao Ling picked up the wet cloth, soaked it again in the remaining potion, wrung it until it was half-dry. Her tone was unexpectedly firm.
“The Demon King ordered me to take care of you! And… and you’re hurt so badly, you definitely can’t reach your own back.”
“I used to help treat injured puppies and kittens in the village before! I… I have a very light touch!”
Clutching the damp cloth, she walked over to Furenna and looked up at her.
Her lake-green eyes were filled with seriousness and a plea that was hard to refuse—pure and direct.
Furenna fell silent.
The pain in her body was steadily draining her energy, and the welts on her back were indeed beyond her own reach.
More importantly, the simple determination and kindness in Xiao Ling’s eyes were like a faint yet warm light, quietly seeping into a corner of her cold, tightly guarded heart.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Furenna finally gave an almost imperceptible—barely noticeable—nod.
The young woman said nothing, just slowly, with some difficulty, within the limits of her short chains, turned slightly to the side,
exposing her scar-ridden back to Xiao Ling.
It was a tiny concession, but also a silent, tentative offering of trust.
A look of relief instantly washed over Xiao Ling’s face. Though still tear-stained, she seemed much brighter.
She carefully knelt down, trying not to touch Furenna’s body, then held her breath,
applying the damp cloth with utmost gentleness to one of the deepest, darkest purple welts below Furenna’s neck.
The cool touch, mixed with the faint herbal scent meeting her skin, made Furenna’s body tense for an imperceptible instant.
But the expected pain or stinging never came. Instead, a gentle, cooling sensation slowly seeped in.
like the gentlest caress, slightly easing the fiery, burning pain.
Where the cloth passed, it left a damp trail, with no strange coloration or abnormalities—as if it truly were just water.
Xiao Ling’s touch was indeed light and careful, as if handling a fragile treasure.
She carefully avoided areas where the skin was broken and oozing, using the cloth to gently dab away the bloodstains and sweat around the wounds.
Occasionally, when the cloth brushed over a sore spot, Furenna would instinctively tense, and Xiao Ling would immediately stop,
puffing out her cheeks to blow gently, unconsciously murmuring,
“Hoo hoo… no hurt, no hurt…”
This childlike, clumsy comfort felt utterly out of place in the cold, gloomy dungeon, yet it inexplicably tugged at the heartstrings.
Furenna closed her eyes, allowing the gentle, somewhat clumsy touches to move across her back.
The severe pain, under the cooling effect of the potion and Xiao Ling’s careful ministrations, did seem to ease just a little.
Her body was still utterly exhausted, her mind still on edge, but in this brief moment of being cared for,
A faint—almost imperceptible—warmth quietly seeped into the young woman’s frozen heart.
In the dungeon’s eerie green light, the battered Heroine allowed a little girl—perhaps human—to gently wipe the lash marks on her back with a cloth soaked in demonic medicine.
Neither of them spoke again. Only the faint sound of cloth on skin filled the space.