Losing the Will to Resist
Not eating anything was one reason, but above all, the loss of motivation stemmed from the fact that no matter how much she crushed her pride, there was no reward worth it. They'll feed me, but not nicely. Especially if the method was deeply humiliating, clearly intended to grind her down. She might have been able to grit her teeth and eat if it were in some hidden corner where no one watched—but no, even that wouldn't work. And to make her eat like a dog in front of people? Utterly absurd.
Her pride, bent and twisted so many times, finally reached its breaking point and refused to bend further. So she starved again. Her stomach ached fiercely from hunger. She couldn't tell if it was the lingering pain from before or the gnawing emptiness, but her feelings leaned heavily toward hunger. She let out a groan.
As she did, the hero emerged from the inn, having packed his belongings. It seemed this place was just a brief stopover. Dragged by the rattling chains, she followed him blankly. He wasn't about to give her shoes, so she walked barefoot on the ground again, just like yesterday. Normally she wouldn't, but there was a strange sense of liberation in it—though it also made her acutely realize why people wore shoes in the first place.
Gurgle. Her empty stomach rumbled vigorously. It wasn't that she didn't want to eat; she simply couldn't bend any further. Yet her body ignored her resolve. It wasn't even the right choice to eat that in the first place.
Yeah, it's right not to eat that kind of thing. Only after rationalizing it to herself could she finally close her mouth and calm her troubled heart. She had to comfort herself somehow.
The hero, leading the way, seemed irked that she hadn't buried her face in the food bowl earlier. Every now and then, as they walked steadily, he'd yank the chain forward. She flinched, her upper body jerking ahead.
"Ack!"
She hadn't fallen last time, but a moment's carelessness sent her tumbling to the ground. The hero tugged the chain reproachfully.
"What are you doing? Hurry up!"
"Guh... kgh!"
The collar tightened around her throat. No time to lament her fall; she scrambled up, hastily covering her exposed body with the cloak and clutching it tight. She had no hobby of showing herself off to others.
After all that struggle, by the time the sun was high overhead, they arrived at their destination—a modest house. Villages required carriages, but this wasn't one; it seemed to be on the outskirts of some royal road. Demoted, so he's holing up in a cheap place to recuperate? Watching him, she almost laughed. Venting his anger at her for his own failure to do his job properly.
But before she could mock him, her stomach growled again. The hero smirked derisively.
"Starving yourself over one scrap of pride, and now you're making a fool of yourself like this?"
He yanked the chain, forcing her foot forward a step. But she went no further, her slender legs trembling as she held her ground. She knew he wouldn't feed her properly anyway—no need to bow.
"...You serve food like that, and expect me to shove my face in it because I like it?"
She bared her teeth, venting her frustration openly. The hero narrowed his eyes, his face twisting in displeasure. But the expression soon smoothed, and he shrugged as if she'd forgotten the obvious.
"You got that treatment because you lacked sincerity."
Absurdity turned to numbness; no expression came. She'd given thanks as demanded, bent her pride for the sake of face and food. And this was the return: lack of sincerity meant bury your head and eat.
Tsk. She clicked her tongue in disgust. Unfazed, he tugged the chain and entered the house. The door creaked open to reveal something even shabbier than the place with the basement bars two—no, three—days ago. Still, it seemed livable enough, with multiple rooms. One for me? No, knowing him, unlikely.
He dropped his bags briefly, found the bedroom, and flopped onto the bed. Naturally, she took her place on the floor some distance away. It wasn't even surprising anymore.
"...".
She glared at him. Sitting on the bed, he met her eyes and curled his lip.
"A demon like you, starving over pride. Aren't you hungry?"
"And you? Changing your speech to casual just to get some recognition from those around you."
She snapped back fiercely, but he acted as if it were natural.
"Of course. I'm the hero everyone knows, after all. Demoted or not."
Tsk. Demoted hero is still a hero? Nonsense. She was weak-bodied, mana-less; even if she screamed she was the Demon King, no one would believe her. But him? Even demoted, his strength remained, so he got hero treatment. Biting her lip at the world's unfairness, she swallowed her irritation.
Gurgle. Clutching her loudly protesting stomach, she collapsed onto the floor, too drained for talk.
