Returning to the familiar dungeon, the heavy iron door shut behind her, cutting off the last uncertain sliver of light from the outside world.
The damp, eerie green glow of the moss, the familiar cold stone walls, the familiar air tinged with mildew and the faint scent of her own blood.
Everything was the same as when she had left, as if the brutal “lesson,” that room of impossible choices, had been but a fleeting nightmare.
But the cold, impossible-to-ignore metal against her neck, and the constant, faint “connection” hum,
were relentless reminders to Furenna—
the nightmare had become reality, and it now clung to her like a shadow.
Xiao Ling followed silently behind her, closing the door softly with her own hand.
She kept her head down, not daring to look at the collar around Furenna’s neck.
She hurried to the corner, picked up the familiar old wooden bucket and cloth, and moved as if to fetch the medicinal water, just as she always did.
Her movements were flustered, driven by a need to fill the silence with action, or perhaps to make amends.
“Xiao Ling.”
Furenna leaned against the cold wall, sliding down slowly to sit. Her voice was weary.
Xiao Ling stopped instantly, turning like a startled fawn, her lake-green eyes nervously fixed on Furenna.
“Not today.”
Furenna closed her eyes. Her brows furrowed slightly from the pain flaring in her body and the persistent abnormal sensation from the collar.
“I am tired. You… should rest as well.”
“But… your injuries…”
Xiao Ling whispered, her gaze involuntarily darting to Furenna’s abdomen, which had so recently borne the Demon King’s brutal strike.
“Let it be. I am fine.”
Furenna’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
She needed solitude. She needed time to “adjust” to the collar, to understand the full implications of this new shackle.
She could not expose more potential vulnerability in front of Xiao Ling, vulnerability that the collar might capture and transmit to the Demon King.
Xiao Ling pressed her lips together. Finally, she set down the bucket, but did not leave.
She sat down a few paces from Furenna, also leaning against the wall, curling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.
The little maid fell silent, simply staying quietly where she was, occasionally sneaking a glance
at Furenna before quickly looking down again.
Silence reclaimed the dungeon, broken only by their faint breathing.
Furenna turned her focus inward, probing at the collar.
Unlike the heavy physical manacles, this collar’s imprisonment was more “internal.”
It did not hinder her movement. It did not directly forbid specific intentions like the contract.
It was more like a fine, invisible net cast over the periphery of her perception.
The most immediate sensation was “emotional static.”
Even though Demon King Iris was not present now, the trace of the Demon King’s “pleasure” or “inquiry” transmitted through the collar had grown very faint, nearly nonexistent.
But the collar itself seemed to function as a continuously operating receiver.
It amplified and tagged every slight fluctuation of Furenna’s own emotions—
the irritation from exhaustion and pain, the cold disappointment with her situation, the confusion about the future, and the deeper layer of defiance and rage.
All were somehow magnified, marked, and then faintly pointed toward a distant existence through that intangible connection.
Furenna could even vaguely sense that the “intensity” and “nature” of her own emotions caused subtle changes within the collar’s internal runes,
as if generating a constant, ongoing “report” on the young woman’s inner state.
The feeling was extremely uncomfortable, like living under unending surveillance, where even the most private emotional shifts became transparent.
Furenna tried to forcibly calm her mind, to empty it, but the genuine physical pain and the pressure of her circumstances always gave rise to new emotional ripples for the collar to capture.
Beyond emotions, the collar also seemed to monitor her physiological state.
Her heart rate, the depth of her breathing, the tension in her muscles…
It was like a 24-hour continuous physiological and psychological monitor, presenting her most vulnerable, most real state in real time before the Demon King.
The “consideration and empathy” Iris spoke of was built upon this one-sided, utter transparency.
She would be forced to “experience” the Demon King’s moods, while the Demon King could grasp all of her reactions at any time.
It was more chilling than the lash.
The lash left visible marks, tangible pain.
This collar eroded the boundaries of the self.
