【Scarlet Cruise】(Volume 1) Author: gesid368570

Author: gesid368570
Word Count: 42454

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. Thus, the first volume of "Scarlet Cruise" is born.

First of all, I must emphasize that "Cruise," at least the first volume of "Cruise," is an erotic novel, not
a masturbation novel.

Gentlemen, I like plots.

I like all kinds of drama, I like intertwined characters, I like unexpected plot developments, and
I like stories with a beginning and an end.

I like the feeling of "ah, this is not bad" when I close the book after finishing it.

As for the so-called "pure masturbation novel," I am somewhat resistant to it.

On the basis of a very weak plot, relying on various unreliable causes and effects, men get
women , then rape them, torture them—some women submit, some do not; or some
submit physically, some psychologically—police officers, soldiers, assassins, killers, nurses, flight attendants, teachers, etc., become
the labels of the story, and also the labels of the women in the story.

Objectifying women is by no means the intention of most people, yet it has inexplicably become a source of inspiration for authors
and a perspective for readers to appreciate—this predicament of mutual consumption is not solely the responsibility of the author or the reader.

This is not good, sometimes it's terrible.

With my immature writing, I offer you my ideas and sincerity; please appreciate them with understanding and criticism
.

Please enjoy this; if the time you spend brings you some meaning and pleasure, or if it wastes your
time, please feel free to communicate and

thank me.

(Bangkok, Thailand, an underground boxing ring)

"Basari! Go!"

"Basari! Hit her, beat her up!"

Like molten iron boiling in a blast furnace, the excited crowd illuminated the entire stands with their enthusiasm. The high-spirited
people cheered, raising their arms and roaring towards the only bright and dazzling spot in the center of the ring.

This was the final match of an underground Muay Thai fight, a local Thai female boxer named Basari facing an
opponent from Ukraine.

Currently, the crowd in the ring was overwhelmingly supporting Basari. Besides the fact that Basari was a local, the more important
factor was the betting odds – almost everyone bet on Basari to win.

Basari was the highest-level fighter in the local underground boxing ring, having defeated countless strong opponents. Whether it was a
tall, imposing European or a physically stronger Black fighter, or even a lightweight male boxer, Basari had never
disappointed the audience's high expectations.

Furthermore, Basari was strikingly beautiful and had a stunning physique, naturally attracting the attention of the predominantly male audience
– it's said that Basari never had a man by her side, and even her sparring partners were women.

In the local area, underground boxing wasn't just a hobby for gamblers or the poor; its audience included many wealthy
and powerful individuals. Many of them tried to woo Basari – but no matter how hard they tried offstage, none of
them ever succeeded.

Once again dodging an opponent's high kick, Basari launched a barrage of short punches, almost rendering her opponent defenseless
– unfortunately, the bell rang at the inopportune moment to signal the end of the third round.

A chorus of boos erupted from the audience, but their mood was clearly good. It was obvious that
Basari .

The noise gradually subsided, and the audience waited patiently with Basari for the start of the fourth round.

Contrary to the confidence of those who were certain of the outcome, Basari herself was experiencing turmoil.

"Fourth round, remember, you have to fight to the fourth round, and then lose the match."

This was the "boss's" order.

The "boss" was Basari's benefactor. Without him, there would be no Basari today.

In fact, Basari might not even be alive.

Basari always obeyed the "boss's" words without question.

He was both the best coach—his boxing techniques were exquisite and powerful, many of which even current Muay Thai champions
had never used.

At the same time, he was also Basari's benefactor—when Basari was six years old, her parents, friends, and home were all
destroyed in an armed attack; it was he who found Basari in the ruins of her village and raised her
.

In the years since becoming a boxer, although they've only kept in touch by phone a few times, "
Boss .

She never goes shopping or dresses up like other women, and she always
keeps her hair short to save time for training her stamina and boxing skills—this
woman, who rejected ordinary happiness, only wanted to fight well for that person in every match.

Every brief reunion backstage after a match was Basari's happiest time.

But today, his usual seat was empty. Basari didn't deny that she was affected—
otherwise , she might have knocked out an opponent of this caliber in two rounds.

The enthusiastic audience—and on the other side, her benefactor.

What had happened? For the first time, Basari
wavered

The bell rang, and Basari made a resolute decision—she chose to become a boxer.

Perhaps "Boss" would respect this choice, because he undeniably loved Basari's boxing.

After the match, Basari briefly thanked the audience and coaches, then happily ran back to the backstage area.

That was where "the boss" always met with her briefly, encouraging her and embracing her.

Pushing open the small door leading to the parking lot, "the boss's" car was there as always.

Facing "the boss," Basari lowered her head guiltily, waiting for his encouragement and embrace, or
—this time, would he scold her? Basari wondered.

To her surprise, "the boss" grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. Completely different from his usual polite
embraces , this time he supported Basari's hips and pulled her into the car.

"Come back with me."

Basari nodded.

Back at the villa in the mountains on the outskirts of the city, "the boss" said nothing. He led Basari straight to
the spacious bathroom.

Pushing Basari against the wall, "the boss" slapped her, then ripped open her
sports bra—Basari offered no resistance whatsoever.

The "boss" hesitated for a moment, then tentatively grasped Basari's shoulder and brought his lips close to her cheek.

Basari blushed and returned the kiss—the "boss" nodded, as if suddenly realizing something, and coldly
accepted Basari's first kiss.

Everything that followed went smoothly.

They bathed together—in the large bathtub, the "boss" couldn't wait to deflower Basari,
taking away her virginity that she had guarded for him for so many years.

Even when she was treated roughly, forced down on the edge of the tub like an animal, and violated from behind; or when the "
boss " impulsively pushed Basari's mouth and nose underwater and made her perform oral sex, Basari
didn't complain.

Afterwards, they ate dinner together—in the "boss's" room, Basari sat naked facing him,
dining with him.

Basari was a little embarrassed, but the "boss" seemed very casual, so she didn't say anything.

After the meal, the "boss" pushed Basari onto the bed and once again enjoyed her strong yet shapely
body—among lightweight boxers, Basari had the best figure; aside from her height, her physique was almost
comparable to a model.

This time, the "boss's" methods were even more brutal. He would even grab Basari's hair, forcefully slap her
buttocks, hold her head down, and thrust his thick, long penis into her esophagus.

Basari still did not resist; she wholeheartedly offered herself to the "boss"—she
had imagined this day but never believed it would come true.

However, Basari felt a vague unease; beneath the "boss," her face
appeared somewhat ferocious and cruel.

Putting this unease aside, Basari brushed the hair from her mouth and became even more engrossed in giving the "boss"
oral sex.

Basari was a virgin, though her hymen had been destroyed in the match. She wanted to explain to the "boss,"
but then decided against it—because the boss didn't seem to mind.

Knowing she lacked sexual experience, she tried to envelop the "boss's" penis with her breasts, which were a bit
too , attempting to give him "pleasure."

After ejaculating into Basari's mouth again, the "boss" nodded, gesturing for her to change positions and lean
towards the window.

