Sylas had always believed his will was strong.
But he had overestimated himself.
He never anticipated just how formidable his opponent would be.
In this matriarchal world, a unique spiritual energy flowed between heaven and earth—an energy that favored women alone.
Most were born with innate martial talent.
The physical strength men took pride in paled in comparison to such natural gifts.
Over time, the hierarchy solidified: women dominant, men subservient.
The city of Ravenhold had been swept into storm and violence.
The Aethelred Royal Guards were mopping up the last traces of resistance.
The jewel of the Lyonesse kingdom had fallen from its peak.
A night of intense drama and intimacy had passed.
Isolde felt invigorated, refreshed.
She looked at Sylas lying face down on the bed, gasping, and asked coolly, "Do you submit?"
His voice was hollow. "I…submit…"
Right now, he didn't even have the energy to think about life or death.
All he wanted was to close his eyes and rest.
Pushed beyond exhaustion, his mind had gone blank.
"Do you still dare to recklessly discuss court affairs?"
"No."
"What do you want to do most right now?"
"Sleep…"
Isolde grabbed him by his disheveled hair and forced him up.
She pressed close to his ear and whispered, "Who do you need permission from to sleep?"
Sylas kept his eyes shut, breathing raggedly.
It was clear he was clinging to the last shreds of his composure.
"Cry. Cry for me. I want to see how beautiful you look when you break—the once cunning Master Sylas," Isolde said, her voice thrilling with excitement.
Sylas clenched his jaw, stubbornly holding back.
But with Isolde pulling his hair, forcing his head up, he had no choice but to yield.
"If I want you to cry, you cry. If I want you to laugh, you laugh.
Be good now—cry!"
Isolde blew softly into his ear.
Sylas couldn't hold on any longer.
Tears escaped from beneath his closed eyelids.
Once they started, he couldn't stop.
But then Isolde tugged his hair again.
"Enough. Now laugh."
"You… you tyrant…"
How could Sylas possibly laugh?
He tried to wipe his tears, but Isolde caught both his wrists, holding him helpless in place.
"Laugh, and I'll let you sleep. Come on~"
She rubbed her sharp chin against his neck.
Sylas took several shaky breaths, burying the grief of his fallen kingdom and his own humiliation, and forced out a faint, broken smile.
Tear-streaked and strained, he looked utterly pitiable.
Isolde adored this contradiction in him.
"Good," she said delightedly. "You're learning obedience. Sleep. In a few days, we return to Lorynth."
Lorynth—capital of Aethelred.
It seemed she meant to keep him in her harem.
Sylas was completely drained.
He collapsed onto the bed, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.
Isolde watched his slender back, her fingers unconsciously tracing his spine.
He truly was a peerless beauty.
Her desire stirred, but her will held her back from losing herself completely.
She leaned down, kissed his back, then rose, dressed, and left.
Sylas didn't know how long he had slept.
When he woke, the room was empty.
He sighed briefly before a wave of indescribable sorrow washed over him again.
Last night, he had been thoroughly humiliated.
He looked at the golden chain on his wrist—even death was beyond his reach now.
He could only beg his captor to kill him.
But Isolde was far from done playing with him.
Why would she ever grant his wish?
He could find no way out.
Slowly, he dressed and staggered to the bedroom door.
He opened it to assess the situation.
Two armed female guards stood outside.
They glanced at him, eyes cold and emotionless.
"By Her Majesty's order," one said flatly, "you are not to leave this room."
Sylas wasn't frightened.
"What if I insist?" he asked softly. "Will you kill me?"
If they struck him down, perhaps he would find his release.
The guard's reply was icy. "Her Majesty commands that if you insist on leaving, we are to strip you
naked and throw you into the street."
"..."
Sylas closed the door, defeated.
Isolde had seen right through him.
It was his purity and reputation he wanted to protect—that was why he had chosen suicide.
But being stripped and exposed publicly would destroy what little dignity he had left.
He sat down at the desk, unsure what to do.
He couldn't focus enough to read.
He stood again and began tidying the bed, needing something to occupy his hands.
He smoothed the blankets, arranged the pillows, then sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.
Just then, the door opened.
Isolde walked in, hands behind her back, a slight smile on her lips.
A maid in military attire followed, carrying a meal box.
Isolde was in high spirits—that morning, the last remnants of the Lyonesse forces had surrendered.
The royal nobles and great families had all pledged loyalty to Aethelred.
The capital, which should have been the site of the fiercest resistance, had yielded with surprising ease.
After this, the name Lyonesse would fade from the world.
The remnants of the forces have fled to the south and will never become a real threat.
Even if she tried, Aethelred's elites would crush her effortlessly.
Isolde felt she had achieved a monumental victory.
She was brimming with pride.
Entering the room, she noticed Sylas had made the bed.
His dazed, helpless expression made him look like a newlywed bride.
"Being so well-behaved? Even made the bed?" Isolde walked straight toward him.
Sylas jolted up at the sight of her, breath catching, unable to speak.
"Leave us." Isolde said to the maid.
The maid set down the meal and withdrew respectfully.
Isolde sat casually on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs.
She wore simple light-yellow cloth shoes that day.
She nudged Sylas's calf with her toe, "The heel came off my shoe. What should we do?"
Sylas hung his head silently.
Isolde's tone turned impatient, "I asked you a question.My heel came off, what should we do?"
"If the heel comes off… simply put it back on."
"Hmm~ I don't know how to put shoes on."
"You don't know how to wear shoes?"
"Of course not. My handmaids always do it."
Sylas felt his chest tighten. He understood what she wanted.
He asked softly, "When will you execute me?"
Isolde smiled, "So eager to die?"
"Yes. I feel… tainted."
She nodded, "I thought so. You'll have to play along. Once I've had my fill of fun, I'll grant you a clean death."
"Alright…"
Sylas slowly knelt.
He cupped Isolde's slender foot and guided the heel back into place.
But Isolde wasn't satisfied.
She grabbed his hair and laughed lightly, "No hands. Use your teeth.
Do this well, and I'll count it toward your credit. It might just bring your death a little closer."