The cold touch of leather, mixed with the faint scent of shoe polish and dust, was right before her.
Heroine Furenna knelt on the soft pink floor, her hands bound by short chains before her knees, trembling violently from extreme humiliation and fury.
Tears blurred her amber vision, yet they could not extinguish the fire burning deep within her pupils.
As she wished?
No.
Absolutely not!
This thought was like a spark tossed into boiling oil, instantly detonating an even fiercer conflagration within Furenna’s chest.
No! That wasn’t merely humiliation; it was a command to completely crush the last vestiges of her dignity as an “independent individual” and as the “Heroine,” to trample her soul into the muck alongside it.
If she yielded now to physical pain and threat, buying a moment’s respite in this manner, what difference was there between her and those slaves who groveled and wagged their tails for mercy under the might of the strong?
The Goddess had granted Furenna power, humanity had placed their trust in her—even if that trust had ultimately turned to betrayal—it was not so that Furenna could kneel here at the very toes of her enemy’s boots!
A resolve harder than steel, more resolute than at any moment before, rose from the depths of her soul.
It instantly froze her will, overpowering the trembling brought by pain.
Furenna jerked her head back, opening wide her amber eyes, washed clearer and sharper by tears, to meet directly those of Iris—crimson as wine, now carrying a trace of amusement and anticipation.
Then, the Heroine spoke in a slow, clear voice, as if each word carried weight and echo:
“You… wish.”
Furenna’s voice was not loud, even somewhat hoarse from her previous gasps and pain,
but the decisive refusal within it sliced through the sweet, cloying air of the room like an unsheathed blade.
“I, Furenna, can die in battle, can be tortured to death, can be hacked to pieces by a thousand blades.”
She enunciated each word, her gaze unwavering.
“But I will never, in this manner, degrade and mistreat myself.
Take back your filthy tricks, demon.
Kill me, torture me, do as you please.
Keep dreaming your grandiose delusions!”
As her words fell, the room plunged into dead silence.
Only Furenna’s slightly ragged breathing and the heavy, slow thumping of her heart in her chest could be heard.
She knelt there, her spine ramrod straight.
Though her hands were bound and tear-streaks still marred her face,
her posture was like an unyielding bamboo stalk, standing tall and proud.
The trace of amusement on Demon King Iris’s face slowly faded.
Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing the young woman before her who was clearly weak and at an absolute disadvantage, yet had erupted with such astonishing willpower.
A few degrees of teasing vanished from the Demon King’s gaze, replaced by pure assessment, and even…
an extremely faint fluctuation that might be named… approval.
“Very good.”
Demon King Iris’s voice betrayed no anger, merely stating it plainly.
“Commendable courage. Then, as you wish.”
Her hand, hanging at her side, seemed to casually grasp a long whip.
The whip was pitch black, woven from an unknown material, its length faintly flowing with dark red, vein-like patterns, shimmering with a light that held no warmth, only a bone-deep chill.
Without another word, her wrist flicked.
“Crack— Crack!“
The whip’s shadow lashed out like a venomous serpent, tearing through the air to land once more upon Furenna’s body!
This time, upon her shoulders and back.
“Ugh!”
Furenna’s body jerked forward violently. She clenched her teeth instantly, forcing back the scream that rushed to her throat!
The moment the whip made contact, an indescribable, soul-deep agony exploded!
It was not simple lacerated flesh. Furenna could feel a pain originating from her very soul.
As if an invisible hand had roughly plunged into the depths of her consciousness, seized her very “existence,” and savagely twisted it!
Pain, terror, despair, iciness…
Countless negative emotions erupted like a volcano, accompanying the physical impact, madly assailing the Heroine’s nerves and consciousness.
Even more terrifying, the pink glow and cloying scent permeating the room seemed to come alive, flooding into her senses,
amplifying, then amplifying again, this pain born of the soul!
Furenna felt every cell of hers scream, her soul as if tossed into a boiling oil cauldron!
“Crack!“
Another lash, landing on her arm.
Furenna convulsed in extreme pain, collapsing forward, her forehead striking the soft “ground” heavily.
Her lips were already bitten through, bright red blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
A guttural “hah… hah…” sound escaped her throat, an uncontrollable physiological reaction to the extreme pain,
but the Heroine still kept her mouth tightly shut, not letting a single cry escape.
It hurt! It hurt too much!
Soul-level pain far exceeded the limits of physical endurance, enough to make the most willful warrior crumble and beg for mercy.
