Morgana

Hours before the updated window for Morgana of the Blood Spear rose in Arseria's sight, the heart of the northern front — hundreds of kilometers from Red Dragon Peak — still stank of raw blood.

Between the trampled earth and the charred scraps of war banners, the corpses of humans and demons lay tangled in a grotesque heap. Here and there, embers that had not yet died coughed up acrid black smoke.

At the center of that wretched defeat lay Morgana of the Blood Spear, commander of the Demon King's Seventh Legion.

Her limbs were fixed fast in thick steel chains. Blood from deep wounds soaked her bruise-violet skin. The brutal fight had burned through most of her mana, and yet a vast reserve still remained inside her, as befitted a superior demon.

And above all else, the hostility lodged in her upturned crimson eyes refused to die.

Morgana stared straight at the hero looking down on her with such arrogance. Kyle.

"Kill me."

The voice, scraped raw from the bottom of her throat, carried a hatred sharp enough to flay skin.

"You won. So don't leave me alive out of some cheap mercy. Take my head, hero."

It was a declaration. Better an honorable death that kept a legion commander's pride than a shameful survival as a prisoner.

Kyle did not even answer. His emotionless gaze rested not on Morgana's face, but on the pair of black horns rising from the crown of her head.

To a demon, horns were no mere feature of the body. They were the core organ that released refined mana outward and controlled it with precision — and for a superior demon counted among the Demon King's finest, an absolute symbol of bloodline nobility and rank.

When Kyle's firm hand moved toward them without hesitation, the crimson eyes that had not wavered until that moment trembled for the first time.

"Don't touch them."

The words were an order, edged like a blade. Kyle did not stop.

"Kyle..."

He seized the root of one horn in a rough grip.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Crack—!

"A—aaagh!"

Bone and nerve crushed together, and one horn snapped off without mercy.

Morgana convulsed, a metallic scream tearing out of her, but Kyle did not so much as blink at the pitiful cry. He clamped the other horn just as hard.

"Don't — you bastard... stop...!"

Crack!

He ignored her desperate shout and broke the remaining horn as well.

"Haa... ah, ugh... ha..."

Morgana coughed blood with every breath and let her head fall, powerless.

Without her horns she could no longer control her mana with the old precision. When she tried to force it up, the power surged in wild, irregular pulses — unstable enough that it threatened to burst her own veins first.

"What...?"

From the lips of a commander who had always looked down on everyone, a dazed bewilderment leaked out for the first time in her life.

Kyle glanced coldly at the blood-soaked horns rolling on the ground, then turned.

"Elysia."

The saintess who had been watching hesitated. She clutched at her hem as if uncertain, then drew from her robes a black metal collar radiating an ominous aura and held it out to him.

Kyle pressed the cold black collar against Morgana's slender nape.

Clack.

A heavy metallic sound rang out, like a leash being fastened.

"...!"

The instant the shackle locked, Morgana scraped together what strength she had left and lunged at him. What burned in her eyes was pure killing intent, with no room for compromise.

The collar sensed that will and flashed blood-red.

Crackle—!

"Krgh...!"

A shock like fire inside her skull froze her where she stood.

Strength drained completely from her limbs, and one knee dropped into the mud. She clenched her teeth and tried to force herself up, but every time she harbored hostility toward Kyle, the collar mercilessly wrung her nerves.

He looked down at her as she knelt, gasping.

"Time to begin the baptism."

"...Baptism...?"

Morgana lifted bloodshot eyes through her disheveled hair.

"What... nonsense are you spouting."

"You still seem to be under the illusion that you're the commander of the Demon King's Seventh Legion."

With the answer, Kyle seized the chain hard and yanked.

What Kyle called baptism was the subjugation that had to come before Female Corruption could be applied in full to a powerful specimen.

The aim was not immediate surrender, nor blind obedience. What had to be broken first was the solid self the target had carried since birth.

I am a noble superior demon.

I am a legion commander who once led thousands.

I lost to a human. My spirit is not broken.

If I only recover my strength, I can tear wretches like these apart whenever I please.

To snap that arrogant pride and that belief from the very bottom.

That was why Kyle did not take Morgana to the human army's heavily guarded underground prison. Dragging the chain, he went instead to a damp valley near the northern front — a cave where a foul goblin pack had made its nest.

Goblins were the most despised of the lesser monster races, even inside the Demon King's domain. To a high demon like Morgana they were vermin she would ordinarily have crushed underfoot without a glance.

And that was precisely why they were perfect for the first baptism. Defeat at the hands of an equal or a stronger foe, and being trampled by things she had always regarded as less than the dust beneath her feet while unable even to resist — the depth of humiliation those two left on a soul was entirely different.

By the time the red dusk sank beyond the ridgeline, the party reached the cave mouth. The smell of wet earth and a beast-stink foul enough to turn the stomach rode the wind. These goblins were a pack Kyle had been dealing with off the books, trading for terrain intelligence and the movements of the Demon King's army.

When glistening eyes began to crawl out of the dark one by one, the color slowly left the face of Morgana, who had been dragged along without understanding why.

"...Why did you drag me to a cesspit like this?"