As night fell, the seemingly tireless "boss" took two pairs of boxing gloves from the wardrobe and led Basari to the gym in the basement of
his mansion .

The "boss's" gym was fully equipped, even including a standard boxing ring.

This scene should have been familiar to Basari, but the moment she stepped into the gym, her hair
stood on end. She looked at the "boss," only to see him toss a pair of boxing gloves at her and then glance towards the ring.

Instinct made the choice for Basari; she put on the gloves and stood on the ring.

Opposite her, "the boss" had also donned his boxing gloves and climbed over the ropes.

Unlike any match Basari had ever fought, this was the first time she stood in
a ring without spotlights—allowing her to clearly see the whistling crowd.

A large group of shirtless, muscular men surrounded the ring, watching the spectacle
she .

She hesitated, looking at her opponent—but "the boss's" fist was already in front of her.

Basari instinctively dodged to the side and retaliated—his punch landing squarely on "the boss's" upper abdomen.

Before she could say anything, "the boss's" offensive continued relentlessly, punch after punch, all the
moves he had taught her.

Her professional boxing experience helped Basari concentrate; she momentarily forgot the lewd
looks , focusing solely on the fight before her.

There was no round bell; this round lasted almost two normal rounds.

In the end, Basari clearly had the upper hand.

A poorly controlled left hook sent "the boss" sprawling to the ground.

A chorus of boos erupted from the men of various skin colors. Basari, realizing their presence, tried to help
"the boss" up, but he shoved her aside.

"Damn it."

This was the first time Basari had heard "the boss" swear.

"Your turn."

The boxing gloves were tossed to an Asian man—clearly not Thai.

Basari watched in disbelief as "the boss," rubbing his cheek, tumbled off the ring, sat down, and glared at her.

Without hesitation, Basari's next opponent was a muscular man a head taller than her,
at least one weight class higher.

Facing his heavy punches, Basari was immediately at a disadvantage. She couldn't defend her upper body—
perhaps out of contempt, the man hadn't yet used kicks—Basari could only dodge.

After about three rounds, the man began to show
signs of . He began to move with large strides, focusing on powerful forehand strikes while neglecting his defense.

With a simple feint, Basari created an opening, and the man fell for it. The missed strike was seized by Basari
, who unleashed a combination attack plus two rapid roundhouse kicks—his shin and side abdomen struck.

The man lost consciousness, and Basari collapsed to her knees, exhausted.

The surrounding men burst into laughter.

Basari looked up at the distance, but the "boss" paid no attention to her gaze.

"Your turn."

This time it was a black man nearly two meters tall.

Heavyweight—the difference was no longer apparent; this black man was a super heavyweight.

At this point, Basari felt somewhat relieved. She was fearless, took a deep breath, stood up, and met
the attack.

Within a single round, Basari understood one thing.

The reason the previous man hadn't used kicks was probably simply because he was a boxer.

This black man, however, was using a style that blended wrestling and street fighting—the men in this gym
seemed to each possess different fighting techniques.

Time passed, and Basari felt increasingly exhausted.

Her punches were almost ineffective, and her kicks were completely useless—her opponent's vital areas were far higher than
the height of her kicks.

Moreover, her evasive maneuvers weren't entirely successful. The limited space of the ring restricted her footwork. The
black man even grabbed her several times, pulling her down to the ground, but each time Basari...
Li's timely counterattack to his face forced her back.

Time—Bazali herself didn't know how many rounds had passed; she only felt her arm growing heavier and heavier.

Suddenly, Basali remembered something. It was an interesting
experience

Lost in thought, the black man roared and lunged at her, Basali already backed against the ropes, with no way to avoid it.

Basali smiled, leaped backward, and miraculously stood on the ropes—this required exceptional balance—
then grabbed her opponent's head and flipped him over his body.

The burly black man, his head being pulled, was in a forward-falling position,
contrary to the direction Basali was pulling his head.

To the astonishment of the crowd, Basali narrowly won her third match.

She looked at "the boss" with a joyful expression, wanting to see what he thought of the unusual move she had taught her before.

"Damn it! A bunch of trash! All of you come at me!"

Amidst the cursing, some bewildered men, some excited, some impatient,
climbed onto the ring one after another.

Basari was instantly plunged into confusion and despair.

She suddenly realized that everything the "boss" had done to her that night was punishment,

all for her to win that boxing match.

Looking at the men surrounding her, she considered giving up, but out of a boxer's instinct, she
raised her arms.

Like a group of cats attacking a mouse, the men shoved Basari around, occasionally landing heavy punches to her
abdomen or whipping her lower body with their legs. The men, averaging over 1.9 meters tall, made
Basari appear small and delicate surrounded by them. She was kicked to the ground several times, punched in
the back and abdomen, but always struggled to her feet, adopting a defensive stance to protect her head and waiting for an opportunity to counterattack.

Initially, the men were amused by her repeated struggles to get up, but under the "boss's"
urging, they finally stopped attacking the fallen Basari.

The men rained blows on Basari, who was curled up on the ground, ending the attack in
less than two rounds.

Two white men grabbed her arms, pulled her up, and dragged her
to the "boss" who had stepped onto the ring.

The "boss" twisted his neck and then landed a heavy punch directly on Basari's undefended chest, followed
by a knee strike to her abdomen.

"You're really good—how did I manage to train such a good student?"

He clutched his head in frustration, took a few steps back, circled twice, and then delivered a
straight kick to Basari.

"Do you know how much this fight cost me!"

A low roundhouse kick struck Basari's lower body, sending her entire lower body dangling into the air—compared to the tall men
beside , Basari's body was far too slender, like a willow in a storm. Because
she was being held by the men, her upper body remained in its original position, only her breasts swaying incessantly.

"Five hundred million! US dollars!"

He removed his boxing gloves and used his bare fists to deliver several blows to Basari's abdomen.

"You stinking woman, I forgot, you're quite resilient."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, the "
boss waved to the people around him.

"This woman is called Basari, she's yours."

"Yay! Basari!" Cheers erupted—Basari, whose consciousness was already somewhat blurred, suddenly
felt that the voice was both familiar and strange.

A large number of shorts were tossed into the air, the men using this to begin their feast.

After a brief discussion, they paired up, one in front and one behind, sandwiching Basari's body between them.

Supporting Basari's exhausted and powerless body, the two men wrapped their arms around her waist,
cradling her round, firm buttocks. With lewd grins, they counted "one, two, three" in unison, then simultaneously
thrust their thick, hard penises into her—they had likely used this vicious method to ravage more than one woman.

The girl's lower limbs were trapped between the men's thighs, appearing weak and frail. The large penises
cruelly tore and carved a path through her, reaching deep inside.

The girl's taut body was stretched and swollen; visibly, Basari's abdomen expanded to
more than twice its original size. The penis of one of the black men, in particular, was terrifyingly large.
Basari, inexperienced and without foreplay, couldn't accommodate such a size, and she cried out in pain.

