A stone-walled room. Inside, there was a bed, a wardrobe, a table, and an attached toilet. Four candles illuminated the space, casting flickering shadows. On the bed, lying in the center, was a boy who seemed to be asleep—until suddenly, his eyes opened.
His jawline was sharp and refined, and his eyes were an unusual shade of red—striking, almost hypnotic. Yet, you wouldn't call him handsome in the conventional sense. He was average, maybe just a little above.
Lucien woke up and immediately realized he was somewhere unfamiliar, an unknown room.
As far as I can remember, the last time I was conscious, I was boarding that ship. And then I blacked out.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. He had come this close to death. If not for a sharp-eyed crew member spotting him in the water, he would've been lost to the sea forever. Lucky for him, they'd pulled him out just in time.
Gritting his teeth, Lucien pushed himself up from the bed. His entire body ached, muscles stiff from exhaustion. He took a moment to stretch, working out the soreness.
The rescuers must've brought me here after pulling me out. That thought kept him from panicking—for now.
Hmm—I think the door is locked from the outside.
Click.
The sound of the lock turning echoed through the room, and the door swung open. A man stepped inside—tall, with bronze-colored hair and sharp, golden-yellow eyes. He stood a full head taller than Lucien, his broad frame suggesting a well-trained physique. Handsome, in a way that was almost intimidating.
The man paused, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in Lucien standing before him. Then, with a faint smirk, he spoke.
"[Unintelligible speech]," he said.
Lucien blinked. He couldn't understand a single word.
Then it struck him—he wasn't on Earth. Of course, their language wasn't the one he knew.
Once he felt steady enough, he walked to the door, ready to step out. But no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't budge.
I can't understand a damn thing he's saying.
Swallowing hard, Lucien tried anyway.
"Hello, sir. Can you understand me?"
The man fell silent for a moment, then chuckled and spoke again. "[Unintelligible speech]."
With that, he stepped outside and motioned for Lucien to follow. Lucien hesitated, then gave a slow nod and stepped out—only to freeze in stunned disbelief.
Before him stretched an impossible vista. Towering mountain peaks loomed in the distance, their slopes dotted with carved-out caves that served as dwellings.
Between two colossal foothills ran a sprawling road, flanked by grand, ornate buildings—each more elaborate than the last, their facades a masterclass in craftsmanship.
The streets teemed with life. Horse-drawn carriages clattered alongside sleek, modern-looking vehicles, though Lucien couldn't tell if they ran on engines.
People bustled about—merchants hawked wares, children darted between legs playing games, and in the distance, a thief bolted down an alley with a woman's purse.
But what truly stole his breath was the sky, a swirling blend of crimson and sapphire, like a painter's dream.
It was as if fantasy and modernity had crashed together in this impossible place.
And he found himself outside a room carved into the mountainside, one of about ten to twelve similar chambers lining the cliff face.
Suddenly, the handsome man spoke again in that foreign language.
"[Unintelligible speech]."
Before Lucien could react, the man snapped his fingers. A lift-like platform rose from below, though it seemed to be made entirely of stone.
The man stepped onto it and gestured for Lucien to join.
Within moments, they reached the base of the mountain. Trailing behind the stranger, Lucien soon stood before a two-story building of breathtaking craftsmanship.
Even Earth's finest architecture paled in comparison. Inside, twenty-five round tables awaited, each flanked by three ornate chairs.
A restaurant.
The man claimed a seat at the nearest table. Lucien hesitated, then took the chair beside him.
Then a woman approached. She wore a white dress, longer than what waitresses on Earth wore, and she was strikingly beautiful.
She took their orders. The man looked through the menu and ordered several dishes. When she turned to Lucien, he stayed silent.
Seeing that, the man said something to her.
"[Unintelligible speech]."
Hearing him, the woman gave Lucien a pitiful look, murmured something, then left to prepare the food. Lucien didn't understand, but he wasn't stupid—he guessed the man must have told her he couldn't speak or had some illness.
The man, perhaps sensing Lucien's thoughts, smiled at him again—so warmly he looked like a saint from a church.
What's with this guy? Why is he smiling like that? Do I look strange?
Soon, the waitress returned—but with food for only one person.
The man said, "[Unintelligible speech]."
Then he began eating, cutting the meat slowly with a knife and fork. He carried himself like a spoiled rich heir.
Strangely, Lucien felt no hunger.
But why?
He knew he should be starving after days without food and water. Yet he didn't feel hungry or thirsty. But the aroma was irresistible. Swallowing his pride, he pointed at the food and said,
"Can I get some?"
The man frowned. Lucien repeated, gesturing more insistently, "Can I get some?"
This time, the man understood. He smiled—and shook his head.
What the f**?! If he didn't plan to feed me, then why the hell did he bring me here?!
He burned with anger and embarrassment. He hadn't expected to be rejected. But he stayed silent.
Once the man finished eating, he said something and walked out. Lucien followed, trailing behind him.
They boarded a horse-drawn carriage—nothing extraordinary, just an ordinary one. After a while, they arrived in front of a three-story building. The man stepped out of the carriage, and Lucien followed closely.
At the entrance stood two guards, their muscular frames making it clear they were no ordinary men. Without a word, the two entered.
Inside, the scene was chaotic—men drinking, playing cards, some even brawling with each other. It was clear this place thrived on vice and illicit activities.
Without pausing, they headed straight to the second floor.
