A Lesson

Consciousness slowly rose from the chaotic darkness, like a drowning person struggling to break the water’s surface.

The cold, heavy weight of metal around her neck, and the inescapable constraint upon her lower body—these were the first two things the Heroine Furenna confirmed upon regaining awareness.

These things ceaselessly reminded her of where she was, of the situation she was in.

A scorching wave of anger instantly surged within her chest. Her fists clenched unconsciously at her sides, nails digging deeply into her palms, bringing sharp, stinging pain.

But the Heroine soon took a deep, deep breath, forcibly suppressing that erupting fury, compelling herself to maintain calm.

Anger solved nothing.

Furenna reiterated the self-persuasion in her heart, over and over. She knew full well that at this moment, letting rage take hold, burning her throat dry, would only lead her to collapse faster, to truly fall into despair.

That hope might be as faint as a candle flame in the wind, but it existed—it was the hope for freedom, and then… to personally end this war that had spanned countless ages upon this wasteland, to utterly eradicate the demon race that threatened the human world.

This goal had never changed. Only the path to it was now shrouded in thick darkness and humiliation, almost indistinguishable.

And now, the most fundamental obstacle between her and this goal was not merely the shackles upon her body, nor the dungeon’s seals, but that soul contract she had personally signed to save Timo, which shimmered with ominous light.

For Timo, and also for the chance to counterattack under that “optimal” choice. The contract’s terms were clear: Demon King Iris promised that upon becoming the contractor of Heroine Furenna, all of the demon race’s “high-tier combatants” would be bound by the contract, unable to launch any form of assault on human towns or armies. Moreover, Demon King Iris personally volunteered to surrender and accept captivity. In exchange, Heroine Furenna would offer up her own freedom and status, relinquishing all ability to actively attack or resist the demons.

In other words, she had traded her self for an invisible shield for the human world. Low and mid-tier demon armies might still harass the borders, but the “Heavenly King-level assaults” capable of crushing the human frontlines would become a thing of the past. Humanity would no longer need to rely on a relatively “fair” battlefield, on forces evenly matched with the demons, to buy themselves a chance to catch their breath or even achieve victory.

If the human side were united enough, then this seemingly complex and harsh, yet in essence simple, transaction—while a fatal shackle for Heroine Furenna—could, even at the cost of one individual, likely secure ten thousand years of peace and tranquility for humanity.

Trading herself for ten thousand years of peace for humanity.

At that time, faced with the contract terms for Timo, she had had no other choice, and had been willing.

But now, the reality the young woman had to face was that the contract was a soul-level link. To free herself from its influence, to regain the power to resist or even eradicate the demons, there was only one way—to use a more powerful soul force to impact, resist, and ultimately shatter the contract’s binding structure from within.

But this required power.

Power she could autonomously control, the arcane skill of a supreme-level magic to carry a soul impact.

Currently, Heroine Furenna was at the very heart of the demon wasteland. She was like someone thrown into a dry desert, while water was constantly being drained from her.

The external magic circle cut off all usable energy sources from the outside world. The elemental resonance of holy fury within her body was interfered with by the precise metal restraints upon her, creating a persistent disruption that continuously weakened her foundational energy, not to mention the specifically designed obstacles hindering her energy circulation.

This made it incredibly difficult for the originally divinely endowed Heroine to generate and accumulate power within her own energy cycle. Her magic perception and manipulation abilities were suppressed due to the existence of the soul contract, rendering them unusable.

“Truly… blocked off from the very beginning,” Furenna muttered to herself, her voice hoarse. Her amber eyes, under the eerie green light, reflected deep exhaustion and a sliver of unwilling clarity.

“I must first regain autonomy over my magic and spells, even if only partially…”

“Only then might there be a possibility to impact the shackles from within and adapt to this environment.”

It was a relationship of spear and shield. Without a sharp spear, how could one break a sturdy shield?

A classic dead end.

All of this had been calculated long ago.

It was a meticulously crafted, despair-inducing logical loop.

Just as Furenna’s thoughts were in turmoil, attempting to find a single crack in this predicament—

Clang!

The familiar, heavy sound of the door opening rang out once more, roughly interrupting her contemplation.

It was the same two silent, statue-like, mechanically precise demon soldiers.

They strode to her with uniform steps and, without any communication as before, lifted her arms and dragged the Heroine up from the cold floor.

Furenna did not struggle, merely moved her feet passively.

She knew resistance was futile, only inviting rougher treatment and wasting precious stamina.

Furenna’s body still felt weak, the shackles heavy, but compared to the initial extreme fatigue of having her power drained, she seemed to have adapted somewhat. Or perhaps, her body, under pressure, had tapped into a newly forged endurance—this, too, was part of being the Heroine.

The demon soldiers escorted Furenna out of the eerie green dungeon and into the dim, winding corridor outside.

This path seemed different from the one taken to the dollmaker’s room before.

They passed more intersections, traversed several heavy doors of various styles.

Some doors were hewn from rough stone, carved with fierce reliefs; some were smooth metal doors gleaming coldly; some even looked like they were pieced together from the bones of some giant creature, exuding an ancient, sinister aura.