As the men manipulated her alluring body,
a disgusting lumps of flesh swelled on Basari's lower abdomen, which convulsed in extreme pain, writhing and expanding within her.

The men laughed, enjoying the scene. They knew all too well
the effect of this near-torture-like sexual technique on a young girl's body—there was no more direct way to extract pleasure from a
young woman's body, even if she was physically strong and resilient.

No, rather, it was precisely because the woman being cruelly violated was someone who had once dared to resist
them , even fight back, that these brutal men found pleasure in this torture.

In fact, during the previous two sexual encounters, "Boss" had intended to thoroughly torment Basari,
deliberately using extremely rough methods to have intercourse with her. An ordinary woman would probably have begged for mercy long ago.
Even Basari, whose body was stronger than most, inevitably suffered several small tears in her vagina, but out of
her affection for "Boss," she did not resist and gritted her teeth to endure it.

And now, without any lubrication, with the sweat accumulated on her groin, the men forcibly
penetrated Basari's body. The coarse pubic hair, glistening with sweat,
rubbed violently against the vaginal opening during the thrusting motion , repeatedly abrading the delicate skin and leaving the most vulnerable part of the girl's body riddled
with holes. As the salt in the sweat seeped in, the pain intensified, and Basari cried out in agony.
She tried to call out "Boss's" name, but her mouth was blocked by a large black man's mouth—then a
disgusting , wet, long tongue shoved into her oral cavity.

In utter despair and rage, Basari had no choice. With a determined clench of her teeth, she pushed hard with her jaw.

The black man roared, and blood gushed from both his mouth and Basari's lower body—it was unclear whether
the black man's force caused Basari to bite his tongue, or whether Basari had bitten his tongue first.
This caused the black man to lose control of his strength.

With a muffled thud, the enraged black man opened his arm, swung it straight, and delivered a
powerful punch to Basari's side.

Basari coughed up blood, her body falling to the side from the pain and the force of the blow. The penis, deeply inserted into her
anus, was twisted at an awkward angle, and the man behind Basari
cried out , quickly straightening her body—while simultaneously
pinching her inner thigh hard in revenge.

The black man, recovering from the pain, spat out a small amount of blood. After confirming that his tongue was alright, he
grabbed Basari's hair, pulled her head to the side and back, forcing her to tilt her head back—this way, the black man, much
taller than her, could look down at her pained expression and continue to penetrate her with the same force as before.

"Little girl, you're not bad!" Speaking broken Thai, the resentful black man grabbed Basari's
leg around his waist, making his penetration easier. Each thrust slammed into
her cervix, causing her to arch upwards with each stroke. He then pressed her head
down, forcing her to meet his rapidly pounding penis head-on.

Basari felt as if her body was being torn apart, with no chance to escape or struggle. In the double agony of her vagina and
anus being torn apart simultaneously, she momentarily fainted—only
to be awakened by a loud slap from the man.

"Haha, thanks, boss! The girls in your place are all hot!" A man
thanked the "boss" on the sidelines in Cantonese, while simultaneously squeezing Basari's breasts
roughly .

The men spoke different languages and accents, but they could all speak a little English, so communication was relatively smooth.
They chattered amongst themselves about Basari's figure and appearance, discussing whether they could
tie her to a table or some gym equipment and have sex with her—that way they could make full use of her upper body's "position,"
such as her full breasts and her lips and mouth.

Looking in Basari's direction—surrounded by more than a dozen burly men, the "boss" could only see one arm struggling to extend
from the crowd —the "boss" applied an ice pack to his sore spot, sitting aside
and angrily watching everything.

After a while, even that arm went limp and fell into the crowd—
only then lose interest.

"Don't kill her. After you're done, take her to the basement and hand her over to Ah Hu."

With that, the "boss" left the gym without looking back, heading back to the
private .

In the bathroom, the "boss," soaking in the whirlpool, rested his head on the edge of the tub, closing his eyes to relax.

He recalled Basari's reaction when he had pinned her down and penetrated her from behind here earlier, and sneered.

"Everyone outside says you're such an innocent woman, but it turns out you've been eyeing me all along."

Suddenly, he sat up, listening intently—even though he was quite far from the underground gym, he
felt he could faintly hear shouts coming from there.

Perhaps it was just his imagination—when he closed his eyes and lay back down, the sound returned.

The anger and lust that had just subsided surged up again, and "Boss" shook
the bell —his bodyguards immediately appeared at the door.

"What is it, 'Boss'?"

Undecided for a moment, "Boss" thought for a while before finally remembering a
woman .

"Bring that useless bitch who lost to Basari today—" Thinking of Basari's appearance, "
Boss " hesitated for a moment, "—and told her to dress up nicely."

Over the years, he had practically controlled the entire underground boxing scene in Bangkok, from the arenas and referees to the fighters
. But at the most crucial moment, he had stumbled badly because of this woman.

"Damn it, you bitch—you'd better earn that five hundred million dollars for me,"

he muttered viciously to himself.

(Kyoto, Japan)

A quiet courtyard, the wind rustling the trees, cicadas chirping incessantly.

A babbling brook, deer leaping every now and then, its clear sound echoing.

An empty garden, the barking of dogs and the chirping of birds, the moon and stars few.

This is a large

Japanese-style house on the outskirts of Kyoto. Centered around a three-story castle tower dating back to the Sengoku period, it seems to have been built with the need for defense against
external enemies . This classic Japanese garden appears dark
and deep under the clear, bright moonlight, casting a somber hue on every ray of moonlight entering the courtyard.

Each courtyard's five-meter-high walls are manned by several armed guards.

Undoubtedly, this house belongs to someone of considerable wealth and power. And, his life is
under serious threat.

At that moment, in the fourth courtyard, the heart of the mansion, a clump of bushes by the wall seemed to rustle
slightly .

The men standing on the wall, their backs to the main house, were completely unaware.

"Thank goodness!" A woman lurking among the sparse vegetation breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Her target, less than twenty meters away, was now within reach—the vast open space was just a step away.

Saki Tashiro, nicknamed "Crow."

She was an assassin, a living legend.

For ten long years, from the age of nineteen, Saki had eliminated countless enemies for her master.

Saki's family originated from a declining profession—ninja. It sounds like a fantasy, but
it was something the Tashiro family was truly proud of. The family carefully and cautiously passed down everything they possessed,
never giving up even in vain, even if it ultimately proved useless—some things remained unchanged, only
fading slightly with the passing generations as their ancient glory couldn't keep up with the changing times.

The brilliance of loyalty shines beneath the dust, awaiting its discoverer.

Saki, as an only child, was instilled with this from a young age.

The Tashiro family's resurgence stemmed from the East-West conflict within the Japanese underworld.

Post-World War II Japan was a breeding ground for the yakuza.

The original yakuza were actually a product of the clash between a subservient government and intense national pride, further compounded by
the militaristic fervor that was difficult to digest within the social culture. For a long time,
the yakuza faithfully played a role that existed between good and evil.

As times change, so do people's hearts.

