[The Ram Chronicles] (Volume 4) (09) Author: gesid368570

Author: gesid368570
Word Count: 16563

(Volume 4, Chapter 9) Chapter 57

(5 PM, October 6, 1900, Inner City, Robles's mansion)

It was hot.

"Huff, huff." Panting heavily, Robles struggled to drag
a it to the ground.

After untying several straps around the trunk, Robles took a few deep breaths, smiled, and slowly lifted the lid,
admiring the magnificent sight inside with joy and happiness.

If others saw this, they would surely think that the trunk contained some priceless treasure—but in reality,
for Robles, what was inside was indeed his priceless treasure.

Inside the trunk, a tall, robust woman was awkwardly crammed into the cramped
space. A piece of hardwood, secured with leather straps, was held in her mouth, and her arms, also bound with leather straps, were wrapped around
her body. Her ample breasts, encircled by her arms, were pushed upwards, so prominent that one wondered
if the lid of the box could actually close. Although

the woman was enormous, her well-developed lower limbs accounted for more than half of her body length, so she did not appear too bulky, but rather quite proportionate and even somewhat slender. Her legs were spread apart and raised above her head. Her ankles were crossed and bound together, pinned behind her head. It was an extremely contorted posture; if one possessed only a robust physique but lacked sufficient flexibility, being fixed in such a position would be tantamount to torture. But on this tall body, forcibly folded in half, her firm , flowing muscles showed neither trembling nor tension, as if she had long been accustomed to it. Two ropes extending from the box wall were tied around her knees, pulling her legs apart and exposing her genitals completely to the man before her—a chilling sight. Her buttocks and groin were covered with intricate whip marks, both inside and out, even her genitals. At first glance, it looked more like the result of torture than whipping for pleasure. Most of the whip marks were deep in the muscle, difficult to heal. Even if they did heal, without special care, they would leave noticeable scars. But strangely, among these mixed old and new whip marks, the earlier wounds had healed remarkably well—they must have been specially treated. Let's set aside the whip marks for now; the damage this woman's genitals had suffered was truly impressive , or rather, horrifying. On her exposed mons pubis, three metal rings (appearing to be pure gold) pierced her full, thick labia— a shape far from that of a normal woman. Six thin threads tugged at them, cruelly pulling them apart—the other ends of the threads were tiny metal hooks that pierced directly into her flesh, securing them to the skin near her groin— forcibly tearing open her vagina, widening it into a bizarre opening. The situation was similar on her breasts; two larger metal rings pierced her two firm, erect, columnar nipples, interlocking and forcibly holding her full, magnificent breasts together. Inside the box, on the side wall near her lower body, were three short, black rods of indeterminate material, aimed directly at the unsuspecting woman's genitals. Their exposed portions still glistened with liquid —they had clearly just been penetrating her body. Upon closer inspection of the three short sticks, their surfaces were covered with irregular bumps. The middle one was extremely thick, another was slightly thicker, and the third was slightly thinner—the thinnest one was about the thickness of a boy's finger. Comparing their position to the woman's genitals, these three short sticks should correspond to her urethra, vagina, and anus—no wonder her vaginal opening had been forcibly dilated like that; otherwise, the thickest stick could never have penetrated her vagina so smoothly. Robles gleefully kneaded the woman's firm, taut thighs and abdomen, repeatedly pressing and stroking them, occasionally pounding her lower abdomen to test the feel of the sticks inside her. Each time Robles' fist struck one of the sticks, the woman would let out a low breath—she was clearly in great pain, yet she endured this inhuman torture, swallowing her cries and screams—Robles couldn't help but smile with satisfaction. After removing the three short sticks from the side of the box, Robles reached his arm through the gap between her body and thighs, lifted her up by the waist, and laboriously tossed her onto the bed—because the leather shackles and metal chains held the woman 's body tightly in place, she could only maintain the exact same posture as before, hugging her arms, raising her legs, and landing heavily on the bed with her chest and mons pubis protruding, sinking into the soft mattress. After checking the condition of her genitals, Robles carefully removed , then sprinkled a layer of white powder around that area to stop the bleeding. Perhaps because the medicine was very irritating, the woman groaned "ooh" as he applied the medicine, her body suddenly tensing up, her tensed waist even lifting an inch off the bed—Robes, having anticipated this, punched her in the abdomen, knocking her body back down. Ignoring her wishes, Robles began licking the woman's body. From her abdomen to her shoulders, to her neck; or her tongue tracing the lines of her legs, over her thighs, knees, and calves, before moving to her cheek, which she turned away in disgust . Robles tried to probe her mouth with his tongue, but failed due to the resistance of her teeth and tongue, and her violent head movements—though his tongue didn't bleed, it was painfully scraped by her teeth—this was the only opening on this woman's body that Robles had never been able to conquer. No matter how submissive the woman appeared, even now, with aphrodisiacs and stimulants injected into her breasts, armpits, and genitals, she never accepted Robles' kiss. Time and again , she never gave up using her incredibly resilient body and mind to resist and maintain the dignity of an aristocrat and a woman—even though those dignitys were almost gone. Robles turned to her nipples and clitoris. Sucking, biting, Robles retaliated by ravaging the woman's most sensitive areas, venting his dissatisfaction and desire, until the woman cried out in pain, unable to bear it any longer. Before the woman's body, still reeling from the combined effects of the drugs and her own physiology, could cool down, Robles impatiently disrobed.