Furenna’s consciousness floundered in a boundless sea of agony. Her vision blackened intermittently, her ears filled only with the drum-like pounding of her own heart and the roaring rush of blood.
“Give up…”
“It’s just yielding to the victor.”
“Compared to this pain…”
A faint voice tempted deep within her soul.
“No!”
Another, louder and fiercer voice roared, overwhelming It!
“Never!”
That was Furenna’s pride as the Heroine, her sense of responsibility, her promise to Timo, her very nature that refused to bow to evil!
The amber flame in the pupils on the verge of extinguishing, once again stubbornly rekindled!
Struggling, using her bound hands, her knees trembling uncontrollably,
bit by bit, with immense difficulty, she pushed her body back up.
Every tiny movement tore at the dual agony of soul and flesh.
Sweat poured from Furenna like rain, her vision darkening, but she ultimately succeeded.
She raised her head, her face streaked with blood and tears, lips torn, but those eyes—
Those amber eyes were blazingly bright, burning with an unyielding fire.
The Heroine stared directly at Demon King Iris, though her body trembled incessantly from the extreme pain,
her gaze held not a flicker of evasion, no plea, only towering fury and contempt.
“Crack!“
Iris’s hand holding the whip stopped mid-air.
Demon King Iris looked at Furenna. The emotion of inquiry and appreciation in her eyes shifted slightly, becoming more like the statement of a fact.
“The pain of this ‘Soul Lash’ is such that even among the most valiant demons, few can endure it without breaking.”
“You have withstood a lash without collapsing. And you, having lost nearly all your power, actually hardened yourself against it, not even uttering a cry for mercy.”
The Demon King turned her wrist. The fearsome black long whip retracted like a living thing, coiling around her arm and disappearing.
“Your will is worthy of your title.”
Iris took two steps closer, stopping before Furenna, leaning down slightly so her crimson eyes were level with those blazing amber ones.
She spoke slowly, her voice now somewhat detached, more like stating a fact.
“I suddenly have a new proposal.
A… perhaps better proposal for both of us.”
Furenna merely looked at her coldly, the line of her jaw tight from the pain and clenched teeth.
The young woman did not respond, but the wariness and scorn in her eyes had not diminished in the slightest.
Iris seemed unperturbed by her silence, continuing in that steady, strangely enticing tone:
“Abandon that false title of Heroine. Abandon that Goddess who has long since forsaken you.
Sign a new, equal soul contract with me. Pledge your loyalty and power to me.
Become the sharpest sword under my command, the sturdiest shield.
Become a member of the demon race, become the Fifth Heavenly King of the demons.”
As she spoke, she raised her hand, her fingertips elegantly tracing through the air.
Pink magical power flowed out, rapidly coalescing and solidifying,
summoning from space a phantom of a contract document, more intricate than the one before Furenna, suspending it between them.
“And I, will return to you true freedom—no more of these shackles and restraints.
Your status will surpass even the Four Heavenly Kings; no, it will stand alongside mine.
You will enjoy all the authority, resources, and respect of the future demon race.
How about it? Exchange one contract for the supreme status and freedom within the demon race, for a future of entirely new honor and glory.
This is much more cost-effective than pointless perseverance and pain, isn’t it?”
Heroine Furenna looked at that suspended contract, watching the clauses flow upon it. The corner of her mouth slowly twisted into a stiff, deeply sarcastic curve.
She spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the “ground,” making a faint “tch” sound.
“Ha… Keep dreaming your grandiose delusions.”
Her voice was terribly hoarse, yet exceptionally clear.
“You think… I’m a fool?
Sign your contract, become a lackey of the demons?
Then turn my spear to slaughter the humans I was meant to protect?
Your cheap tricks…”
Demon King Iris showed no surprise at her refusal, instead seeming to have anticipated it.
She shrugged slightly, and the phantom of the suspended contract vanished back into space.
“What you say isn’t wrong. Most humans easily swayed by such conditions are indeed… fools within human society.”
“And interestingly, often they are not fools, but rather… clever fools who hold not a little power and status.”
The Demon King’s tone carried an unconcealed mockery.
Heroine Furenna’s heart sank violently. The information implied in the other’s words sent a chill down her spine.
The upper echelons of humanity had indeed long been infiltrated by demons, even harboring traitors who had turned coat!
And judging from Demon King Iris’s words, the number of such traitors was likely not small, and their status not low!
This was far more terrifying than demon armies at the border.
But before she could think deeply or try to extract more information, Iris shifted the topic, pulling her attention back.