When powerful figures clash over interests rather than mere loyalty, the definition of the yakuza changes, the relationship between "
ordinary people " and the yakuza shifts, and the low status of the "ordinary people" affected by this changes.

The Tashiro family is among the most insignificant of these "ordinary people."

Their initial rise to prominence came when Saki's father, a yakuza vendor selling oden, was caught in a yakuza shootout.

The local yakuza refused to take responsibility, and the police in the remote town offered only vague explanations, focused solely on self-preservation.

At that time, Saki's mother, a gentle and virtuous woman, the last inheritor of the Tashiro family's craft,
entrusted Saki to a neighbor and, armed with a short knife, stormed into a local yakuza office,
avenging her husband—she single-handedly killed everyone there.

Conflict is like a high-five. A one-sided struggle is nonexistent.

Saki's mother didn't stop her revenge; she immediately went to a neighboring prefecture, intending to eliminate the other side of
the shootout that .

A month later, Kondo Hirono, the head of the largest faction in eastern Japan—the Shinto Metropolis—personally visited
Saki's home, the neighbor next door to the Tashiro family, who was at a loss for what to do with Saki's grief.

Thus began nine-year-old Saki's second life in Tokyo. However, she never saw her
mother again.

On Saki's fourteenth birthday, Kondo Hirono personally presented Saki with her mother's belongings
—a fragment of a scroll depicting the entirety of the Tashiro family's skills and traditions—and asked Saki to choose:

the scroll or a normal life.

Kondo told Saki that he had survived because Saki's mother had risked her life to save him.
Before her death, Saki's mother entrusted her to him, hoping he would personally hand over the scroll
to .

If her mother didn't expect her to inherit this legacy, why would she pass it on to her? Therefore, Saki
unhesitatingly chose the former—only in this way could she fulfill her filial duty.

Five years of training passed in the blink of an eye, and at 19, Saki officially became Kondo's apprentice, beginning her legendary career
as an assassin .

When Saki was 22, Kondo Hirono passed away. His son, Kondo Kazuo, succeeded him and immediately began
to destroy the balance of power his father had painstakingly maintained.

The war in the underworld reignited. Relying on Saki's astonishing talent and strength, Kondo Kazuo swept away the smaller
factions that disliked him, gathered the strength of the entire Kanto region, and launched a full-scale attack on the Kansai underworld.

In the first few years, Kondo Kazuo, relying on the strategic advantages his father had established for him,
advanced almost unstoppably, his momentum seemingly unimpeded, even the police remained on the sidelines.

During that time, the name "Crow" resounded throughout the underworld—those who did not submit to Kondo faced certain death.

No matter how tight the defenses, "Crow" always succeeded, taking the life of his target—leaders of small and medium-sized gangs
all bowed down.

Three years later, when Saki was 25, a major event occurred in the Kansai underworld.

The head of the Osaka Union, the top gang of the Kansai yakuza, passed away, passing the position to a
young man unrelated by blood—and a native of Kanto.

The Osaka Union immediately crumbled, splitting into three factions. One faction was led by the former head's biological daughter,
another by the rightful heir, and the remaining faction consisted of a wavering mob
—who defected to Kyoto the following year.

Seemingly with the situation settled, Kondo Kazuo handed over all business and gang affairs to his subordinates, indulging in a life of
debauchery .

While the entire Kyoto City was immersed in wine, women, and money, only Saki vaguely sensed something was amiss.

From that moment on, she found herself needing to kill more and more people.

When Saki was 27, the situation took a dramatic turn.

The internal strife within the Kansai yakuza ceased—the two heirs of the Osaka Union formed a marriage alliance, revived the Osaka
Union , moved its headquarters to Kyoto, and launched a counter-offensive against Kanto.

Kondo's forces crumbled, and pressure from the Kansai region loomed close to Tokyo.

From that year onward, Saki's workload increased several times over.

Two more years passed, and Saki turned 29. This was a rather delicate age for a woman.

For the first time, Saki felt exhausted.

In these two years, thanks to "Crow's" efforts and Kondo's desperate resistance, the Kansai region's influence had been forced back to
the central Japan region. The successive

deaths of numerous high-ranking gang leaders, and even representatives of foreign yakuza forces allied with the Osaka Union , deeply worried Tanaka Kenzo, the young head of the Osaka Union. Out of fear of "Crow," he made this strategic concession that baffled even ordinary people, including the police. "Just an assassin, is it really necessary?" Every inch of Kanto's territory was paved . Just because the boss was a coward, wanting to protect himself, he was handing over the territory? Many within the Osaka Union shared this sentiment, causing a temporary unrest among the members. The capital city of Shinkansen was given a three-month respite—just as Kondo Kazuo was congratulating himself, Tanaka Kenzo displayed a far superior skill. He outwardly retreated, but secretly crippled Shinkansen's economy. Through years of meticulous planning and a series of ingenious methods, Shinkansen lost almost all its , and its several domestic financial companies were severely weakened. To stabilize morale, Kondo Kazuo kept the news to a minimum. To make matters worse, at this very moment, his loyal ace made . "Crow" wanted to retire. Those who work with energy and concentration have very short peak periods. The invincible "Crow" was also feeling the strain. After ten years of life-and-death experiences, she needed a rest—whether for an assassin or a woman. Of the secret manuals left by her mother, only the "Yin" scroll was missing—that part was about seductive techniques women used to seduce men . Saki understood her mother's good intentions. Unlike his father, Kazuo Kondo's attitude towards "Crow" was less one of trust and more one of fear. Faced with "Crow's" resolute intention to leave, he had no choice but to agree to the demands of this elusive man— in fact, he had never even seen "Crow's" true face.

However, in return, Kazuo Kondo also made a request of "Crow."

A near-impossible assassination deep behind enemy lines—this was the premise and price of "Crow's" retirement.

Without gang support, she would infiltrate the heart of the Osaka Alliance alone to assassinate the enemy's highest leader,
Kenzo Tanaka.

After completing this mission, "Crow" would sever all ties with the God Society—regardless of success or failure, Saki would never have
to return.

Finally, the moment arrived, and Saki stopped reminiscing.

Having evaded sentry after sentry, Saki arrived at the end of her assassin career, before the wooden
door .

Saki was certain that the flickering light reflected on the paper window, the shadow moving behind the door, was
her target.

As always, Saki focused her attention on the line connecting the crossbow on her left arm to her target.

A small arrow, poisoned.

Assassins and killers use them to rewrite history.

Assassins escape unscathed, while assassins often perish on the spot.

Therefore, assassins can be remembered in history, but killers cannot.

Saki smiled and pulled the trigger.

The bowstring, coated with crow's oil, vibrated silently. The
bolt and flew towards its target—the heat generated by the friction against the nock would silently
melt away the bear fat in a very short time, revealing a core as thin as a pig's bristles. These needle-like arrows flew without a trace; they
could even pierce through window paper or bulletproof vests without leaving a noticeable hole, and they would shatter instantly upon impact
—even those near the victim would not be able to discern the assassin's location.

It hit; there was no doubt about it.