He unzipped his pants, pulled out his thick, short penis, already saturated with desire and blood, and climbed onto the woman's body
. He lifted her breasts by the two metal rings fastened together. Watching her
glare at him, a mixture of pain and pleasure, yet she still gritted her teeth and endured it, Robles satisfiedly inserted his penis between
her breasts and began to move back and forth.

Feeling the soft, fullness of her breasts with his lower body, Robles pressed his obese frame against her flesh
, thrusting with all his might, panting as he pounded and squeezed the full,
yet remarkably elastic mounds of flesh between his lower body and his hands. While enjoying this, Robles' gaze never left
Helna 's eyes. He tried to confirm something—in her eyes, as always, there was no
glimmer of submission or pleading, only angry stares and unyielding will.

Feeling a strange sense of relief, Robles began to pinch her breasts. After leaving a dense network of
bruises, Robles was still not satisfied. He then used both hands, swinging his thick palms, to slap the pair of large yet incredibly
firm breasts.

Enjoying the undulating tremors that traveled back and forth between the two breasts, Robles's lower body, sandwiched between them, also
felt waves of throbbing pleasure.

Just before the last moment, Robles finally withdrew his penis, aiming it at the woman's lower body, and
thrusting into her . He straightened his back with all his might, lifting Helna's lower body to align with her uterus.

"Hohohoho, catch it!" Somewhat exhausted, Robles collapsed onto Helna's body. "
Wait to get pregnant, and then, hohohoho, give birth to my child, you filthy bitch."

Helna did not answer.

Having regained some strength, Robles pushed Helna's body away, using her rounded frame to smoothly
roll over and lie down beside her. "Huff, huff, two years, two years! Useless woman, your belly, huff,
it's so uncooperative. But sooner or later, you'll be moaning at me! Begging for mercy! Sticking your ass out at me,
begging for my favor!"

Fighting off sleepiness, Robles struggled to get up and changed Helna's position. Using the pulleys on
the ceiling and his own weight, Robles hung Helna upside down on a T
-shaped rack next to the bed—her legs stretched out to the sides, pulled into a straight line, her wrists bound together and pulled towards
the ground by chains, her genitals facing the ceiling.

"Just wait, just wait—" After hanging a clean white cloth between Helna's legs, the
exhausted Robles collapsed onto the bed.

Reaching Helna, Robles lay on his side, eyes closed, his hand
caressing large, ringed breasts as he tried to drift off to sleep. Suddenly, the pure gold
rings became scalding hot, jolting him awake from his half-awake slumber.

Helna was surrounded by raging flames, and his own hand, charred black like a piece of withered
firewood, hung from the end of his arm, his fingertips still resting on her breast.

The flames continued to spread, climbing up his arm—perhaps leaving the voluptuous woman engulfed in flames
was the only way to survive. Otherwise, the intense heat emanating from her would eventually consume him completely.

But Robles showed no hesitation or doubt.

"Never!" he cried, struggling to his feet and throwing himself into the fire, embracing the woman who was searing his chest
tightly.

