Chapter 1: How a Degenerate Lives
His head throbbed as though it were about to split open.
Brilliant morning light came pouring mercilessly through the gap in the curtains, stabbing like needles into his leaden eyelids, and with a low click of his tongue, Cassian de Valentine slowly hauled his heavy body upright.
Across the plush bedsheets of the finest southern silk, the sweet lingering aroma of last night's unfinished ruby wine mingled with a punishingly thick stench of alcohol.
Expensive crystal glasses lay rolling carelessly across the marble floor, while bottles of premium elf-made fruit wine—liquors the empire's nobles could go a lifetime without so much as glimpsing—littered the room in reckless disarray, fanning the chaos to a fever pitch.
"Ugh, my head... just how much did I drink last night?"
Cassian raked his fingers roughly through his tangled hair and kneaded his stiff, aching neck.
In the enormous gold-framed full-length mirror standing in the corner of the bedroom was reflected a man of languid, strikingly handsome features—yet beneath that glossy shell, Cassian's reputation throughout the empire was that of the most shameless, incurable degenerate alive.
House Valentine—the empire's foremost military dynasty and the absolute sovereign of the northern border.
Even the imperial family feared the overwhelming military might of House Valentine, the dreaded Black Dragon of the North, and dared not treat them lightly. In that cradle of immense power, Cassian was the one and only legitimate heir.
With no cadet branches or bastards to speak of, the sole successor capable of carrying on the duke's noble and powerful bloodline was Cassian, and Cassian alone.
And so, whether he was thrashing nobles across the capital's social circles, throwing lavish banquets every night and burning through the family's vast fortune like water, or philandering with the women of the ducal residence, his father—the head of the house—and the clan elders simply asked that he stay alive and sire plenty of heirs, unconditionally shielding and indulging his every vice and whim.
No elder of the family, no high noble of the empire, could ever dare stand in the way of Cassian's arrogant stride as the sole direct bloodline of House Valentine.
"Who cares about heir lessons? Let the vassals break their heads over the politics. Me, I'll just gorge myself on the duke's mountains of gold, roll around day and night with pretty women, and live off the fat of the land for the rest of my days."
Curling his lips into a lazy smirk, Cassian carelessly draped the thin silk robe from the bedside table over his shoulders.
To him, the family's grand glory and the empire's precarious security were nothing but tiresome, cumbersome shackles.
He had been born with the empire's supreme power and wealth already in his grasp—there was no reason to rack his brain and suffer for it.
Delicious food and wine, and women who caught his eye. For Cassian, that was more than enough.
Just then—
Beyond the bedroom door, a cold, measured set of footsteps approached, carrying a chill in their wake.
Cassian's languid gaze drifted naturally toward the door.
There stood a woman in immaculate, gleaming silver plate armor, ramrod straight and utterly motionless.
Adelia Vice.
A product of the House Valentine's direct knight order, reassigned as Cassian's personal escort knight and charged with guarding his person.
Beneath a dazzling silver ponytail tied up with military precision, cool, austere blue eyes stared at him in silence.
Her bearing was aloof and frigid as a block of ice, yet the overwhelming volume of her bust—impossible to conceal even within the rigid steel cuirass binding her chest—was nothing short of devastating.
Enormous breasts swelling above a slender wasp waist, and a voluptuous hip line that swayed with every step she took.
Her perfect figure—slender yet spectacularly busty—showed through the full armor with shameless clarity, sending a heavy throb through the lower belly of any man who laid eyes on her.
But the only emotion steeped in those beautiful eyes was one: a frigid contempt, the look one gives a worm beneath human worth.
A disgrace to the family. Trash whose every breath is a waste.
Adelia spat the words coldly in her mind, clenching her gauntleted fist.
She had once been the most promising genius swordswoman in the House Valentine knight order.
At the tender age of nineteen she had reached the rank of high Expert, hailed as the next-generation knight who would carry the family's future.
But a year ago, locked in a desperate battle against a venomous high-tier demonic beast that had breached the northern border, the mana core in her lower abdomen had suffered a fatal crack.
Every time she raised her aura, agony as though her core would shatter came crashing in, and her aura circulation had been ruined beyond repair.
