Elf Rides the Wooden Horse
Now is not the time, but it's said that the old empire waged countless wars under various pretexts. Naturally, torture tools and techniques developed in that process. There were many prisoners, but few who spat out the truth immediately, so it wasn't surprising that these unethical practices became rampant.
However, in modern times, torture tools and techniques have become vulgar relics of a degenerate bygone era. Thanks to the advancement of magic tools and magical studies, it's now possible to extract the truth without inflicting physical pain.
The Pelgaroin Count family, which had fought numerous wars alongside His Majesty the Emperor, also stopped handling torture tools, deeming them unbecoming of their dignity. Fortunately, remnants of the past still lingered in the underground chambers.
"This is the room. It's been neglected for quite some time, but the items should still be intact."
Marhan gripped the rusty doorknob and pushed forward. The iron door, resisting with a grinding screech, slowly scraped open across the floor.
"Hup!"
With a grunt, Marhan shoved hard, and with an unpleasant creeeak, the door swung wide.
Marhan dusted off his hands lightly and led the way inside, with me following behind. The underground chamber admitted not a single ray of light, plunging the view into darkness. I snapped my fingers, conjuring a small flame in the air to illuminate our surroundings.
I wasn't particularly gifted in magic, but everyday spells like this were simple enough.
"Not a very pleasant place."
I frowned as the light revealed the surroundings. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling corners, and clumps of hardened candle wax littered the floor, stirring a visceral disgust. Compared to the impeccably maintained mansion, the castle's torture chamber was not just unsanitary—it was downright repulsive.
'It's been abandoned for ages, so maybe it's to be expected...'
With a sigh, I lit the candles mounted on the walls one by one. The space brightened considerably, sharply outlining the torture device in the room's center.
The triangular wooden horse. True to its name, it was a horse-shaped frame of sharp-edged triangles. Forcing a victim to straddle the ridge crushed their genitals under their own weight, inflicting excruciating pain. I'd only read about it in books—this was my first time seeing one in person.
Using something like this was downright sadistic, but I had no other options.
"This is what I wanted. Go fetch my slave."
I stated it calmly, and Marhan blinked in surprise.
"Your slave, sir?"
"Yes. She scribbled all over the knight captain's breastplate on a whim. Time for some discipline to make her reflect on her mistakes."
"What? Your slave defaced the captain's breastplate?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
"Ah, yes. Understood."
Marhan scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, bowed, and turned to leave.
Only then did I exhale, stepping toward the wooden horse. Curiosity drew me closer for a better look, but a sudden worry made me grimace.
'This thing's too dangerous.'
The device in this room wasn't some sex toy—it was a genuine torture instrument, crafted solely to maximize agony. Proof lay in the razor-sharp edge of its back. Sitting on it carelessly could lacerate the genitals. Even for an elf, there was no guarantee of safety.
In fact, the Elf never shielded herself with mana during our sexual torment sessions.
'If she protected herself constantly, a quill nib wouldn't have pierced her skin.'
She deliberately stayed defenseless to play along with my abuse. If she didn't use mana this time and ended up bleeding...
'A glare wouldn't be the end of it.'
If the Elf realized there was a flaw in my "offering," who knew what mischief she'd unleash? I didn't even want to imagine it.
After a moment's thought, I removed my overcoat and draped it over the horse's back. This should let me stimulate her lust without real injury.
'Needs a bit more refinement, though.'
Stopping here would be amateurish. To satisfy the Elf, I had to go pro. I headed to a cabinet in the corner, opened a drawer, and pulled out a few essentials: a sharp iron ring, sturdy rope, and a lightweight one-handed hammer.
I was certain—this would add stability and uniqueness to the torment.
I dragged the cabinet right beside the horse, climbed atop it with the hammer and ring in hand.
'Where to anchor it...'
Examining the ceiling, I spotted a weathered seam. I positioned the ring's tip there and hammered it in repeatedly.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
After the echoes faded, the ring was firmly embedded. A tug confirmed it wouldn't budge. Satisfied, I tossed the hammer aside, knelt, and picked up the rope.