“Since you refuse so decisively, and I temporarily have no wish to destroy such a rare and resilient ‘piece of work’…” Iris’s gaze swept over Furenna’s bruised but still upright form.
“Shall we each take a step back? No more physical punishment, no more humiliation, no signing any troublesome loyalty contracts either.”
She raised her hand again. This time, the magic condensed into a phantom of a very simple contract, its structure basic, its glow relatively weak.
“We’ll play a game for one hour, using this simple contract to ensure the most basic fairness.
You win, and from now on, I will never again mention any of the previous orders. How about that?
You lose, then obediently fulfill one demand of mine. How about that?”
A game? Furenna’s nerves tightened.
A Demon King’s game? This sounded more like a trap than a direct test of surrender.
But she knew she had no choice. Continuing to stubbornly resist would only consume her already scant physical strength and willpower, getting beaten into unconsciousness in an endless cycle, with no way out in sight.
This so-called “game” offered a slim possibility—not of becoming a s*ave, but at least a possibility of avoiding further humiliation and extreme pain.
Even knowing it was likely a trap, she needed a respite, needed time to think, to figure out how to turn the tables in this demonic chess game.
“…What game?”
Furenna asked hoarsely, her amber eyes fixed on the simple contract, trying to discern clues from its straightforward terms.
The contract content was indeed as Iris had said, stipulating only the wager and the criteria for victory or defeat.
Its binding force seemed far less powerful than the Soul Contract, but it still held magical validity.
The corner of Demon King Iris’s mouth lifted in a meaningful smile, making her look even more like a spider watching its prey walk into the web.
“Very simple.”
She said unhurriedly, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Furenna.
“For the next hour, I will stand right here and do nothing.”
“And you, Furenna, you only need to remain where you are, maintaining your current posture—kneeling, hands placed on your knees.”
“Then, maintain absolute stillness for one hour.”
One hour? What kind of game was that? It was infinitely simpler than making her fight or solve puzzles!
What was Iris plotting?
Continuing the stalemate was pointless. If she agreed, there was at least a theoretical chance to catch her breath.
If she refused, endless torment would follow immediately.
The Heroine had no magic to probe the environmental anomalies meticulously, could only rely on feeling and will to endure.
“…I agree.”
Furenna heard her own dry voice say.
This was the only choice that offered a sliver of respite after weighing the pros and cons.
“Very good.”
The smile on Iris’s face deepened, carrying a hint of something triumphant, but it quickly returned to calm.
“Then, sign the contract. If you won’t regret it.”
The Demon King pushed the phantom of the simple contract a bit closer to Furenna.
Furenna carefully read the simple terms constituted by magic once more, confirming nothing was amiss.
She had no magic now, unable to leave a magical mark. The most direct and effective way to sign…
She tilted her head slightly, pressing the corner of her blood-stained lips lightly onto the designated area of the contract phantom.
A faint, cool thread of magical power flowed from the point of contact.
The contract flashed with light, transforming into two streams of light.
One stream vanished into Iris’s fingertip, the other into Furenna’s lips.
The contract was established.
Iris indeed did as she said, standing leisurely in place, even resting one elbow casually on her other arm, her palm supporting her chin, a picture of idle ease.
The Demon King’s crimson eyes, carrying a faint smile of anticipation as if watching a splendid play, remained locked on Furenna.
Furenna felt a strange, inexplicable palpitation, but she had no time to ponder it.
The contract had begun its countdown.
The young woman immediately gathered all her focus, banishing distracting thoughts.
She adjusted her body to the most standard kneeling posture—though her hands were bound by short chains, making it somewhat awkward, she could barely maintain it.
Heroine Furenna took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, effort calming her wildly beating heart and body still aching faintly from the earlier whipping.
Her eyes lowered, gaze fixed on a small patch of pink “ground” before her, no longer looking at Iris, avoiding any eye contact that might be considered movement.
Every muscle in her body, from fingertips to spine, entered a state of conscious relaxation.
Don’t move, don’t speak. One hour.
Furenna began counting silently in her heart, using the most primitive method to estimate time.
One second, two seconds, three seconds…
The room was utterly quiet. Demon King Iris indeed made no movement, as if truly a statue, even her breathing almost inaudible.
For the first dozen or so seconds, everything was normal.
Aside from the pain in various parts of her body and the immense psychological pressure, there was nothing unusual.
But soon, Furenna began to sense something amiss.
The cloying scent that perpetually filled the room seemed to be growing… stronger.