"Finally awake. You slept for almost a whole day."

Robles sat bolt upright in bed, covered in sweat, blinking his blurry eyes—he saw Karak standing
beside him a wine glass in hand.

"..." Robles' gaze darted around the room for a moment, then he clutched his head with trembling hands.

"Nothing serious?" Karak took a sip of the golden liquid in his glass,
sat down , and smiled. "Don't worry, she's alright."

"She—" Robles jerked his head toward Karak.

"Both 'she's alright." Karak smiled, downing his drink in one gulp. "As for the secret passages, your
tunnels are far too wide, with too many branching paths."

A day ago, Karak discovered some strange traces near the merchant guild's outpost in the outer city—a group of
people were monitoring the area.

Of course, if that were all, Karak wouldn't be this nervous.

Escape—for the battle-hardened Karak, such an option was never his first choice.

Karak believed that while he didn't have the strength to take on a hundred men single-handedly, dealing with a few petty thieves was no problem.

But these men—though he couldn't confirm their identities, based on his observations, Karak felt
they were no ordinary thieves.

These were definitely not ordinary people, and they harbored ill intentions.

As for the reason they were targeting him, the most likely explanation was the black woman imprisoned in the dungeon.

After a day and a night of torture and interrogation, Karak made some "
progress .

However, this "progress" did nothing to solve or clarify the situation at that time.
Mary, under the influence of drugs, couldn't provide Karak with any relevant information.

Escaping through the main gate? Extremely dangerous.

To escape with Mary, they would have to travel by carriage. And these men—at least ten of them—could
easily intercept a carriage that was so conspicuous.

Sending someone for help? Also not advisable.

These men were blocking the nearby main roads; hastily sending someone to inform them would be like alerting the enemy—before
reinforcements , they could wipe out this small merchant guild outpost in a short time.

Holding out? Even more difficult.

Counting the people in this merchant guild's outpost, the numbers were considerable. Ordinary staff, plus the
men Robles had specifically hired to "deal with" the black woman, about twenty young men, plus two maids.

Their fighting strength was probably less than Karak's alone; trying to deal with so many well-trained professionals
was a joke—even releasing Helna to join the fight wouldn't guarantee safety.

Karak was deeply troubled. In this hopeless situation, like defending a lone city, the enemy's preparations
were becoming increasingly thorough, while his own side, constantly on edge, would gradually lose its fighting strength.

Therefore, Karak had to devise a plan to escape.

At the main entrance, he conspicuously sent everyone out, using empty carriages to attract the enemy's attention. Meanwhile,
He only told the truth to a limited number of people—a waiter named Charles and Herna.

Ironically, Herna was the person Karak trusted most at the time, compared to the other incompetent fools
.

After sending most of the people in the building away, Karak took Charles and hid in the basement, blocking
the door.

Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, a rather shocking commotion came from the first floor of the building.
Someone had broken in and was killing people.

So, Karak had Herna carry the unconscious Mary and
escape through a secret passage led by Charles—to Karak's somewhat ironic turn, the entrance to the passage was right in
the cell where Herna was being held.

Herna hesitated for a moment, but upon hearing the commotion outside, she immediately obeyed Karak's instructions
, carrying the black woman and entering the secret passage—the small medicine bottle, in fact, became Karak's shackle to
ensure Herna wouldn't escape.

And so, led by Charles, they walked a considerable distance by torchlight, arriving at
Robles' private residence in the inner city—Herna was nearly exhausted.

Carrack was a frequent visitor to the Robles' house, and the servants recognized him and Herna, covered in soot. They
immediately provided Carrack with rooms, hot water, clothes, and even a cell in the basement—Robles
never spared any effort in his personal hobbies—to house Herna and Mary.

The first thing Carrack did upon arriving at the Robles' mansion was to send men to investigate, and they quickly learned
that Robles had been wounded and unconscious after rushing into the fire.

"They really went all out, man," Carrack said, helping Robles sit up and pouring him a drink.

"Who?" Robles couldn't help but ask.

"Anyway, have a drink first," Carrack raised his glass. "Sorry, quite a few of your men are dead."

"She, they're all alright?" Robles seemed unconcerned about the servants' fate.