There, Lucien saw a middle-aged man—short, clean-shaven, with thinning black hair—lounging on a large sofa. Two beautiful women sat beside him, clad in flimsy garments that barely covered their intimate areas. Their hands roamed over the man's body, though their expressions suggested reluctance, as if they were being forced.
The handsome man walked in and greeted him with a bow. The middle-aged man looked at him and smiled broadly, showing his teeth.
He waved his hand in acknowledgment of the greeting and then said something to him—words that carried an unclear but sharp meaning.
He then turned to the woman on his right and spoke again. Hearing his words, the woman hesitated, as though caught in a serious dilemma.
Still, she rose from her place and walked toward the handsome man. She looked about twenty-four or twenty-five years old, with a graceful figure. She stood before him for a moment, locking eyes with him.
Then she knelt, but just as she reached to remove the handsome man's pants, he stepped back and said something to her in a serious tone, his words short and firm but also carrying some softness.
"[Unintelligible speech]."
She gave a faint smile hearing him and stood up again.
The middle-aged man then called her over. The handsome man's face darkened instantly, but he did not stop her.
When she approached the middle-aged man, he told her to sit beside him. She hesitated but complied.
The moment she sat down, the middle-aged man began acting inappropriately toward her, even tearing her clothing apart.
She cried out, tears welling in her eyes, but he didn't stop.
Now her milk-white body and graceful curves were completely exposed. She tried to resist, but some unseen force seemed to hold her in place.
Seeing this, the handsome man shouted in rage, "AHHH!" and charged forward as if to tear the man apart, his eyes bloodshot and even bleeding
But just as he was about to strike, his knees buckled, and he fell. His body trembled, and he began sobbing uncontrollably, at times letting out pained screams.
The middle-aged man laughed loudly.
"Hahahaha."
He said something mocking, his grin widening. After a while, his expression shifted to irritation, and he slapped the handsome man across the face, muttered more words, then called out
loudly.
Six or seven men entered the room in response. The middle-aged man said something to them, and then their gazes turned toward the woman, filled with lust. They licked their lips in anticipation.
The handsome man, hearing the middle-aged man's words, crawled forward, kissed his feet, and bowed before him, begging him to stop. But when no order came, he tried to intervene himself, only to be kicked aside. Two of the men grabbed him and forced him to kneel.
Lucien, watching it all, understood exactly what they were planning. He tried to rush forward to stop them but couldn't—his legs refused to move, as if an invisible force held him back.
He pushed harder, giving all his strength, but nothing worked. He realized the middle-aged man must have done something to restrain him.
Although he didn't know the man or the woman, judging by how he reacted to her being harassed, they must have been close.
Someone is doing this to his loved ones, and he couldn't even protect her. This must be very frustrating and unbearable.
Lucien couldn't even tell how painful it was. So he closed his eyes, unwilling to see what was about to happen.
And right in front of the helpless man, the group began their assault on the woman.
He didn't know what to do—sometimes pleading, sometimes begging the middle-aged man to stop them, sometimes trying to break free himself. But no matter what he did, he could not stop it.
After they finished assaulting the woman, they handed her body—still alive but utterly lifeless—to the handsome man, laughing cruelly.
The light in his eyes seemed to vanish.
Before he could react, the middle-aged man grabbed the woman again, forcing her to kneel before him.
Then, he drew the short sword from his back and, in one motion, beheaded her right in front of them.
The act was grotesque. He picked up the severed head, impaling it on his blade through the neck's base. The imagery was deeply disturbing.
But the handsome man didn't watch that.
The moment the middle-aged man killed her, he lost all his will to live. Now, he only wanted to die—to follow her in death, if nothing else.
Yet, cruelly, he couldn't even will himself to perish. It was as if his soul had fled, but some force kept him trapped in his own body, alive against his will.
During all of this, Lucien stood frozen in a corner of the room.
His heartbeat roared in his ears—so violently he feared his chest might burst. Despite facing death multiple times these past days, terror coiled in his gut. Sweat drenched him as if he were burning in hell.
After all, what he just witnessed was too inhuman. They're not human. They're animals. No—worse than that.
The middle-aged man waved his hand, and the guards dragged away the handsome man and the woman's corpse. Then, the man's gaze shifted to the second woman—now cowering in a corner, trembling. He sighed, muttered something, and finally turned to Lucien.
Their eyes locked.
Lucien flinched.
He recoiled under the man's stare, but then, to his shock, the man suddenly hugged him and spoke words he couldn't understand.
The man strode to his desk, gesturing for Lucien to follow. This time, Lucien obeyed, his legs moving numbly.
It's him. He's the one who did something to me before.
Lucien knew every step from that moment was a gamble. Defying this man meant suicide. So he followed.
The man pulled out papers, thrust them at Lucien, and pointed to a blank space at the bottom.
This can't be good. It must be a slave contract or something like that. I won't sign. Never.
Even with the man's sword gleaming nearby, Lucien refused. How could he willingly enslave himself?
Seeing him hesitate, the middle-aged man took his sword and, without warning, severed his left hand.
It hit the floor with a wet thud.
Blood gushed. For a heartbeat, Lucien felt nothing—then agony exploded.
"AHHH! It hurts! It hurts!" he screamed, clutching the stump, his words a broken chant.
The man just smiled, dipped his fingers in Lucien's blood, and stamped the contract himself.
When it was done, the man spoke, and this time, Lucien understood every word.
"Who said you could disobey me?"
He chuckled, then said, "Welcome to hell, my new slave."