Chapter 11
He hadn’t known this light act—begun as simple dalliance—would stimulate him this much.
A thirst more intense than when he stood on the battlefield, something more fiendish, surged up.
It was desire and obsession that had wholly vanished under the weight of severe depression.
To restrain himself, Laegar’s neck cords strained taut and he clenched his hips tight.
He sensed that if he didn’t stop around here, the oblivious woman would be torn.
In the end, after a few more thrusts, he allowed a pleasure like a stab through the spine to pierce his entire body.
“Kk.”
Laegar, the muscles of his back rippling as he curled forward, buried his face in Lucy’s small body and shuddered.
A flash of red seemed to wash over his vision, and then the raging desire exploded, erupting inside the woman.
Impaled deep in her, his throbbing length still lodged to the hilt, Laegar—still clutching the female form—stared blankly at the window where dawn was breaking, his eyes bloodshot.
* * *
Laegar looked down with apathetic eyes at the woman dozing peacefully in his arms.
After several days without sending her outside, her scent had thickened inside the bedchamber.
Perhaps because they had done this act day and night.
His long index finger pressed down on her plump lower lip, revealing the red tongue inside.
The finger continued downward, leaving a red line along her skin.
It passed the rounded mound and scratched her pinkish n****e with a nail, making it stand up stiffly.
On a sudden impulse, Laegar grabbed the entire b****t. He kneaded it as he pleased, then lowered his head and softly sucked.
Even in her sleep, the woman let out faint moans and shifted her body.
Pleased by her response, he openly parted his lips, bit down, and delved in. His large hand was already busy toying between her legs.
Feeling the small tongue react tantalizingly before flinching and hiding away, he lifted his upper body and completely covered the woman.
Like a parched beast, Laegar endlessly rummaged inside Lucy’s mouth and drank her saliva.
His fingers, having pried open the closed petals, were likewise circling and stirring her entrance, now quickly grown slick.
This sweet, addictive taste, top and bottom, made him forget his depressed state for a while.
Laegar, called the ‘Demon King’ by the peoples he’d conquered, was in truth suffering from severe depression.
He had nearly conquered the entire continent, but once the war ended, a crushing emptiness and weariness set in. In fact, the profound weariness was partly why he had half-heartedly concluded the war midway.
With nothing left to achieve and nothing left to want, he had reached the conclusion that he should simply disappear.
The one thing holding him back, however, was the matter of bringing his older brother’s son Igor and seating him on the throne in his place.
But once he’d actually come to the Grand Duchy and seen for himself, his nephew was simply a hopeless scoundrel.
The boy was always busy skipping his lessons on kingship and governance, sneaking out instead to hunt curious demonic beasts with zeal. He would also collect bizarre plants, compile illustrated handbooks, and giggle over them.
Laegar endured, thinking things would improve if the succession lessons continued. But as time passed, it looked more and more hopeless.
In that case, he had to at least find and establish another successor before disappearing—but in good conscience, he worried about the north.
The Belluk territory bordered directly on the kingdom of the displaced celestial bloodlines. It was a position that could never be shaken, that must never be shaken.
He had felt at ease while his older brother was still alive, but the former Grand Duke had joined the war of conquest the previous year and fallen in battle.
And the remaining heir was the scoundrel Igor.
Now his final duty had become molding Igor—not even into a ruler fit for the unified empire, but at least into someone capable of leading the Belluk territory alone.
That was why he couldn’t die as he wished and was stuck prolonging this tedious existence.
Then something amusing happened.
A woman appeared.
Her real name was Eredite, but she was called Lucy and believed herself to be Lucy.
At first, he’d brought her to his own quarters simply because Igor slacking off annoyed him. But he soon realized that toying with the woman nudged aside his crushing weariness, however slightly.
The woman was of the Haldegard royal bloodline of the Kingdom of Roan, and had reportedly stood guard on the border for a long time.
Judging by how she had charged at him in the forest without a shred of fear back then, she must have had a fair amount of spirit. But now…
Laegar glanced sideways at the woman’s head as she slept peacefully.
On the left side, a single jet-black feather of his own was slenderly embedded.
Feeling his lower abdomen grow languid with an eerie satisfaction, Laegar laughed lowly.
If the woman hadn’t lost her memories, she would now be in a state she’d find considerably humiliating.
What would happen, he wondered, when she eventually found out?
The image of her fiercely raising her blade in the air flashed through his mind, and he let out a grim chuckle.
What if he were to pull out that feather for her?
Her memories would return. The sealed spirit, discernment, and whatever else would flood back into her head.
Then she’d try to kill me.
Oh, would she kill me?
He’d been agonizing over how to die—this was perfect.
Having his fill of playing with her, then being murdered by the enraged woman later.
For the one who had unified the continent to be killed by a mere wench, and a woman of celestial blood at that, would be a disgrace for the ages—but he didn’t care.
Even without that, the void, like a silent spider, was devouring him day by day.
In that case, he would make this woman a legend.
The woman who ended the ‘Demon King.’
He tickled the tip of the woman’s nose with his index finger—the nose of the woman who would receive a splendid title. Her small nose twitched.
It was just like a rabbit twitching its pink nose while burrowing into the snow.
The northern climate—perpetually winter—was also a factor worsening his depression. The primary cause, of course, was the scoundrel Igor.
In any case, he could die here.
If he nurtured the woman’s future rage to its fullest now, would she kill him even more brutally when the time came?
His gaze lingered on the red and purple marks blooming all over the woman’s body.
When she learned that she had diligently performed this filthy act with him out of duty, the woman would seek revenge by any means necessary.
Of course, her skills wouldn’t be sufficient—but he could simply let her kill him.
How would she kill him?
Saw off his limbs? Or carve out his heart and tear it apart?
A demonic red glint flickered momentarily in his apathetic gray eyes, and a wicked smile rippled gently at the corner of his lips.
“So innocently.”
The black, dense shadow stretched out and covered the woman’s body once more.
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