But the panic Saki had anticipated did not occur.

The shadow did not fall.

It couldn't be a wax figure—Saki clearly saw him move, even making a gesture similar to stroking his chin.

The arrow was aimed at his head.

For the first time during a mission, Saki had a bad feeling.

But in less than a second, she felt relieved—wasn't this the end for most assassins?

By the time she realized it, two strange needles had already pierced her neck and back—though
not very deeply.

Saki instinctively reached behind her neck, only to find that the needles were connected to something like threads.

"A stun gun, something invented by Americans,"

a man's voice sounded behind her.

Before Saki could even swing the kunai hidden in her right arm, an unusual sensation swept over her entire body.

This sensation—was it an electric shock?

Within seconds, Saki convulsed and collapsed to the ground.

"A plastic automaton, a thermal detector, a short gun that can fire electric currents—
things that were once in science fiction have now become reality." The man activated the current again. "The renowned 'Raven,' I
've heard so much about you ."

Crackling sparks of electricity flashed across Saki's body again. Even Saki, who could feign death while enduring the bites of a bear
, couldn't withstand this pure pain. Gritting her teeth and trying to fake unconsciousness, she let out
low, agonizing screams. Saki dug her fingers into the earth, digging into the mud beneath her. She struggled to straighten her back, but then
fainted in a spasm-like convulsion.

"A woman?" Hearing Saki's cries fade away, the man jumped down from the wall without hesitation and
approached her—he had just turned the electric current to its maximum.

In the darkness, he reached under Saki, touching her breasts to confirm her gender.

"This is—unbelievable."

The guards arrived one after another, and in the beam of their flashlights, Tanaka Kenzo removed Saki's black veil.

Three minutes later—

"Mr. Kondo, I did receive your gift—it's truly an unexpected treasure."

"A treasure? Mr. Tanaka, I'm glad you like it." "

I keep my word; let's call it even."

"Thank you for your magnanimity, Mr. Tanaka, thank you very much." Even through the phone, one could feel the other's
obsequious attitude.

"The era of fighting and killing is over. Let us rely on each other and work together to conquer the world."

"Thank you very much. Mr. Tanaka, please give my regards to your wife—Mr. Tanaka?"

Tanaka Kenzo was momentarily distracted.

He looked again at "Crow," who was tightly bound with ropes, her hands tied high, hanging from the dungeon wall—in this short
two-minute call, he had lost count of how many times he had been distracted by this woman's appearance.

"Mr. Tanaka?" The voice of Kondo Kazuo, the president of the Shinto City, came through the receiver again.

"Excuse me, I wanted to ask—I heard that even Mr. Kondo has never seen his true face?" When addressing Saki
, Tanaka Kenzo deliberately used a male pronoun.

"No, only my late father saw 'Crow's' face—is there something wrong with this guy?" Kondo Kazuo
also used a male pronoun.

"No, nothing at all, I was just overthinking it. I also give my regards to your wife on behalf of Sayoko."

Only after Tanaka Kenzo hung up the phone did Kondo Kazuo cautiously put down the receiver.

In truth, in this East-West confrontation, the capital city of Shinkansen had long been at a disadvantage.

Although it had temporarily retreated, the Osaka Union had already accumulated too many advantages in this contest.

Shinkansen was at a disadvantage in every aspect: manpower, funding, government connections, and contact with foreign powers.

The activity of "Crows" was merely the final act of Shinkansen's desperate struggle for survival.

Now, without financial support, Shinkansen was on the verge of bankruptcy.

Against this backdrop, Tanaka Kenzo proposed a deal to Kondo Kazuo:

hand over "Crows" as a bargaining chip and symbol of East-West reconciliation.

This was a deal that the desperate Kondo Kazuo could not refuse.

With trembling hands, Tanaka Kenzo poured himself a cup of the murky sake that dungeon guards usually drank—
a and downed it in one gulp.

The protracted East-West war finally came to an end—the West achieved a complete victory through economic means.

This was the beginning of a new era.

But at this moment, Tanaka Kenzo couldn't help but regret his decision. He deeply regretted his rash
move .

He had promised the gang's leaders that he would capture "Crow" alive to avenge the fallen officers
before using this unprecedented method to end the conflict—especially those old fogies, who, in order to persuade...
They had to do it.

But now, he regretted it; the usually decisive Tanaka Kenzo regretted it.

Kondo Kazuo probably didn't know the true identity of "Crow," right?

Otherwise, he would definitely regret it; no, he would never have agreed to his request—Tanaka Kenzo was convinced.

"Crow"?

Tanaka Kenzo smiled. How could such a crude nickname be worthy of such a magnificent thing?

If I were Kondo—I would fight to the end.

Tanaka Kenzo couldn't help but have this absurd thought.

"All of you, get out." Tanaka Kenzo put down his wine glass and waved his hand.

His subordinates hesitated for a moment before dispersing out of the dungeon.

Tanaka Kenzo wasn't afraid of them gossiping to his wife, Sayoko—this political marriage was actually
suggested by Tanaka Kenzo himself when Sayoko's gang suffered a complete defeat in the western civil war.

In order to smoothly inherit the legacy of the previous Osaka Union, he needed a formal title.

The so-called wife—was nothing more than a puppet.

For him, having sex with Sayoko was merely a mechanical routine—even though
Sayoko, the daughter of the previous Chief of Staff, was indeed a good woman.

After the dungeon door closed, Tanaka Kenzo approached Saki and gently nudged her unconscious body—he
seemed to see a stream, a trickle with cherry blossom petals on its surface—she looked just like that, a pure and serene
woman.

Saki didn't wake up—a person stunned by a stun gun shouldn't regain consciousness so quickly.

After a long while, Tanaka Kenzo reached for Saki's breasts, hesitated
for a moment before withdrawing his hand.

He found a razor and carefully cut open Saki's bodysuit, tearing it off her upper body.

Besides a few kunai and wax-sealed balls under the clothes, there was nothing—not even underwear.

Tanaka Kenzo took a deep breath.

He, who had never been one to indulge in women, wavered.

This time, he couldn't resist the pull of desire any longer, and grasped Saki's breasts, which, despite lacking a bra, remained
high and firm .

Just then, Saki woke up.

"..."

Saki said nothing, only casting a cold gaze at the man before her—the person she had failed to assassinate.

Tanaka remained silent, responding to that sharp gaze—and he didn't stop kneading the woman's
breasts .

After a moment of silence, Saki smiled and shook her head.

"Hahahaha." Seeing her reaction, Tanaka burst into laughter.

Saki's laughter was filled with helplessness and desolation.

Tanaka's laughter was similar, but also tinged with arrogance—the rightful
stance of a victor enjoying their spoils.

"What's your name?"

"...Saki."

"I thought you'd hide it?"

"How do you know I'm not lying?"

"It's okay, it's a beautiful name, much nicer than 'Crow'."

"..."

"Why aren't you saying anything? Does the stun gun still hurt?"

"...Demon."