The length was perfect—no need to cut. Standing, I threaded it through the ring, tied a secure knot, and let it dangle.
Accounting for the Elf's height, once seated on the horse with arms raised, it would be ideal for binding her wrists.
'Perfect!'
Did I have a knack for this? A surge of misplaced pride brought a grin, quickly soured by self-loathing. I cleared my throat and stepped down from the cabinet just as clanking footsteps approached.
No need to ask who—it had to be Marhan with the slave.
Ahem.
I retreated to the wall, leaned against it casually, mussed my bangs, tilted my gaze downward at 45 degrees, and hypnotized myself into a cold-blooded psychopath, mustering the scariest expression I could.
"Regent, sir."
Marhan entered through the open door. Beside him, the Elf—wrists gripped—sniffled with a face on the verge of tears.
She'd been informed of the punishment, so instead of her maid outfit, she wore that familiar sackcloth rag.
"I've brought the slave."
"Mm."
"Regent, sir?"
Tsk. With a dismissive click of my tongue, I swept my bangs back and smirked unnaturally on one side.
"Ah, sorry. I must have missed you. The screams of all those wretches I tortured here are echoing in my ears—so sweet, begging for mercy. Yours got drowned out."
Hiiik!
The Elf shuddered in feigned terror, but Marhan stared at me like I'd spouted nonsense, his eyes full of pity.
"As far as I know, sir, this is your first visit here today—"
"Oh, there they are! The screams condemning my sins!"
I cut Marhan off swiftly and approached the Elf. His baffled stare—Why is the Regent acting like this?—irritated me, but survival demanded it.
"M-Master...?"
Her red eyes welled with tears as she trembled up at me. Her pointed ears drooped pitifully, stirring sympathy—but it was all an act.
I took a short breath, grabbed her ear, and yanked her into my arms. She yelped in pain.
"Eek—!"
"You filthy wretch. I heard all about it from the knight captain. You defaced her breastplate with your worthless scribbles?"
"It h-hurts, it h-hurts...!"
"I've warned you countless times, yet you never learn. Even my patience has limits. Today, you'll get proper discipline."
I released her ear and stepped aside, outlining the session's program.
"Huiing..."
Tears trickling, the Elf looked up at the torture setup I'd prepared: the wooden horse, the dangling rope from the ceiling. The dim, eerie atmosphere was perfect for masochistic play. Her ears perked slightly, a fleeting smile masked by fear.
"P-Please forgive me. I-I won't do it again..."
Good.
"If forgiveness reformed behavior, I'd have done it. But what are you now? Despite my leniency, you keep screwing up."
"Th-That was..."
"Marhan. Seat her on the horse and bind her arms to the ceiling."
He's really doing this? Marhan blinked questioningly, then recalled my Regent role and dragged the Elf to the horse.
"Sit."
At his command, she sniffled onto the horse. A strange jolt made her twitch and moan lewdly.
Marhan, uninterested in women, ignored it, seized her arms, raised them, and deftly bound her wrists with the rope before stepping back.
This left me in a bind. Her arms secured overhead hiked up her short garment, subtly exposing her crotch.
"Hah... S-something weird down there..."
Her lightly pinkened folds rubbed against the horse's back—far more erotic than expected. Arms upthrust accentuated her graceful curves and ample breasts. An alluring figure, even to me, who'd sworn off such temptations. Without knowing her true nature, I might've harbored wicked thoughts.
Yes, if I didn't know.
"How's that? To your liking?"
I smirked vilely, feigning arrogance, but inside I burned with anxiety. If she disliked this masochism, my life was on the line.
—Worst case, she drags Sir Theorad to the Great Forest.
Even without mortal peril, as Esilly warned at the ball, I might end up her eternal plaything in the forest.
Each session was a crossroads. Would she approve this product?
As silence stretched, gauging her reaction, the Elf suddenly sobbed lowly, shoulders shaking.
The verdict—
"I-I h-hate it...!"
A resounding success!