No point trying anymore; he wouldn't feed her, so no reason to cater to his mood.
"Haa."
Should she eat the thumbnail she'd saved from last night? She rolled over, turning her back to him. He let out a hollow laugh.
"Not eating this time either?"
His voice was nonchalant, teasing—like he was plotting more torment. The irritation was unbearable.
"...Get lost."
Tormented by hunger, she curled up and squeezed out the words. He straightened his clothes and prodded her with his foot, as if offering another chance.
"Hear me out. It's good for you too."
"...".
What now? Offer food, then make me eat without utensils in front of others? She wouldn't trust a word from someone who toyed with her meals. This spot was hers now. She'd starve to death here. Glancing at yesterday's chewed thumbnail, then her ring finger's longer one. Today: ring, pinky, back to left thumb. That might stave off the hunger a bit.
Staring vacantly at her nails, she barely registered him continuing.
"Suck my dick, and I'll let you eat at the table."
"What...?"
She furrowed her brow, sure she'd misheard. Suck what? Tilting her head briefly at the promise of food was a mistake. Grinding her teeth, she scowled. He'd decided to mock her to the end, oblivious to a starving person's pain.
His words weren't worth hearing. She'd gnaw her nails until none remained, then choose death by starvation. Steel resolve, she shut her mouth, then forced it open to spit contempt.
"...Get lost, you fucking bastard."
A kick landed simultaneously. Thud!
"Guhk!"
It hurt. Hitting her bruised spot sent sharp pain surging through her. But her back took it; curling up helped her endure. I can take it. That thought offered scant comfort. Groaning, she heard him exhale.
"...Hey, think you could ignore it if I sold you?"
"...Better to starve than..."
Her voice was weak, breathless. Airy, spent. Truly, better to starve than... But maybe hanging hopes on a new master wasn't so bad. Worst case, death—but if it meant kindness and food, worth betting on. Escape or kill this trash hero? Impossible now. Starve exhausted, or pray for a better owner. That was it. Eyes closing, she pondered.
"...Fuck."
Irritated, he stomped her head once and stormed out. Still hungry.
Hungry. Looked like nails were her meal today too. Crunch. Snap, snap. Crunch. Snap, snap. Hunger didn't fully fade, but she'd endure a bit. Enough to sleep, so satisfaction. Her frail body tired quickly anyway; now, she shut her eyes just to live. Sleep meant no hunger, no pain. Thankful for that much.
*
Hero Verilrude Anemos furrowed his brow. The repulsive wench—a demon, reduced to slavery—refusing orders grated on him. Irritation surging, he clicked his tongue and walked on. It was only natural.
Slaves were living things, yet not. There were animal protection laws, but none for slaves. Especially demons—no issue how you treated them. Using slaves for lust was akin to masturbation; end of story. In this world where that was common sense, her pretentious nobility irked him.
He'd failed to slay the Demon King, earned scorn; his followers died, drawing blame; even his fiancée Cecilia Lamiris fell to magic beasts. His hatred naturally turned to this demon. He could rip her apart now, and the world would cheer it as righteous fury.
Yet he couldn't kill her easily. Because she was the Demon King's closest aide—or housed his avatar. First encounter, he thought she hid her face; removing the hood was to identify her. But realizing she was the one from the Demon King's Castle changed everything. The demon the Demon King seemed to cherish at the inn.
Once found, he'd tried everything to break her. Society wouldn't judge him. No one would reprimand him for wrongs. Yet she wouldn't yield. At first, he figured strong-willed aide. But her mental fortitude and high pride sparked doubt: Real Demon King?
The thought faded with a scoff. A mana-less Demon King? Laughable. But lingering what ifs made him chew his lip. No name, appearance known—just catch her? His job. But now, he needed intel. No more misses.
He'd tried force, mental pressure to submit. But time dragged; she'd starve soon. Look—even on death's door, gnawing nails: right thumb, index, middle mangled. Limits to that endurance. He'd humiliated her sexually, expecting breakdown, yet she spat defiance.
He groaned inwardly. Where did that flimsy pride come from? Closest aide? Or Demon King herself? Nodding to himself, seeking answers, he entered a nearby eatery, ordered food, mind still churning.