"Hahaha, ninja? That kind of thing is outdated." Tanaka Kenzo's hands clenched tightly—an overflowing
softness and fullness filled the gaps between his fingers. "Get used to this world. It always leads the way,
gradually turning into something we don't like."

"Ugh—" Saki gasped softly.

Tanaka couldn't help but loosen his grip—but he immediately realized he shouldn't give in to
the woman .

"Does it hurt? I don't want to lie to you, it'll hurt more later." Tanaka brushed Saki's long, black hair behind her head.
"I don't like the future world, but I like the present one."

"Smooth talker." Saki's tone was like criticizing a junior.

"You're this year—" Looking at Saki's youthful appearance, which clearly didn't match her age, Tanaka couldn't help but want to ask
her age, but he immediately realized that it would be impolite.

"29 years old, brat." Saki saw through his thoughts.

"I was worried you wouldn't say anything." Tanaka Kenzo was surprised to find himself talking so much.

"I will never say what I can't say."

"You will."

"...I can kill myself."

"Then why don't you do that?" Tanaka laughed, "A woman as beautiful as you, didn't you ever think that one
day you would end up like this?"

"It's pointless to say more, just kill me."

"...Guess how I found you."

"..." Saki was speechless for a moment. No matter what kind of evil tools this man used, the
dummy and the ambush behind him couldn't have been prepared on the spot.

"That bastard Kondo betrayed you—as a bargaining chip for his surrender." Tanaka Kenzo's left hand rested on
Saki's waist. "Do you believe it?"

"...I believe it."

"How do you know—"

"I believe in my skills." Saki interrupted Tanaka Kenzo's recitation of her words.

"You must be very unwilling, right?" Tanaka's hand traced down Saki's waist, pinching her buttocks—
even with several ropes tightly binding her body, there wasn't a single bulge of fat on Saki's body.

"...If I die like this, those old fogies of the Osaka Union won't let it go—
right?"

"Do you know what you're saying?" Tanaka Kenzo stopped his defilement of Saki's body.

"I know."

"You don't hate him?"

"...The previous generation was kind to me."

"...An interesting woman—you're right, if you commit suicide now, I'm afraid I won't be able to control
those old men in the gang."

"Is it a public execution?" Although she was not afraid of death, Saki hesitated
for a moment .

"The situation has probably changed a bit now." Tanaka Kenzo's hands became restless again. "Those old lechers
won't 'let you go' easily."

"...I understand." Saki, of course, understood men's thoughts—she also knew
what level of beauty they saw in men's eyes.

"You might live for a while longer—about a month." Tanaka Kenzo lifted Saki's chin.
"This month will be tough."

"...If this could end everything, it wouldn't be so bad."

Thinking that no one else would ever lose their life so needlessly like her parents, Saki smiled, as
calmly as when she realized she had failed.

"Your smile is beautiful."

"Thank you."

"You're beautiful even without smiling."

"..."

A moment of silence followed.

"Are you a virgin?"

"...Yes."

Tanaka Kenzo reached for Saki's lower body.

"How about this, I'll dress you up in a way they wouldn't be interested in—but those old men
are very shrewd."

"You can... 'deal with' me like that." Saki glanced around the not-so-small
dungeon and the torture instruments scattered around.

"...Are you serious?"

"It's better than being... by a bunch of old men." Saki shook her head helplessly. "A gun is fine too, just say
it was done today."

"...Before that, don't mind if I taste it first?" The usually reserved and composed Tanaka Kenzo
even found it hard to believe he was saying such frivolous things to a woman he had just met.

"...Whatever."

"Should I put you down?"

"No need—I'll escape."

"Hahaha—"

Tanaka Kenzo suddenly felt that fate was such a subtle yet ruthless thing.

He was fortunate enough to meet and have relations with such a woman—but afterwards, he had to destroy this unparalleled beauty with his own hands.

Saki, on the other hand, felt a sense of relief.

The fate of a woman and an assassin had come to visit together—he would consider what happened afterward as repaying the kindness of his predecessor.

"Ahahahaha, as expected, young people are reliable!"

Just as Saki and Tanaka decided to accept this twist of fate,
a slightly aged but rough and unrestrained voice came from the entrance of the dungeon.

The gang's senior officers and almost all the elders arrived almost simultaneously.

Sayoko stood among them with a gloomy expression.

Tanaka Kenzo immediately understood—his wife had informed these people.

And his wife was definitely not just a decorative vase used to win people over, as he had imagined.

As expected of the predecessor's only daughter—Tanaka Kenzo couldn't help but sigh.

Just as everyone's attention was drawn to the naked Saki, Tanaka Kenzo looked at her with a sense of helplessness.

Saki didn't respond to Tanaka, nor to anyone else's gaze. She closed her eyes and turned her head to
the side—but a man immediately turned her face back to him.

The men couldn't help but marvel at Saki's beauty, while Sayoko quietly walked to Tanaka Kenzo's side,
took his arm, and walked out.

Among those present were several elders who were direct subordinates of the previous generation, highly respected
seniors in the Osaka Union. Even though they were usually cold to Sayoko, it wasn't appropriate to act rashly in front of these people—Tanaka Kenzo had no choice but
to leave the dungeon with her, handing over the woman he truly admired and almost fell in love with.

Looking at Sayoko in his arms, who was undisguisedly mocking him, he couldn't help but feel anger rising within him.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"..." Sayoko remained silent, only smiling, displaying a mocking expression.

That night, unable to contain his anger and lust any longer, Tanaka Kenzo vented all his rage and lust on Sayoko.

The next morning, the gang's leaders emerged from the dungeon, all disheveled.

Tanaka Kenzo had no choice but to get up early and personally see them off at the gate of the mansion.

"Thank you for the hospitality."

— Sayoko had arranged a bath and a late-night snack for them.

"You did a good job; the previous leader and Sayoko were right about you." "

You flatter me." Tanaka Kenzo bowed deeply to an old man.

"Where is the young lady?"

"She… hasn't gotten up yet."

"Hahaha, I see, young people are so energetic—"

Amidst the "laughter,"
Tanaka Kenzo bid them farewell one by one.

Besides the convoy of black luxury cars, among their vehicles was a very incongruous and conspicuous
van—the woman who haunted Tanaka Kenzo's dreams was currently restrained inside.

The convoy's destination was Osaka. They intended to use this container truck to transport Tanaka Kenzo's
spoils —an assassin known as "Crow," a man who had instilled fear and hatred in them, a
man whom the entire city of Osaka desperately wanted dead.

A stunningly beautiful woman.

The journey from Kyoto to Osaka was only half an hour—even in that short time, Miss Saki would surely
find no peace.

Before leaving, they loaded a considerable amount of equipment from the dungeon onto the truck.

Many people, after saying goodbye to Tanaka, didn't return to their own cars but instead climbed into the container on the truck
.

Tanaka Kenzo longed to see Saki now, to say goodbye to her—but he restrained himself.

The first thing Tanaka Kenzo did upon returning to his room was to smash his most valuable antique vase.