It stripped away the last patch of inner shadow where one could temporarily hide.
She attempted to “observe” the energy flow within the collar.
But its structure was equally intricate. Its operation relied on subtle spiritual power and life-energy sensing, not simple magical siphoning or interference.
Given her current suppressed and disrupted state, deciphering its operational principles was no less difficult than analyzing the Soul Contract.
Yet it was not without gains.
During her prolonged silent perception, Furenna discovered something.
When her emotions reached an extremely steady state, near “thoughtlessness”—
not forcibly suppressed, but a deep calm akin to meditative trance—
the collar’s feedback grew the faintest, most even.
Conversely, when her emotions experienced violent fluctuations, especially strong negative emotions like rage or sorrow,
the collar’s “reporting” became abnormally active. The intangible connection also seemed to grow slightly clearer.
This meant that maintaining emotional stability, minimizing violent fluctuations,
might slightly lower the collar’s “presence” and reduce the “intensity” of information transmitted to the Demon King.
But how excruciatingly difficult was that?
Maintaining calm in this environment of humiliation and pain bordered on self-torture.
Time flowed on, drop by drop.
There was no day or night in the dungeon, only perpetual gloom.
Xiao Ling sat quietly nearby the whole time. At first, she shifted uneasily,
but she seemed to grow tired as well—after all, she had also been tormented as a hostage by Demon King Iris.
The little girl hugged her knees, her head nodding bit by bit into a light doze.
But her sleep was shallow. The slightest sound would startle her awake.
She would glance vigilantly around, then look back at Furenna.
Only upon seeing the young Heroine still sitting with eyes closed against the wall would she slowly relax again.
Furenna watched that small form in the corner.
Tear tracks still marked Xiao Ling’s face. Even in sleep,
her brow was slightly furrowed. Clearly, the earlier fright and ordeal had left her physically and mentally exhausted.
Looking at the child, a complex surge of emotion welled up in Furenna’s heart.
Guilt, for having implicated her.
A faint sliver of warmth, for Xiao Ling’s clumsy care and final courage.
A heavy responsibility, and a hidden thread of resolve—she could not let this child sink deeper into danger.
This complex emotional current passed through her heart.
Immediately, it triggered a subtle change in the collar’s runes. The intangible connection seemed to flicker.
Furenna’s breath caught for a split second. She forcibly calmed herself, striving to return to that state of mental-flow calm.
She could not “think” too much. Especially not about Xiao Ling, not about the future.
These thoughts and feelings were too dangerous, easily captured by the collar and potentially inviting unwanted attention.
What she needed now was absolute endurance.
Through the drop-by-drop erosion of stone–like “observation” within this all-encompassing surveillance, she must find the possible sliver of opportunity.
The “gaps” in the restraint, the “rhythm” of the shackles, the “noise” of the environment…
And now, one more thing—the “structure” of this collar.
Each one required time, required patience,
required maintaining a thread of clear-headed calculation within the swamp of despair.
She did not deliberately “suppress” her emotions.
She merely tried to empty her mind, focusing her attention solely on her own breath.
Inhale. Exhale. Slow and deep.
The pain in her abdomen persisted, but she consciously isolated it.
The cold sensation around her neck remained clear, but she stopped assigning it further emotional meaning.
Gradually, the nerves perpetually taut from the collar’s presence seemed to relax, just a little.
The collar’s feedback also seemed to trend toward a more stable, more low-profile frequency.
It was hard. Excruciatingly hard.
Maintaining this calm mental flow, this state of uncluttered thought at all times,
was like walking a tightrope over a boiling oil vat. But Furenna had to learn.
In the darkness, Furenna sat quietly, like a statue slowly merging with the stone wall.
Only the slight rise and fall of her chest and the movement of the collar with her breath proved she was still alive, still thinking,
still trudging silently through this suffocating desperate situation in her own way.
In the corner, Xiao Ling curled tighter in her sleep, letting out a faint, uneasy whimper.