Kyle was silent.

Dozens of goblins that had crawled from the cave fixed sticky, greedy stares on the beautiful demon woman bound in chains and bleeding.

Only a few seconds of that silence passed before the blood left Morgana's face entirely.

"You can't..."

Her keen mind realized, too late, exactly what mouth of hell she was standing in.

"Kyle."

The voice was nothing like the one that had spat hatred moments before.

"Wait... stop."

The instant she tried to retreat, seized by instinctive terror, the collar sensed her resistance and flared red again. The shock running down her spine stole the strength from her legs.

"You... you aren't actually thinking of handing me over to those vulgar things, are you?"

Kyle said nothing. That silence, cold to the point of cruelty, was itself the answer.

"Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?!"

Grasping the situation, Morgana thrashed, rattling the chains.

"Kyle! Let me go, now! Kill me instead! Cut my throat right here!"

A scream fit to tear the air shook the gloomy cave. Not a speck of agitation crossed Kyle's expressionless face.

"Do you remember how many humans your Seventh Legion slaughtered in the north?"

Morgana bit down until her lip split.

"...That was war!"

"I know."

"Then what does any of this have to do with that? Is this revenge? The great hero, paying me back in a filthy way like this!"

"No."

Kyle shook his head, calm.

"This isn't revenge."

At that utterly dry response, Morgana sucked in the breath she had been holding. There was neither hatred nor sadistic excitement in his eyes.

"I'm just breaking you in so I can use you properly."

"...What?"

"If I take your head here, all that happens is one legion commander of the Demon King's army disappears."

He went on in the same flat tone, as if calculating the value of an object.

"But if I subjugate your body and your power, we gain a legion-commander-class asset instead."

With those words he handed the end of the chain, without mercy, to the goblin chief that had approached, drooling.

"Kyle...!"

Filthy hands seized her limbs and her hair and dragged her roughly into the dark of the cave.

"You bastard! Let go of me! I'll — I'll tear your throat out—!"

A desperate scream receded with the dust.

And so the first baptism began.

The moment she was flung into the dark, damp hollow, the cold of the floor hit her together with a stench that stabbed the nose. Excrement, rotting meat, and the sour reek of unwashed beasts tangled into one vile smell, and Morgana swallowed a groan.

"Kh... filthy things, how dare you...!"

She braced on the dirt and tried to stagger up, but three or four goblins baring yellow teeth lunged at her from every side like animals.

Riiip—!

Rough claws tore her clothes apart at random. The uniform that had been the pride of the Seventh Legion's commander became rags in an instant, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her smooth violet body was laid bare in the cold cave air.

"Kishaaaak!"

"Kihik, khehehe!"

Faced with a naked female, their pupils gleamed with lust.

Dirt-caked palms latched without mercy onto her wounded thighs and full breasts. The revolting touch that, on any other day, she would have burned to ash before it could reach her crawled over her skin, and every hair on her body stood on end.

"You vermin... shut up and die!"

Morgana poured out killing intent and tried to force the mana inside her to explode.

In that instant — crackle-crackle—!

"Aaaagh!!"

The collar around her neck spat hot red lightning. The price of trying to release mana was a bolt driven in without mercy, racing up her spine to scorch the inside of her brain. Pain lancing through her whole body locked every muscle in a scream.

In the gap where her defense collapsed, thick hands grabbed both her legs and slammed them to the floor. Between her forced-open thighs there was not a drop of slickness, not even a bead of moisture — but one could hardly expect a goblin to care about a prisoner's condition.

The goblin drove its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grotesquely twisted shaft, reeking of the gutter, into Morgana's dry, tightly shut cunt without pity.

Thud—!

"Ah, kyaaaagh—!!"

A horrific scream of living flesh tearing raw struck the cave walls.

Her inner walls, taut and dry without a trace of wetness, were forced open by a rough, filthy foreignness. The parched membrane split under friction and sharp pressure, and red virgin blood ran down her thighs.

It hurt. It felt as if she were being torn apart. A primal pain, as if her insides were being stirred whole, turned her vision white. The goblin paid no mind to her agony. It dug its claws into her slim waist and began to piston furiously into the cleft where blood and mud mixed.

Squelch! Schlick, schlurk!

As if that were not enough, others rushed the gaps her crushed body left open. Before she could defend herself, a crude mass forced its way into her dry rear. The shock of being violated front and back at once felt as if her walls were being ripped out entirely.

Creak, riiip—!

"Aaaagh! Hik, nngh, ghk...! Stop... don't...!"

Filth-like fluids, torn flesh, and the trampled pride of her bloodline tangled together and shredded her insides.

Under the repeated violent stimulation her body began to go numb, and a sensation wrung out of her by force started to rule her. Separate from rational revulsion, a filthy heat rose in her lower belly, and through her suppressed sobs a moan of unknown origin mixed in, thin and frail.

"Ky, Kyle...! Kh, I'll kill you... I'll kill you...!"

Morgana chewed her lip until blood welled and thrashed her head. When she reached out to resist, other goblins lunged in and pinned her wrists. Every time she harbored the will to strike back, the collar spat current and paralyzed her.

