Han spent hours with The Dark Cauldron Art. He wanted to read everything before attempting a single spell. When the maids announced dinner, he waved them off; he was hungrier for knowledge than food and told them to keep a meal ready at all times.
By nightfall, he had finished the book.
It wasn't short, but he read quickly; comprehension had never been his weakness. The former Han had given up too quickly because he'd lacked mana and dragon traits. Now Han poured both lives into practice and felt a new confidence in the Dark Cauldron Art.
His stomach grumbled. About time I eat something.
He stood and looked out the window. The small mansion lay hidden in the forest, so he saw only tall trees wrapped in darkness. Above them hung a full moon. Something drew him to the sill. He stood there and took in the calm.
By now, my parents on Earth must have learned about my death. It feels terrible—but what can I do? I don't even know why I crossed to this world as Han to begin with. Stay strong, Mom, Dad. I'm sorry I didn't spend enough time with you.
Han smiled faintly. He had studied dark arts, killed wyverns, and kicked a woman in the stomach, yet when he thought of his past life, compassion surfaced. His parents deserved it, and he was glad he hadn't turned completely dark. He believed only a dark path lay ahead, so he chose to cling to those feelings, to keep from crossing lines even a villain shouldn't.
He treasured those minutes of reflection before his expression hardened. No one could see that side of him.
Han left his room and headed to the dining hall. As usual, a maid waited outside; the call had already gone out to prepare wyvern dishes. Soon the elder maids served tray after tray: rich broth and other meat courses. The smell was so appetizing that Han devoured the dishes one by one. His black wing flared and snapped the chair's back, but he didn't care.
This is so good. Is it because I'm a dragon now? Or because I killed those bastards myself? I don't care. I'm going hunting soon.
After eating more than he should, Han sank into his chair. He nearly fell because of the broken backrest, so he straightened and leaned on the table.
"It was delicious. Good job. We'll have more for days to come, yes?" Han asked.
"Of course, Young Master Han."
"Good. Where did you lock the woman?"
"In the guest room on the second floor," a maid replied.
Once his stomach settled, Han headed straight to his present.
He entered the room alone and found her naked, handcuffed to the bed, her ankles shackled. She yanked at the restraints when she saw him; the motion set her breasts jostling. The maids had cleaned the blood and tended her wounds. As he came to the bedside, his gaze snagged on a tattoo just above her pubic bone.
"Weird place for a tattoo," he said.
"It's your mother's handiwork!" the woman barked back.
Han tilted his head. "So she prepared more than this collar? I'll have to thank her. What does the tattoo do?"
Bound by the collar's enchantment, which recognized Han as Master, the woman could not lie. That compulsion was why she had spoken so boldly in the courtyard; now it trapped her.
"After defiling me, you will extract my mana and essence. I doubt trash like you could completely cripple me!" she snapped.
For her to still call him trash, she had to be a true talent. It had taken his mother to catch her; he didn't doubt it. He dragged a chair beside the bed and sat.
"That would be a waste. Extraction varies with circumstances. I can feel dark mana in you, so my mother must have believed you were perfect for me. But yes, wasteful. I have a better option. I'll make you my cauldron," Han said.
Fear cracked her composure. Her pupils dilated, and her ashen skin seemed to pale even more.
"Tenaxis… Cauldron?" she asked.
Han nodded.
In an instant, she thrashed against the cuffs. "Just... just take me! Take my mana! Do whatever you want! Don't use that cursed art on me!"
Han kept his face impassive, though the reaction surprised him. So the art is even worse than I thought. She's handing herself to me on a silver platter.
The truth was she knew she could survive being violated; given time, she could return to her peak if he allowed it. But the Cauldron would kill her. The technique was too advanced; she would never shake it without paying a ruinous price, even if Han were trash.
Han smiled. "Weren't you the one who said you'd never submit to me?"
"Everyone knows your mother has a child; no one knows who, probably because he's trash. When I saw you, I was sure you were that trash and couldn't use the Tenaxis Cauldron. But you can, so it's different. I'm yours!" she shouted.
"Nah. You'll suffer."
"You… you fucking bastard!"
"You looked at me the way those twins did. The way my uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, and the rest of this family did. You will suffer, and I will profit from your suffering," Han said, voice cold.
He joined his index and middle fingers and brought his dominant hand to his chest. As he channeled dark mana, his dragon bloodline howled. Dark flames coalesced around the hand sign and spun into a ring; within it, the image of an Obsidian Cauldron formed.
At the sight of the sigil, the light left her crimson eyes.
"He can really summon the Tenaxis Cauldron," she whispered, hopeless.