Afterward, he pulled up the videotapes from the previous night—a finely crafted American-made camera, hidden in a secret location in the dungeon,
had meticulously recorded everything that had happened the previous night.

The recording, lasting over eight hours, filled five videotapes. Tanaka Kenzo locked himself in his office, ignoring
even the servants calling him for lunch.

For the first few tens of minutes, everyone was still symbolically deferring to each other. Soon, desire completely took over
the atmosphere of the dungeon.

There are many kinds of desires in human nature—unsurprisingly, the first thing they wanted to satisfy was sexual desire.

And these foolish men even loosened their restraints on Saki.

Saki did not resist; she silently and obediently allowed them to manipulate her, letting the men control her body,
arranging or binding her into one position after another.

Only when an old man in his sixties took her virginity did Saki resist slightly, and they immediately
punished her—pressing two two-finger-long steel needles into her left shoulder and armpit, twisting them repeatedly.

When almost everyone had vented their sexual desire on Saki, only half the night had passed. At this point, their
other desires were just beginning to rise.

—A desire for revenge born from the fear of "Crow," the ridicule of his comrades, and

the hatred for Saki born from the assassination of his friends and family.

—Or simply, a desire to conquer this woman.

They all unanimously employed similar methods to deal with this
woman who remained unbroken and indifferent even after being gang-raped.

In the latter half of the night, Saki fell into the deepest hell.

And those men were the vengeful ghosts in hell who controlled torture.

When the second videotape ended, there were still more than four hours left. When

Tanaka Kenzo first put the third videotape into the machine, he couldn't bear to press the play button.

But he eventually did.

In the last few hours, because her hair was disheveled, Saki's face was never exposed on the screen.
The camera in the dungeon only had the function of capturing images; the recording was silent, but Tanaka Kenzo could still seem to
see Saki's face contorted with pain in the picture, read her shrill screams when she raised her head, and feel that
heart-wrenching pain.

Tanaka Kenzo had no SM fetishes, so his dungeon contained no sex toys. Every
instrument of torture was a practical tool for inflicting pain—even the most unassuming candles
were made of high-temperature wax ,

a mixture of butter and beeswax. Clubs, whips, needles, clamps, pliers, and branding irons crisscrossed Saki's fair, delicate
body , ravaging her flawless skin, pounding her slender frame, and tearing at her long, straight
limbs.

On a torture table shaped like a birthing chair, the men used
every method Tanaka Kenzo could and could not imagine on Saki.

Two long-handled wooden hammers were raised high and smashed against Saki's firm abdomen. Like pounding rice cakes, the men
grinned and shouted commands. Some even jokingly mimicked the action of pounding rice cakes, taking advantage of the pauses in the pounding to slip their fists
or palms in and strike or slap Saki's stomach. Crimson replaced the white; there was no sweet,
soft instead, blood coughed up by Saki after hundreds of blows, when she could no longer tense her abdomen.

Blood spilled from Saki's mouth, but the men didn't stop. Under the direction of a fat middle-aged man,
they continued their cruel torture until Saki, who had been clenching her teeth, opened her mouth, her red lips slightly parted—this
simple and effective punishment had drained most of her strength.

The prelude to the torture was over; what followed was an indispensable part of any torture—whipping.

They restrained Saki face down, using shackles and chains to pry open her wrists and ankles, and then began
to whip her smooth, supple back. Four men stood at the four corners of the torture chair, holding long and short leather whips, swinging them vigorously downwards
. Crisp slapping sounds filled the air, blood splattered everywhere, and red flowers bloomed on Saki's back, the stamens
oozing crimson. Saki twisted her waist, and the men kicked her buttocks and waist forcefully. When they were tired, they would occasionally
poke at —Saki never raised her head.

The whipping continued for a considerable period of time—Tanaka Kenzo even felt that it lasted all night
—the men poured salt water and cloudy wine on the wounds on Saki's back to try to wake her.

Saki still did not move much. She had not fainted at all. Feeling the excruciating pain, she
reminded the people present with a not-too-violent tremor that she had been silently enduring this piercing
pain without ever trying to escape.

The men angrily picked her up, turned her over, and bound her again in the same way, and began to whip her again—
this time, more people participated in the whipping, and the whip began to target certain female-specific
parts.

Like a raven that had lost its feathers, Saki, who had fallen to the ground, finally began to cry out—in the footage, she
was looking up, her lips parted to their limit. As if they had grasped the key, the men intensified their vicious whipping of her breasts and
genitals .

Had it not been for an elder who intervened in time to stop the youthful frenzy, Tanaka didn't know if Saki would
have survived until this morning.

Under the elder's reprimand, the men became more restrained, carefully continuing their cruel torture without actually killing
her .

But this did not mean that Saki's suffering would lessen. On the contrary, her fate became even
more severe.

The steel rod piercing her chest clamped down on the base of Saki's breasts, and the men in the scene seemed to be
saying something to her. They pointed at her flesh with their toes, occasionally raising their arms to hurl insults.
When Saki turned her head to the side, they finally couldn't hold back any longer.

The clamp tightened, and her full, firm breasts, like two swollen, bluish-purple lumps of flesh, hung precariously on
her chest. The men laughed, inserting steel needles into the breasts, horizontally, vertically; piercing in,
piercing out; inserting from directly above the nipples, from the side, then through both nipples—Saki's head began
to thrash, her hair dancing wildly.

One man after another, twisting and rotating the needles, pushing them deeper, or pulling them out partially and
inserting them at a different angle. More vicious men adjusted the position of the needles, exploring
the structure of Saki's breasts by feel, eventually finding several junctions between mammary glands and nerve endings, teasing
the limits of Saki's endurance and dignity with the needle tips.

Saki simply struggled—the only thing the men didn't stop her from doing.

Tired of the same tricks, the men pulled out all the needles, then simultaneously with both sides, pulled the clamped steel rods from
the ends of Saki's breasts—not from the sides, but by squeezing her riddled breasts,
drawing them into the narrow gaps, from bottom to top, from the base of the breast to the nipple.

The men used their arm strength to test the elasticity of her breasts, the cold steel rods like two rollers mechanically crushing
Saki's lactating organs, lingering briefly at her nipples. They gripped the rods tightly,
clamping them together, pinching Saki's nipples, then pressing down again.

Her breasts, squeezed flat, instantly turned red, then spurted out a thin stream of blood. Blood seeped from the damaged
tissue and skin, and several men eagerly knelt beside her, licking and sucking.

Saki's long black hair flew wildly with her struggles, and Tanaka threw himself in front of the television, desperately trying to see
her face—but the men present were indifferent.

The woman's chest heaved—"Raven" was alive, and that was enough for them.

Afterwards, this trick was repeatedly used by men who hadn't tried it before.

The next stage—if this behavior could truly be described as having "stages"—was a
feast for Saki's genitals.

The main ingredients were Saki's labia and clitoris.

The cooking utensils were steel needles, red-hot steel needles, and iron tongs.