The empire's most celebrated physicians and high priests had all shaken their heads in unison, delivering the death sentence: her life as a knight was over.
And the post to which she was demoted—discarded, all but thrown away—was as bodyguard to this degenerate young lord.
A pathetic philanderer who ran wild with every vice and chased nothing but women on the sole merit of being the family's only bloodline.
For Adelia, who had treasured her pride as a knight above life itself, wasting her days cleaning up after such trash was a humiliation and a torment worse than death.
"Good morning, Adelia. Your face is frozen over bright and early. Scowling at me like that first thing in the morning—really puts me in a splendid mood."
Cassian staggered closer, flashing a mischievous grin.
Adelia answered in a strictly businesslike tone, her chin held rigid, not a hair out of place.
"Did you call for me, Young Master? If your hangover is severe, I shall summon the servants to prepare something for your stomach."
"Forget it. I'm sick of looking at those old servants' faces anyway."
Just as Cassian waved a hand in annoyance and leaned back against the headboard—
Knock, knock.
With a timid, delicate knock, the bedroom door eased open.
"Orabeoni...? You're awake?"
Stepping into the room was a black-haired beauty as pure and pitiable as a watercolor painting.
Luna de Valentine.
His illegitimate half-sister, brought in from outside by the Duke years ago.
Between her swaying, jet-black hair, ruby-red eyes as clear and limpid as polished gems sparkled brilliantly.
She had skin white as flawless porcelain, a delicate shoulder line, and a fresh, innocent beauty that looked as though it would crumble at a touch—yet the curves subtly hinted beneath her thin chamber clothes already carried the promise of a mature woman's form.
Her petite yet springy breasts and nipped-in waist stirred a strange, aching protectiveness.
Luna was cradling a steaming teacup in both hands as though it were a treasure.
"I heard you drank too much last night... so I boiled some honey water for you myself. Your stomach must be burning, right?"
The one who had rescued Luna—who, as a concubine's child, a bastard, would have been scorned and slighted in the shadows of the family—was none other than the degenerate Cassian himself.
In the past, Cassian had personally snapped the necks of the relatives and servants who looked down on her, whipping up a storm of blood, and declared that anyone in the family who dared show her disrespect would never be forgiven.
Since that day, no one in the household had dared lay a hand on Luna.
Even if the whole world pointed fingers at Cassian and called him the lowest piece of trash alive, to Luna he was the warmest person in the world—her one and only savior, her tender Orabeoni.
"Luna."
Cassian's eyes, arrogant and debauched only moments before, melted into softness as if by magic.
He was a philanderer who dragged every woman in the world into his bed to toy with them—but for this pitiable, kind little sister alone, he harbored no vile desires.
Because in the treacherous, scheming viper's nest of the ducal house, this child alone remained untainted and clear, and he wanted to keep her that way—a sacred sanctuary untouched by the world's filth.
"How many times have I told you to make the servants do this sort of thing? What if you burn your hands?"
Taking the teacup from her, Cassian gently stroked Luna's soft black hair.
At the touch of his large hand, Luna's cheeks flushed peach-pink and she smiled a shy, bashful smile.
"Hehe... I wanted to make it for you myself, rather than have the servants do it. If you enjoy it, Orabeoni, then I don't mind if my hands get burned."
"Silly girl."
Cassian brought the cup to his lips and drained it in one go.
The sweet, warm honey water slid smoothly down his throat, soothing his churning stomach.
With a contented smile, Cassian lightly tapped Luna's white forehead with his index finger.
"Thanks for the drink. It's getting chilly out, so go inside and get some proper rest. And don't go wandering around catching a cold."
"Yes, Orabeoni! Make sure you sleep more once you've finished!"
With an angelically bright smile, Luna bowed politely and scampered out of the room on light feet.
Once the door closed and her footsteps faded entirely, only the two of them—Cassian and Adelia—remained in the bedroom.
The sweet warmth sank away in an instant, and Adelia's chilly presence once again pressed down heavily on the room.
Watching how Cassian had treated Luna, Adelia sneered inwardly.
Playing the tender big brother the moment he faces his own sister. What a detestable hypocrite.
