Time stretched and solidified in that moment.
The cold metal pressed against the most vulnerable skin of Furenna’s neck.
Each pulse from the intricate patterns felt like it was gnawing away her final will to resist.
Yet Xiao Ling’s silent words were like a red-hot brand,
searing two bleeding words onto her soul, which had been ready to sink into darkness:
Don’t wear it. Don’t give in.
Iris’s gaze swept between Furenna’s rigid back and Xiao Ling’s tear-streaked, yet abnormally bright face.
The initial flicker of displeasure at being interrupted in the Demon King’s crimson eyes
gradually gave way to a deeper, more interested curiosity.
The struggles of an ant could sometimes be more spectacle value than submission,
especially when the struggle came from a soul she thought she had already crushed,
and from an existence she considered dust.
“How interesting.”
Iris spoke softly, shattering the nearly solidified air.
She did not immediately inflict a crueler punishment. Instead, she took half a step back,
crossed her arms leisurely, like an audience member who had discovered a dramatic twist.
“It seems our little maid is… more spirited than I imagined?”
Her tone rose at the end, laced with unconcealed mockery, but her gaze remained locked on Furenna.
“And you, my dear little Heroine, seem… shaken by this ‘spirit’?”
Furenna’s body trembled almost imperceptibly.
She still knelt, holding the collar with both hands, head bowed, silver hair hiding all expression.
But the tense line of her shoulders and the knuckles pressed white against the cold metal edge
betrayed the violent storm raging within her.
Wear it, and Xiao Ling might be spared more torment right now.
But it meant surrendering herself completely, becoming a puppet whose very emotions were monitored.
The Demon King’s so-called “consideration and empathy” would become a sword forever hanging over her and Xiao Ling—
what could a Heroine, whose emotions were utterly controlled, possibly protect?
Don’t wear it…
Xiao Ling would immediately suffer unimaginable pain, or worse.
And she herself would face the thunderous wrath of a Demon King whose authority had been challenged.
All the previous endurance, the endured whippings and humiliation,
could be rendered meaningless by this moment of “rebellion,” even inviting more terrible consequences.
Xiao Ling’s courage was like an ember tossed onto the oil-covered lake of her heart.
But the ember was too weak, and the surrounding darkness and pressure threatened to smother it.
“I…”
Furenna’s throat was so dry she could barely form a sound.
What could she say? What was there to say?
“Shh—”
Iris suddenly raised a finger to her own lips in a silencing gesture.
Her gaze turned to Xiao Ling behind the barrier. A strange expression, mixed with cruelty and “appreciation,” appeared on her face.
“Admirable courage, child.”
“But courage… comes with a price.”
Her other hand lifted casually, fingers slightly spread, aimed toward Xiao Ling.
“No!”
Furenna cried out in alarm. Her hands holding the collar clenched violently, the metal edge nearly cutting into her palms.
But Iris’s action stopped.
She did not inflict pain immediately. She merely let that invisible pressure saturate the space behind the barrier again.
Xiao Ling’s body visibly tensed. Fear flashed across her face.
But she still bit her lower lip hard, even lifting her chin a little,
her tear-filled yet stubborn eyes looking back at the Demon King, and… at Furenna.
That look said:
Don’t be afraid.
“See? This is the dilemma of ’empathy,’ Furenna.”
Iris’s voice cut through the tension.
“You sympathize with her pain, so you want to yield, to save her.”
“That seems… noble, doesn’t it?”
“But your surrender, in a way, is a betrayal of the courage she is showing right now.”
“And she… seems rather to endure pain than watch you kneel completely.”
The Demon King chuckled softly, the sound laced with cruel amusement.
“So, what will you choose?”
“Will you insist on your ‘noble’ sacrifice, ignoring her will?”
“Or… will you respect this insignificant yet genuine ‘resistance’ of hers,”
“and then watch her pay the price for your respect?”
A trap of logic. A torment of emotion.
The Demon King presented the cruelest of choices in the calmest of tones.
Whichever path she chose seemed to lead to deeper pain and paradox.
Furenna knelt on the cold floor, feeling her thoughts slowly strangled by this invisible noose.
The earlier despair had been dark, heavy, but its direction seemed clear—
to sink, in order to protect.
Now, this darkness was illuminated in one corner by the faint light Xiao Ling had ignited,
revealing more rugged forks in the road and deeper fog.
It seemed there was more than one way to protect.
But which one was right?
Which one could truly honor the trust placed in her, and her own heart?
Iris seemed to relish her current struggle and silence.
The Demon King no longer hurried her. She simply waited,
waiting for her “student” to make her own “choice” within this carefully arranged ethical dilemma.
Whether Furenna ultimately chose to wear the collar or to cast it aside,
both were, to Iris, interesting “teaching outcomes.”
The former was complete conquest. The latter was the beginning of a new round of “correction,”
and with Xiao Ling as a “teaching aid,” the process would be even more “vivid.”
Time passed, second by heavy second.
Furenna’s gaze slowly shifted from the cold collar in her hands back to the space behind the barrier.
Xiao Ling was still suspended by the chains, her face pale, her body trembling faintly from fear and the earlier torment,
but the light in her eyes had not gone out.
That light was faint, yet it pierced through certain rigid, black-and-white notions in Furenna’s mind.
The young woman took a deep, slow breath. The icy air stabbed into her lungs,
bringing sharp pain and a sliver of desperate clarity.
Then, under Iris’s watchful, intrigued gaze,
Furenna’s eyes fell once more to the cold collar in her hands.
The dark silver metal, the intricate patterns, shimmering with a confusing light.
But now, in her eyes, it also seemed like a key—
a poisoned key that might, for a time, lock the Demon King’s hand away from Xiao Ling.
Furenna did not look at Xiao Ling again.
She was afraid that seeing the light in the child’s eyes would make her waver once more.
She simply took one last, deep breath.
The cold air of the dungeon filled her chest, bringing a numbness close to calm.
Then, under Iris’s growing, intense interest, Furenna made her decision.
She lifted the collar with both hands. The movement lacked the earlier violent struggle or slow heaviness.
It held a cold, almost ritualistic calm.
The young Heroine tilted her head slightly, sweeping her silver hair to one side,
exposing her pale neck already bearing one set of manacles.
The cold metal edge touched her skin.
Click.
A very soft, yet perfectly clear, sound of a clasp engaging.
No magical light flashed. No earth-shattering change occurred.
Only the collar, fitting perfectly around Furenna’s neck,
now sat beside the original heavy manacle—a more delicate, and more deadly, ornament.