Behind each door, it seemed, lay different areas of the demon fortress. The faint sounds or scents drifting out also varied—some carried the roar of furnaces and waves of heat, others low, inhuman growls, or utter dead silence.

Furenna silently memorized the route. Though she knew it was difficult for her, powerless and in this labyrinthine stronghold, to escape by memory alone, it still increased the possibility.

At the same time, she was secretly awed by the vastness and complexity of this Demon King’s fortress. This was no small project, but a core lair that had been developed over who knew how many centuries.

Finally, Furenna and her escorts stopped before a large door.

This door was different. It appeared to be made from a smooth, dark red material, cast as a single piece with no visible seams. The door panel bore no decorations or reliefs, only a purple magic circle hovering upon it.

The sweet, stuffy heat in the air became particularly noticeable here, faintly detectable even through the door.

One demon soldier reached out, pressing a hand onto the magic circle.

The dark purple light flared, and the heavy stone door slid open silently inward, revealing a passageway bathed in soft pink light.

Before Furenna could make out the interior, the demon soldier behind her gave a forceful shove!

“Ah!”

Caught off guard, Furenna cried out, stumbling forward.

She instinctively closed her eyes, bracing for impact with a hard floor… but the impact did not come as expected.

Instead, she landed on something indescribably soft.

It felt like the finest velvet, yet also possessed a resilient, supportive quality. It enveloped her body, even giving way slightly, absorbing the force and sparing her the expected dull pain of impact.

Furenna cautiously opened her eyes. Her wrists and ankles were connected by a short, retractable chain that restricted her movement range, but not completely. She quickly sat up, looking around.

This was a strange room.

The walls, the ceiling, even the “ground” beneath her, all presented a uniform, warm, fleshy pink color.

The surfaces seemed alive, faintly undulating and pulsing.

The air was thick with the sweet scent she had noticed earlier, now much more concentrated. It wasn’t unpleasant but carried an overt, heart-stirring warmth that, once inhaled, made one feel an involuntary flush and palpitation.

The light came from the walls and ceiling themselves, emitting a soft pink glow. It wasn’t harsh but cast everything in an ambiguous filter.

The room was circular, not overly spacious but large enough to hold over a dozen people. Aside from the bizarre “fleshy walls” and soft “ground,” there was no furniture or decoration of any kind—it was utterly empty.

The shackles on Furenna’s wrists and ankles were linked together by a sturdy short chain, only about thirty centimeters long.

This length prevented her from raising her hands above her head or fully straightening her legs to stand. She was forced to maintain a posture with her hands placed before her knees or at her sides, kneeling or half-sitting on this soft surface.

The door behind her closed silently, blending seamlessly with the flesh-colored wall, leaving no trace.

The room now held only her, the pervasive sweet scent, and the pink glow.

What was this place? What new trick did Demon King Iris have in mind?

Furenna’s heartbeat quickened involuntarily, a sense of foreboding rising like icy seawater.

The young woman tried to stand, but the short chain’s length and the soft ground made it difficult for her to exert force.

A few feeble struggles only caused her to wobble slightly on the “ground.”

Just then, the fleshy wall directly in front of her rippled like water.

A tall, slender figure seemed to grow out of the wall.

It was Demon King Iris.

She had changed her attire once again—one had to wonder how many varied outfits the Demon King’s wardrobe held.

It was no longer combat armor, nor the form-fitting leathers from before, but a set of clothing that looked both more comfortable and even more oppressive—a tight-fitting bodysuit of some strange dark red material that perfectly outlined Iris’s powerful physique. Over it, she wore an open black velvet robe that draped to the floor. On her feet were knee-high, mirror-polished black riding boots of excellent leather that reflected a cold luster in the pink light.

Demon King Iris’s expression was calm. Her crimson eyes fell upon Furenna, filled with mockery.

“What new humiliation has the Demon King prepared now?” Furenna spoke first, her voice dry and tight with strain.

She knelt there, looking up at the Demon King, her eyes full of wariness and scorn. “Come on then, do your worst. I won’t beg for mercy from a demon like you!”

Iris did not acknowledge her provocation. The corner of her mouth curled up in a hint of amusement, as if watching a young beast in a cage.

She continued to approach unhurriedly, the sound of her boots on the soft ground emitting a faint, rhythmic thud.

Seeing her verbal attack seemingly ineffective, a desperate courage, mixed with long-suppressed resentment, spurred the Heroine. She raised her voice.

“But, Iris, mark my words! From this moment on, every humiliation you inflict, every vile act, will be remembered! And I, Furenna, am the Heroine chosen by the Goddess! Once my body perishes, my soul will return to the Goddess’s side! The atrocities, the humiliation I endure, will all be presented without reserve before the Goddess!”

Furenna paused for breath, her amber eyes locked on the Demon King, pronouncing each word as if delivering a prophecy.

“The Goddess will know everything! She will send a new, even greater Heroine! And that Heroine will repay you, and your kind, a hundredfold, a thousandfold, for the methods you have used upon me! This is the seed of destruction you sow today! I remember! Every ounce of my pain, every shred of humiliation, is clearly imprinted and branded by my soul! Now, what other filthy tricks do you have? Use them!”