Just as if preparing the most precious ingredients, the men in the scene were
busy around Saki's lower body, some holding her down, others reaching out to take tools handed to them by others.

A large number of limbs blocked the camera, and Tanaka couldn't help but shake the TV. Perhaps heaven was mocking his futile
efforts , for the men in the scene would occasionally move away from Saki's body,
exposing her bloodied and mangled genitals for a brief moment—a bloody mess, with steel needles and iron hooks standing there haphazardly.

Tanaka struggled to glimpse the details of the revelry—but from Saki's
frantic struggles with her upper body and head exposed to the crowd, he could easily discern the immense pain this method inflicted on a woman.

After Saki was reattached to another rack and dispersed, Tanaka finally saw their
masterpiece—several iron hooks hung from Saki's labia and clitoris, where men hung their
keys and jewelry; one even had a short dagger tucked between her legs.

People instinctively stepped back, and a man holding a cherry blossom-shaped branding iron appeared in the frame from the left
.

Encouraged by those around him, he pointed the small iron at Saki's lower abdomen.

Her eyes rolled back, Saki's legs convulsed violently, and some liquid dripped from her genitals onto
the ground between her legs—she had lost control of her bladder.

The men paid no heed. They poured salt water on Saki's genitals, quickly cleaning away the filth, while simultaneously making her
dance—they deliberately left her legs unbound, enjoying the
grotesque sight of her long, straight legs flailing and twisting as she struggled.

The man in charge of the torture exited the frame from the right, holding a cooled branding iron, while another man appeared from the left, holding a red-hot
one .

After shouting a few words to Saki, this time, he pressed the branding iron onto her thigh.

One of Saki's legs was raised high, knee pressed against her chest, while the leg being tortured was taut and
stretched outward—creating an extremely contorted posture for Saki's body.

Her lower abdomen repeatedly swelled and contracted, and her breasts heaved dramatically with her heavy breathing.

The men laughed and waved, the cooled branding iron receding, only to be replaced by a red-hot one.

Laughter—torture—struggle, this cruel cycle repeated itself nearly ten times before abruptly ending.

It wasn't that the brutality had reached its end; it was just that the branding iron couldn't keep up with the pace of torture— the
charcoal in the furnace seemed to have burned out.

Realizing this, Tanaka noticed two deep, bone-revealing bite marks on his left index finger.

He felt no pain whatsoever.

In the final video, at the very end, Saki had barely struggled.

Even when one of the men pressed a red-hot steel needle against the inside of her thigh, her body showed no
reaction.

Even so, the men didn't stop their brutal revelry. The young officers, still energetic, untied Saki
, formed a circle around her, and gang-raped the unconscious woman until the end of the video—just
before dawn, shortly before Tanaka saw them off.

Tanaka Kenzo leaned back in his comfortable office chair, feeling a
genuine "hunger" for the first time.

It wasn't just the physical emptiness from missing lunch; Tanaka Kenzo stared at the ceiling, gazing into
the gaping hole in his heart.

If he went to Osaka immediately, perhaps—Tanaka Kenzo immediately understood that it would be
futile .

Saki—Tanaka Kenzo repeatedly murmured the name of the woman on the screen.

There was still a chance; at the "Boat Banquet" a month later—those old devils would definitely take Saki there.

Hahaha—Saki, Saki.

Woman, woman.

Tanaka Kenzo finally turned off the television, ordered his lunch, and ate his belated meal.

He ate twice his usual amount.

Afterward, for the first time, he assaulted a woman in his household other than his wife—he brutally raped the
young maid who brought him his lunch.

(Los Angeles, USA)

The rubble from the explosion was still burning. Numerous police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances surrounded
a house that had been completely destroyed.

This community, far from the city center, had about thirty households. This family was the Whites—Mr. and Mrs. White and
their son.

They were the only family to have been hit by the bomb.

Local police cordoned off the area, separating the crowds who had come to investigate from the scene.

Inside the cordon, besides firefighters, doctors, and police, was only Mr. White's wife—
Ms .

A doctor was treating the cuts from flying debris on her wounds, which she had sustained while standing not far outside during the explosion
.

"Madam, may I ask you a few questions?" a detective asked the heartbroken Hayley, showing
genuine sympathy for the beautiful woman.

Hayley didn't answer; she simply buried her face in her hands and wept.

The detective could only helplessly put his notebook away.

Although the explosion was powerful, destroying the house almost instantly, the fire was relatively small—firefighters
brought it under control in less than half an hour.

The blast was also incredibly precise—it only destroyed the White family's house, barely affecting the surrounding area, at
most shattering the windows of a few neighboring houses.

A highly professional operation, with no additional casualties.

This was a bomb attack specifically targeting the White family—Hayley, a former soldier, concluded
.

Therefore, she didn't choose to confront the police for the time being.

Fortunately, after a brief search, the firefighters did not find Mr. White or
their children's bodies in the rubble.

"Thank God," Hayley said, making the sign of the cross.

After completing a brief statement, Hailey declined her neighbor's invitation and sat alone in front of the ruins, lost in thought
for a long time.

She clutched a slip of paper tightly in her hand.

It was the weekend, and Hayley, returning home from shopping, found a letter in her mailbox by the street.

The instant she opened the envelope, less than ten meters away, an explosion occurred.

Hayley was thrown to the ground by the blast wave, rolling more than twenty meters to the side before coming to a stop, but she
never let go of the letter in her hand.

Just before the police and fire department arrived, Hayley had already read the contents of the slip of paper inside the envelope.

A few strings of numbers.

With just a cursory glance, Hayley understood its meaning.

The first half of the numbers was a coordinate—the latitude and longitude of which Hayley would never forget.

A location on the Thai border—where there used to be a small village.

It was a painful memory, a regret that led to her retirement from the military and a lifelong source of guilt.

The middle part of the numbers contained three sets of military codes, meaning "location of operation," "solo operation," and "hostages
released."

The meaning was clear—someone wanted Hayley to go to that location alone. That way, her
husband and children would be released.

Hailey felt a sense of relief; at least her husband and children were safe.

The last part of the code led to another location—not far away. Following the code, Hailey
pried open a locker at a nearby train station's storage area.

Inside was a ship ticket.

On the back of the ticket was the boarding date—and next to the date was a handwritten note:

"A week in advance."

At this point, Hailey had no other choice.

Using her connections from her former military days, Hailey obtained a gun, ammunition, and a CIA
ID within two days—this would allow her to bring the weapon to Thailand.

Before departing, Hailey inquired about the ship ticket with several friends she had made abroad before her discharge and received
unexpectedly reliable information:

"A ship banquet."

It was a luxurious journey for only invited guests—and the expensive ticket
was the invitation.

At that time, countless notorious warlords, gang leaders, drug lords, and the like will gather here
to enjoy their annual lavish feast on the high seas, where there are no laws to restrain them.

To avoid attracting attention, the boarding point for the "Boat Feast" changes every year. And that coordinate clearly points
to the starting point of this year's "Boat Feast" journey.

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【Scarlet Cruise】(Volume 1) Author: gesid368570

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