Cassian could hardly have missed that cold, arrogant gleam in Adelia's eyes.
With his stomach settled by the honey water, a hot lust had begun slowly lifting its head from deep in his groin.
Besides, that silver-haired knight looked at him like a worm beneath her feet every single day, acting high and mighty.
To dare aim such a contemptuous gaze at the one and only legitimate heir of House Valentine. It was an outrage beyond forgiveness.
"Adelia."
Cassian rose slowly from the bed and walked toward her.
A dangerous, lewd light began to smolder in his languid purple eyes.
"Yes, Young Master."
"You. Those eyes of yours have been getting on my nerves for a while now. Did you think I wouldn't notice you looking at me like that?"
Adelia parried coldly, not so much as a flicker in her brow.
"That is your imagination. I am merely standing guard over you as your escort knight."
"Escort knight, huh... Right. You're my personal escort. A loyal hound who'd throw away her life at my command."
Cassian stepped right up to her face.
As the man's thick scent and the faint lingering aroma of alcohol washed over her, Adelia's brow creased slightly.
Cassian roughly seized her sharp jaw and tilted it upward.
"Ngh...! Young Master, what is the meaning of this insolence!"
"Insolence? Ha—the sole heir of House Valentine, lectured on insolence by his own escort knight?"
Cassian's gaze dropped blatantly down the length of her silver armor.
Her overwhelming bust, swelling as if to burst despite the rigid cuirass crushing it down, and below it her long, sleek legs and voluptuous hips.
A sadistic hunger to conquer surged up through him—he wanted to twist that frigid face into ruin and make her wail like a bitch in heat.
"My blood's up first thing in the morning. Take off the armor."
"...What did you just say?"
Adelia's blue eyes shook violently with shock and fury.
Cassian sneered vilely and brought his lips right up against her ear.
"Are you deaf? Strip off that cumbersome scrap metal right now and crawl into my bed. If you're my personal escort, then servicing my cock is the least you can do."
"Y-Young Master...! This joke has gone too far! I am a knight sworn to House Valentine, not a whore to satisfy your vulgar appetites!"
Adelia, radiating shame and killing intent, tried to strike his hand away.
But Cassian, without so much as a blink, caught her wrist and shoved her roughly back against the wall.
Thud!
"So what if you're not a whore? That mana core of yours is already shattered—you're half a cripple as it is, aren't you?"
At his cruel words, Adelia's breath caught in her throat. To think this degenerate would speak aloud her most fatal, most miserable secret.
"It was our ducal house that took in a useless, washed-up knight, fed her, and even handed her an escort post. If I throw you out, you'll rot in some back alley for the rest of your life—and you dare defy my orders?"
"Kgh... ugh...!"
Adelia's lips trembled. It was a miserable reality she could not deny.
If House Valentine cast her out, a woman with a ruined mana core was nothing more than a straggler with nowhere left to go.
Cassian did not miss the moment she began to crumble—and roughly tore open the buckles of her silver cuirass.
Clang!
The armor pieces clattered noisily down onto the marble floor.
As the thin leather undergarment trapped within the armor came into view, her long-suppressed, bursting breasts swelled up lusciously against it.
Taut nipples straining against the thin fabric, and a smooth, firmly carved set of abs.
"Ha, what a body. Built like a dream."
Cassian mercilessly ripped her top apart from either side.
Riiip!
Along with skin white as flawless porcelain, two enormous breasts—each the size of a grown man's head—bounced free with a springy rebound.
Her lusciously flushed pink areolae and stiff, erect nipples stood bared, shameless and naked to the air.
"N-No... hah! Don't look...!"
Adelia desperately moved to cover her chest with both arms, but Cassian caught both her wrists in one hand and flung her mercilessly onto the bed.
Thud!
"Quit playing knight. Today, all you have to do is be my bitch."
Cassian shrugged off his silk robe.
From his lower half, a massive cock—already swollen to terrifying proportions—stood rigid with veins bulging, flaunting its imposing girth.
At the sight of that monstrously thick, monstrously long member, Adelia's blue eyes flooded with disbelief.
And there, on the bed where the cold knight's arrogance began to crumble, the degenerate's unbridled domination was about to begin.