Chapter 28 - Suspicion
The nobles gathered to deliberate on state affairs in the Lugbelk Kingdom sat in their chairs, exuding an air of dignity and pride. From dukes of royal blood, to marquises overseeing multiple territories, counts managing single domains, and the viscounts and barons of subordinate families—everyone took their seats with grave expressions.
In this chamber where even the splendid chandeliers went unnoticed, there was only one item on the agenda: suspicion regarding the hero.
"Nonsense. Reaching the Demon King's Castle in a single day?"
Thud. The sound of a fist slamming the desk shattered the silence of the vast conference hall. The voice belonged to none other than Marquis Kelt Melraba. Everyone fell still, listening intently to the man who held the rank of marquis—the most powerful below the duke. Radicals and conservatives alike nodded in agreement.
As Kelt Melraba sighed and groaned, Count Ludent Kayad, seated beside him, cautiously spoke up.
"If the hero used his mana to enhance his body, it might be possible to reach the Demon King's Castle in a day."
"But wouldn't that drain all his mana? Maintaining such a spell continuously, without even considering a battle with the Demon King—does that make any sense?"
Kelt Melraba furrowed his brow at Ludent's words, raising a pointed question. Even if he'd poured everything into speed and arrived in a day, what then? What was the point? The answer Kelt drew was simple: he hadn't planned to fight the Demon King from the start.
That thought furrowed his brow even deeper. But before he could erupt in anger, Ludent Kayad nodded and continued.
"Yes, but that's merely calculating the hero's top speed and the straight-line distance from the front lines to the Demon King's Castle."
Everyone fell silent, hanging on Ludent's words. They anticipated what came next but craved solid, irrefutable evidence alongside it.
"Viscount Narba Selen, recite the hero's statement."
Ludent cleared his throat with a cough and gestured. Viscount Narba Selen swallowed hard, pulled out a scroll, and unrolled it.
"Yes, if I may. At that time, the hero, Verilrude Anemos, stated as follows: 'Before the first day was even over, I was attacked by a horde of magic beasts and left alone, so I charged into the Demon King's Castle single-handedly.' However, this statement was not accepted."
As Narba finished, Ludent picked up seamlessly.
"The Demon Realm is no different from a land of death. Though it spawns magic beasts, it's saturated with mana—it's impossible to charge straight to the Demon King's Castle without encountering a single one."
"So, what's the conclusion?"
As Ludent expounded on the Demon Realm's terrain, an impatient Kelt Melraba raised an eyebrow and urged him on. Nodding, Ludent continued.
"There are two conclusions. First: the magic beasts the hero faced were all there were, so he encountered none on the way and reached the castle in record time. Thus, the Demon King fled. Or second: the hero is lying to us."
As Ludent concluded, Count Olvis Davidid—practically the radical faction's leader—stroked his beard and glanced at him.
"It doesn't make sense for there to be no magic beasts in the Demon Realm, so the latter seems plausible. But if by some chance it's the former..."
Even from the opposing faction, Ludent could see the headache brewing on Olvis's face and replied accordingly.
"If it's the former, then the urgency we felt to conquer the Demon Realm vanishes."
Conquering the Demon Realm had been one of the few initiatives both factions pursued unitedly. Its glossy soil brimmed with mana, teeming with mana stones in beasts—if controlled, it could yield countless magic tools and bolster forces to establish hegemony.
But if, as Olvis feared, the hero could reach the Demon King's Castle at top speed with no beasts in between, and if the land wasn't producing them, it was just more territory. Land expansion was fine, but sacrificing elite troops as the hero's meat shields had been unnecessary bloodshed.
"Rather than no magic beasts in the Demon Realm, it's more plausible that the hero—not the Demon King—fled."
As silence gripped the room, Kelt Melraba drummed his fingers on the desk and spoke. The chamber erupted in murmurs.
If the hero had fled, it wasn't just about the Demon Realm losing mana. It meant redirecting more forces there, heightening threats from neighboring nations—a thorny issue.
"Then what should we do?"
After Ludent's question, Olvis answered instead.
"Attach surveillance to the hero. The moment he acts suspiciously, pin him with treason charges."
"...Count Olvis Davidid, are you serious? He's the hero. Accusing him could spark massive controversy over public safety."
