Chapter 30 – Return to the Feast

Inside the carriage cutting through the cold dawn air, Luciel stared blankly out the window into the darkness. The road back to the Feast from Eresael's mansion felt exceptionally long, heavy, and silent. Though the lingering aftereffects of the humiliating, night-long tryst weighed heavily on her body, her mind remained as straight and sharp as frost.

"I will... I will absolutely bring you to your knees at my feet. I will ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tear that smiling face of yours to shreds, rip out your heart, and throw it to the dogs. Until that day comes, I will never stop."

The carriage creaked to a halt in front of the back gate of the Feast. It was the familiar, shabby back alley, a door she had passed through countless times. The door of the carriage opened, and the coachman carefully tried to assist her, but Luciel brushed his hand away. Her body felt as heavy as lead and her legs wobbled, but she forced an air of composure, taking unsteady steps toward the entrance.

"Laugh and gloat all you want, Eresael. I will watch closely to see just how long that despicable smile of yours can last. This humiliation will not break me. If anything, it will only hone me into a sharper blade."

As she opened the door, Madame Tana came into view, standing in the hall in the early dawn. Upon seeing Luciel, she approached with her signature languid, greedy smile. Her golden eyes swept over Luciel from head to toe. That gaze did not miss her disheveled collar, her pale eyes, or the faint red marks left on the nape of her neck.

"My, Ciel. My jewel has returned, has she? It seems you had a very delightful time last night. You look exhausted... yet there's a strange hint of satisfaction in your face, isn't there? Hoho. Well, I'm sure he was pleased. My eye for talent never fails. I knew you could satisfy even the most demanding of clients."

Madame Tana's voice was like a honey-coated blade. It was sweet, but a subtle edge was hidden within, probing Luciel's condition. Luciel ignored her and walked past with heavy steps. Every single step felt agonizing, as if her feet were bound in lead.

"Is that woman... in league with Eresael? Or is she just a merchant who cares for nothing but gold? Either way, she cannot be trusted. The only person I can rely on in this place is myself."

"Ciel, look at this. This is the money you earned last night. It's far more than what you made on the VIP stage. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heard the guest in the golden mask was highly satisfied. He even gave a generous tip. At this rate, you'll pay off your debt in no time. You really are magnificent. The true treasure of the Feast."

Tana shook a pouch of gold coins in front of Luciel's eyes, speaking proudly. Her eyes gleamed with avarice. But Luciel said nothing. That gold was earned through her own blood and humiliation.

"Does she truly believe this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gold can compensate for the disgrace I endured?"

"...Is that so?"

Luciel's cold voice cut through the air of the hall. Her tone was completely dry, devoid of any emotion.

"If he looks for me again, charge him three times... no, ten times the amount. He will gladly pay that price."

A captivating yet ruthless smile played on her lips. At a glance, it looked seductive, but a sharp poison was hidden within.

Returning to her room, Luciel quietly closed the door and locked it. Then, without a word, she collapsed onto her dirty bed.

Her disheveled hair, messy with sweat and semen, and the hot traces left vividly all over her body—the red hickeys and faint bruises from his rough touch—vividly recalled the humiliating yet intense memories of the previous night.

In the bath, she scrubbed the traces left on her body as if scraping off filth, but they would not wash away easily.

She had been pinned down helplessly by her mortal enemy, screaming in pleasure without putting up any real resistance. In his hot, massive embrace, she had lost her mind, clinging to him and craving him. The reality of it was unbelievably infuriating and mortifying, making her shudder at her own weakness.

"I... how could I, to that bastard Eresael...! To that demon...! So easily...! For this body of mine to betray my will and react to him on its own!"

His image rose vividly before her eyes once more—his beautiful yet cruel face, and his massive, ferocious cock. And to her utter shame, she felt a hot surge of heat welling up again from deep within her lower abdomen. She even fell into the illusion that his member was still deep inside her, squirming.

Her body already remembered and craved his pleasure. As if reacting to that memory, the tattoo on her womb grew faintly, yet unmistakably, hot.

"Ah... Ahhh...! No...! Stop...! This filthy body...!"

Along with a suppressed groan that escaped her lips against her will, Luciel wept hot, endless tears. A mixture of rage, shame, self-loathing, and the unforgettable afterglow of pleasure drove her to the brink of madness.

She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed like a child. She could not bear the fact that her dignity as an Emperor had been brutally trampled under a man's ugly, overwhelming desire. Yet at the same time, she utterly loathed this filthy body of hers that could not forget that agonizingly sweet pleasure and craved it once more.

"Have I... have I become a slave to pleasure? Is this cursed tattoo making me like this? Or... is this my true nature?"

"What... what on earth have I become? Is this body... no longer mine?"

How long had she cried? Though her tears had run dry, the flame in her heart burned even hotter, even more fiercely.

"Yes, I cannot just sit here and weep. I cannot let myself crumble like this. He will surely come back. I must build my strength for that moment. Until the day I choke the life out of him with my own hands, I will never forget this disgrace, this humiliation."