She could neither flee nor block them. The moment one pulled back after violently spilling yellow semen inside her, another that had been waiting, drool stringing from its mouth, filled the same place as if it had been waiting for nothing else.

She had been a legion commander who led thousands of demon soldiers. A noble bloodline that had burned half the world at the Demon King's side. And that same self was now laid out in a sunless cesspit, mounted like livestock by lowly things she had thought less than the insects under her feet.

No... I won't accept it...

No matter how many thousands of times she denied it in her heart, the dull vibration hammering into her without mercy and the filthy heat filling her belly did not vanish. Each time the forced stimulation climbed her spine and raked her brain, the scream trembling at the edge of her throat broke into a nasal moan.

"Ahn, hah, nngh...♡ Kyle... please... Kyle...!"

The cry that had been full of hatred had, at some point, changed its shape completely. It was no longer a legion commander's order. It was nothing but the desperate sound of a single female, pinned to the floor and panting without end.

Kyle sat on a cold rock outside the burrow and listened to that horrific sound in silence.

An arrogant legion commander did not drop to her knees before Kyle merely because lesser monsters had gang-raped her. If anything, only hatred and rage had climbed to their limits.

Female Corruption was not a brainwashing spell that overwrote a personality in a single stroke. It was a long-term erosion passive. Through repeated defeat, violation, and harsh control, it shattered everything the target clung to like faith, then slowly drove the wedge of subjugation into the cracks.

Then Elysia, who had been biting her lip beside him, approached.

"...Did it really have to go this far?"

Kyle did not turn his gaze, and he did not answer.

"Lord Kyle."

A chill of reproach entered the saintess's voice.

"That... isn't punishment."

"I know."

A dry, short reply. Elysia's face went white.

"Then why..."

"Because I'm not trying to punish her."

"Then what, exactly, are you doing?"

"Securing a fighting force."

Kyle continued in a voice stripped of emotion.

"Over the last eleven years, millions have died in the war against the Demon King's army. Your hometown was one of those piles of ash."

Elysia bit her lip again.

"If I cut that woman down here, it ends with one fewer enemy legion commander. But if I can break her and put her to use as an ally, we gain a legion-commander-class asset instead."

"Even so... this method..."

"I know."

Only then did Kyle turn his head and look at her.

"I know perfectly well this isn't something a person in their right mind would do."

Elysia could not find another word and lowered her head.

A short distance away, Rayna too stared into the dark with a hardened face. She had lost her house and countless comrades to the Demon King's army. She felt a visceral revulsion at Kyle's methods, and still she could not find the words to object.

Mireille's heart was more complicated still. Morally, the sight was something she could never accept — yet because she understood the practical strategic advantage Female Corruption would bring, she too had no choice but silence.

No one was at ease. No one stood in Kyle's way.

Well past midnight, when the night had grown deep, the obscene noise filling the cave finally subsided.

Kyle took up a torch and walked into the cave alone.

Morgana lay collapsed on the stinking floor.

The scars where her horns had been snapped. The black Restraint Choker cinching her throat. Her whole body was stained with mud, fluids, and dried blood, and nothing remained of the arrogant legion commander's majesty she had shown when she was first taken.

When the sound of Kyle's mud-caked boots drew near, Morgana's shoulders — which had not so much as stirred — flinched visibly.

He did not miss that small tremor.

"Morgana."

No answer came.

"Lift your head."

With the command, the collar resonated faintly.

Only after a long while did Morgana slowly raise her head. Through tangled hair, her crimson eyes still held a keen killing intent.

She hated Kyle. That much was certain. She had not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠submitted completely.

But something clearly different from their first meeting was mixed into that gaze.

"How do you feel."

Morgana kept her parched lips shut and did not answer.

Kyle called her name again, voice low.

"Morgana."

After a heavy silence, her swollen lips trembled, and a cracked voice came out.

"...Kill me."

It was the same word she had spat when she was first captured, not a single syllable different.

But the air carried by that word had changed from the root. If the earlier words had been an arrogant provocation — a legion commander's vow that she would never break — what was wrung out of her now was something else entirely.

"Just... please, kill me..."

A desperate plea, thrown because she could no longer endure.

Kyle looked down at her mud-caked form without interest.

The wavering eyes. The plea forced out. He did not need to check the numbers to know.

Still a long way to go.

Loyalty to the Demon King, and the will to kill him, still burned.

"No."

At that short verdict, Morgana's crimson eyes shattered white with despair.

The purpose of the first baptism had not been obedience.

Until the moment she was dragged to this cave, Morgana had been a defeated prisoner who still, inwardly, defined herself as commander of the Demon King's Seventh Legion. She had lost the fight, but she had never knelt, and she believed that if she only recovered her strength she could overturn the situation whenever she wished.

Now an irreversible crack had been carved into the center of that arrogant belief.

She was a captured, powerless prisoner. The strength she had boasted of was sealed. The one who held the power of life and death over her was no longer herself. That cruel reality.

Kyle hauled up the chain that bound her.

This time she did not scream and thrash as she had at the start. Exhaustion was part of it — but she also staggered along the path the chain traced, following in silence.