Ludent recoiled, frowning. Undeterred, Olvis replied calmly.
"The people are already trembling that the Demon King wasn't punished. We need another death to quell that. The masses don't crave safety—they crave blood."
With that, Olvis wrapped up.
"Leave this matter to me."
"...Fine. But the Demon King clearly didn't die—what's your plan for that?"
"If the hero's doomed to fail anyway, punish him and overwhelm with numbers."
In the midst of shared concerns, Olvis slashed through Ludent's query with sharp eyes. Ultimately, the meeting fizzled out inconclusively.
I had nothing to do. I just lay there on the bed, opening my eyes. Thanks to the hero, I could sleep in a bed, but that didn't make it good. It was more like passing out from exhaustion after being raped.
Plus, these handcuffs on my wrists made my body ache, preventing proper sleep. I stared at the hero slumbering beside me with weary eyes.
It was the first time a soft bed felt so unwelcome. I thought sleeping chained by the collar, rolling on the floor, had been more comfortable.
My lower abdomen throbbed. The pain from his thick fingers and cock ravaging me lingered, stabbing everywhere.
Ugh, I groaned, shifting. My restricted arms made it futile, only adding strain.
"...Haa."
A sigh escaped naturally. I had no idea how long this life would last—fear only accelerated.
My body felt heavy, my mind parched. The worry that I'd just keep getting beaten and violated until death wouldn't fade.
Living like this was pure torment; I was starting to tire.
"Why the sigh?"
I startled. When did he wake? He wasn't latching onto that, was he? Hiding my tension, I answered quickly.
"Ah, it's nothing."
"...I see."
I brushed it off vaguely, and he let it go. A relief, but constantly watching my step made tears well up.
As I spaced out, hunger hit again. Last night, I'd eaten just two potato halves to ration, then been discarded. No real meal.
This small body funneled all nutrition to my breasts—hunger struck often, no matter how much I ate. Sure, regular meals meant health, but... with an unwanted partner, it was agony.
Obvious, but no novel trope here: getting wet and aroused anytime. From start to finish, pure suffering.
Sudden nausea surged. I'd ignored it, but seeing his naked body next to me turned my stomach, vomit rising.
I clutched my gut, suppressing dry heaves.
Fucking hell. Never imagined clinging to a man like this. Forced or not, it repulsed me.
I turned away, facing his back to forget, but the thought lingered.
Unable to bear it, I bolted upright. No chain on the collar's end hooked to the wall—the collar itself was gone from my neck. I rose easily.
Clanking awkwardly in handcuffs, I scrambled off the bed. As I stumbled out, a chilling voice rang behind.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
Bathroom, bathroom. Would've been great to say it. But with bile at my throat, how?
I fled his booming voice, dashing.
Huff, huff. My quickening breath annoyed me. Just from room to bathroom—why so hard?
I burst in and hurled into the latrine hole, everything surging up.
"Ugh, urk—bleeegh!!"
My body convulsed, stomach clenching to expel every crawling disgust, leaving nothing.
Face twisted in revulsion—like being wrung out—I spewed undigested potatoes and mostly gastric juices, still heaving breaths.
"Hahk, heuk. Hahk."
I raced toward agony's end. Acid reflux burned my throat; sprinting here left me breathless, vision blurring.
Dizzy. This frail body couldn't endure forced violation—legs trembled. My lower belly stabbed like a barbed ball jammed inside.
Too miserable to care it was the toilet, I collapsed writhing on the floor. Pathetic before the latrine, but what choice?
"Ugh, ahk."
Tears blurred my sight; frail cries of pain deafened me. The crawling unease numbed my senses.
All sensations blocked. It hurts, save me. Why me? Unfair—why only me? Why hunger, why this?
Hate starving—let me rummage trash. Hate stripping—give me clothes. Hate forced sex. What's embracing a man?
Give me freedom.
Tears streamed, unwiped. Snot leaked, unwiped. Drool dripped, unwiped.
Hate it, hate it. Hungry. Small eater, yet always starving. Like a beggar inside.
After vomiting in the toilet, what felt like endless torment passed—a low voice, fury rising.
"...What the hell are you doing here."
Nothing went right.