Luciel steeled herself.

"Eresael, this pleasure you taught me—this will be the very weapon I use to strangle you. You may think you have tamed me, but I will bring you to your knees at my feet and make your body unable to survive even a single day without me. Until the day you beg and crawl for me, I will not stop. Even if I must use this body, I will destroy you."

Luciel wiped her tears with trembling hands. Then, slowly but firmly, she stood up. Her gaze no longer wavered. It was cold and hard. Within those eyes, cold enough to freeze despair itself, only vengeance now breathed.

Revenge—that was the sole reason to endure this hell. She realized that this humiliation, this pleasure, and even this filthy body that seemed tamed by him could now become instruments of vengeance. The seed of pleasure he had planted would one day become the poison that destroyed him. That conviction lifted her back up.

Luciel stood before the mirror. A strange woman stood in the glass. Yet her gaze shone with an intensity and danger far greater than even the former Emperor Luciel ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ever possessed. She slowly traced her own body, following the places his hands had touched, the spots his lips had brushed—as if retracing his marks. And she quietly swore an oath.

Another gloomy day was beginning at the Feast. And in Luciel's heart, a flame of vengeance that would never die began to burn quietly, yet more fiercely than ever before. She was no longer the Emperor of the past, but she was no mere whore named Ciel either. She was being reborn as a new entity, prepared to use everything for the sake of revenge.

She looked around her room. This filthy, hideous place—yet this was the very stage where her revenge would begin. From now on, she would actively use her body to seduce Eresael and lead him to his ruin.

The next day.

Though she returned to a seemingly peaceful daily routine after that humiliating and perverse night with Eresael, Luciel's inner self seethed like an active volcano on the verge of eruption. His parting words—"Next time, I shall visit as a client"—haunted her mind, leaving behind a chilling anxiety mixed with a strange, unsettling anticipation.

"If he comes back... what should I do? Will I crumble again? No... this time must be different."

"I must find his weakness. Instead of being consumed by this pleasure, I must exploit it."

She passed the time mingling with the women of the Feast. She joined in their trivial gossip and occasionally leaned on their clumsy comfort, but she could never reveal her true inner thoughts to anyone—her hatred for Eresael and the loathing she felt for her own body.

Luciel sat in a corner of the Feast's small courtyard, where sunlight rarely filtered through. Her gaze rested on a small flowerbed that Sia had painstakingly tended. The colorful flowers swayed in the breeze, evoking a strange sense of tranquility even in this hellish place.

After a moment, Sia approached. In her hand was a small wildflower, seemingly just plucked. Smiling shyly, she held the flower out to Luciel.

"Luciel Eonni, here you are! This is a flower I newly planted. Isn't it pretty? I picked it just for you!"

Sia proudly presented the small wildflower. Looking at her pure, spotless smile, Luciel felt the darkness in her heart fade, if only for a brief moment.

"Yes, it is beautiful. Just like your heart."

Luciel answered in a soft voice without realizing it, carefully accepting the flower. It was a very warm feeling.

"Eonni, did something bad happen? Your complexion... doesn't look very good. It looks like you didn't sleep well either."

Sia looked up at Luciel's exhausted face with worried eyes. Her light green eyes were filled with genuine concern.

Luciel gently patted Sia's head. She did not want to infect this child with her own dark and hideous emotions.

"This child's innocence might offer me a small comfort. But... I cannot drag her into my revenge."

"No, I am fine. I am just... a bit tired. Last night's client was a bit... unusual."

She tried to speak calmly, but her voice trembled slightly.

Just then, Bruka waddled over, precariously holding a bottle of alcohol in one hand. She slung her arm over Luciel's shoulder and spoke in her signature rough, boisterous voice.

"Hey, Ciel! Are you sitting here moping all by yourself again? Come on, have a drink with me! I've got some incredibly rare, high-class wine I swiped right under that old hag Madame's nose! Stuff like this tastes best when shared!"

"Bruka, drinking again? What if you get caught by the Madame? Have you already forgotten how much she hounded you over the last alcohol incident?"

Miren chided as she appeared, fanning herself elegantly, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. She winked at Luciel as she approached.

"Well, the weather is nice and we don't have any pressing work... so a glass should be fine. Ciel, join us."

Areli also approached quietly, sitting down beside Luciel without a word. She gently took Luciel's hand. That cool yet soft warmth temporarily melted Luciel's frozen emotions. She quietly squeezed her hand back.

Luciel looked around her. Bruka, Miren, Areli, Lahara, Sia, Elberta—they were all women carrying their own scars, enduring each day in this hellish place. They lived by leaning on one another in their own strange way. At that realization, Luciel let out a faint smile, if only for a fleeting second.

"With them... perhaps I can catch my breath in this hell, even if only for a moment. But in the end, my battle is mine alone to bear. I cannot let them get hurt."

In a corner of her heart, a tiny bud of hope—that she might actually survive this hell—quietly began to bloom.