Furenna’s words echoed in the soft, empty room, carrying a kind of fierce intensity.

She was trying to provoke the other with the gravest consequences. Better to enrage the enemy and beg for a quick death than to slowly marinate in silent torment. Or, at the very least, to mount a counterattack in spirit.

However, the expected scene of the Demon King’s furious rage or derisive laughter did not occur.

That faint smile on Demon King Iris’s face slowly faded away.

She stopped a few steps away from Furenna, looking down at the Heroine who was still stubbornly holding her head high, trembling slightly with agitation.

Her crimson eyes now held no trace of amusement or calm. They were like two chunks of ice frozen for ten thousand years, stripped of all warmth belonging to “life,” leaving only pure coldness and indifference.

That gaze swept over Furenna, making her feel she was no longer a living being, but a faulty item that needed to be re-evaluated and handled.

“If your goal was to enrage me, thus having me execute you,” Iris’s voice rang out, her tone terrifyingly steady, without a single ripple, “then congratulations, Heroine Furenna. You have half succeeded.”

Furenna’s heart sank violently.

If the Demon King were to fly into a rage and kill her now, it would almost be better… but the other was not the type to be easily driven to blind fury by words…

“However, you can rest assured,” Iris continued in that icy tone, as if seeing through Furenna’s rising thought, “you will not die. Quite the opposite, I will personally ensure you live.”

The Heroine felt as if she were not breathing.

“To make you understand, here, which thoughts are appropriate, and which futile struggles are meaningless.”

The Demon King’s gaze fell upon Furenna’s face, her neck restraint, and the short chain restricting her movement.

“I will teach you what posture you need to maintain in the future,” Demon King Iris said slowly, “so you won’t make the kind of noise you did today.”

Having said this, she took another step forward.

Then, Demon King Iris raised her right foot slightly, placing the tip of that mirror-polished black riding boot right before Furenna’s lowered line of sight. The boot’s toe almost touched her chin.

“Now, begin your first lesson.”

Demon King Iris’s voice was not loud, but carried an indisputable command.

“Use your tongue. Make it shinier.”

Furenna’s pupils constricted violently.

Blood roared up to her head, her ears buzzing, her face instantly burning hot before turning deathly pale.

An extreme sense of humiliation, like molten lava, erupted from her heart, instantly scorching through her internal organs before spreading through her blood vessels to her limbs!

Her body trembled uncontrollably, more violently than ever before.

To make the Heroine… lick… the Demon King’s… boot?!

“Ab… solutely… not!”

The two words seemed to exhaust all her strength, squeezed hoarsely from between teeth clenched tight in utter rage and shame.

The fury and hatred in her amber eyes almost materialized and shot out.

The response to her was not words.

It was the sharp whistle of air being torn apart!

Swish—

A black shadow flashed past at a speed barely visible to the naked eye, followed immediately by a crisp, teeth-grating crack that exploded at the junction of Furenna’s waist and hips!

“Ah—!”

A short, piercing shriek escaped uncontrollably.

That was no ordinary pain.

It was a mix of violent impact, the explosive sensation of a whip strike, and an intense, searing heat that instantly penetrated the flesh, burning the nerves!

The tremendous force sent Furenna sprawling sideways onto the soft ground.

The lower half of her body went momentarily numb, soon replaced by a wave of even more excruciating agony.

The young woman curled up, her hands instinctively trying to cover the injured area.

The Heroine gasped for breath, tears of pain welling in her eyes, threatening to suffocate her.

That strike was not merely physical pain; there was a sensation of soul-rending violation.

“In my presence, futile defiance is meaningless,” Iris’s cold voice came from above, surprisingly tinged with a trace of uncontained pleasure. “It only wastes energy, challenges authority. Aside from bringing unnecessary pain, it serves no purpose.”

Furenna lay on the soft yet unyielding ground, the intense pain making her thoughts sluggish.

But that hint of pleasure in Iris’s words chilled a part of her mind.

Did Demon King Iris actually enjoy this?

Had she been anticipating Furenna’s resistance all along, just to “justifiably” carry out punishment, to satisfy some sadistic pleasure derived from inflicting pain upon unyielding defiance?

Iris gently nudged Furenna’s tightly clenched jaw with the tip of her boot, the action carrying a hint of condescension.

“But, I must say, your reaction is quite interesting.”

The Demon King admitted, her tone flat. “I do enjoy watching you self-righteous beings, you who have been betrayed and still willingly accepted captivity, struggle pointlessly in the face of absolute power. It adds considerable interest to my teaching process.”

The boot tip pressed slightly harder against Furenna’s jaw, forcing her to lift her head.

“So, continue to resist, Heroine. I won’t stop until you lose consciousness.”

“Or, do yourself a favor and give up now. The time for you to turn defeat into victory is not today, so don’t waste it, hmm?”

Demon King Iris withdrew her foot, then once again extended that polished boot before Furenna. Her voice turned sharply cold, carrying a commanding pressure.

“Now begin, complete your first lesson.”

“I don’t like to see any dirt, I don’t like to see any dust, and I certainly don’t like to see any unnecessary delays.”