"I congratulate you on your safe return, on my narrow escape, and on the success of our mutual friend, Mayor Ellson."
Robles gave him a meaningful look.

Before Karak could say anything more, Robles downed his drink in one gulp and then coughed violently.

"...Robes, I almost died there today—clearly, some things are no longer under
your or Ellson's control," Karak said earnestly. "I consider you both friends, so please
don't hide anything from me anymore. I want to know everything."

Robles hesitated for a long time, and while he remained silent, Karak silently
poured himself another drink.

"Alright," Robles finally looked up.

"Then let's talk about the city hall meeting first?" More than Mary, Karak was concerned about Elson's whereabouts.
"Wasn't Elson in Walkerport?"

"Yes, that was—a private visit."

"When did Elson find a proxy—I remember, city hall meetings can't be held in his
absence ."

"How did you know—oh, it must have been those gossipy servants."

"The gossipy servants were all burned to death—go on."

"Actually, there was no way I could hide this from you, was there? The city hall meeting was just for show, after all,
ordinary citizens were allowed to attend—allowing ordinary people to see Elson regularly was his own
idea quite clever."

"So?" Karak put his lips to the rim of his glass, feeling the warm touch of the wine, "Ah, you mean
, he recently promoted a proxy?"

"It's not exactly recent—" Robles seemed to have something difficult to say.

“That’s true. Ram City is currently too reliant on Ellson. Ellson isn’t young anymore,
so it’s reasonable to groom a successor.” Karak stroked his clean-shaven chin and nodded thoughtfully. “Let
this person meet the citizens first, then entrust him with some important tasks, and gradually promote him—”

“No, it’s not like that.” Robles’ face flushed slightly. “You guessed right, Ellson does
have plans to find a successor. No, no, that’s another matter.”

“What do you mean?” Karak thought his deduction was reasonable, but Robles completely
denied it. “Could it be that Ellson has already returned? Or does he know some kind of clone technique?”

“He’s trapped in Walker Harbor and can’t come back now—even if it’s a clone technique, I found him a substitute.”

“Wait! That’s too fast!” Karak quickly put down his glass and pounced on Robles. “What do you mean by being trapped in Walker Harbor
? And what do you mean by a substitute? Are you kidding me?”

"Calm down, Karak. I knew you'd be anxious—let me explain."

Karak stared into Robles' eyes for a moment, then slowly retreated to his chair, closed his eyes,
lowered his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose hard.

"Tell me one thing at a time. What do you mean by being trapped in Walkerport?" "

Something happened in Walkerport. The people you asked me to send—I actually had a few people run naked through customs
—were either deported or detained. The ones who came back said that Elson was seriously injured." "

...Elson seriously injured? Do you know how serious this diplomatic incident is?" Karak sneered.
"Even His Majesty the Emperor personally intervened in such matters—oh, I see, a non-public visit."

"That's right. Officially, Elson is still within the territory of Ram City."

"The serious injury is just a cover, isn't it? Did Elson touch something he shouldn't have?
Was ?" Karak's first thought was the remnants of the old noble faction.

After the Great Revolution, some remnants of the old aristocratic factions survived, hiding in remote border towns far from the capital,
secretly lying low—thanks to their past influence, these people still possessed considerable power and wealth in Charon.

"I don't know about that," Robles frowned. "Erson never
talks to me about diplomatic matters."

"That's good for both of you."

"But if he were willing to reveal all the diplomatic developments to me, I could make more money from the price difference—"
Seeing the look in Karak's eyes, Robles couldn't help but shudder, "—I know, I'm just saying."

"Good that you know," Karak shook his head. "Let's talk about the Stand, shall we? If I understand
correctly, this Stand—good heavens, does he have to speak under the noses of the entire city hall?"

"Yes."

"...Well, buddy, I've seen operas like this—comedies, no less." Karak
rubbed his forehead. "You're not going to tell me that Elson has a twin brother or something, are you?"

"No."

"..." Karak suddenly had an urge to grab Robles and get to the bottom of things.

But he quickly realized that Robles wasn't joking. On the contrary, he seemed somewhat—fearful.

"I...I don't know how to explain it to you to believe me." Robles looked troubled.

"You're a friend, of course I'll believe you."

"...There's someone who can dress up as Elson, imitate his voice, even
his eating and walking movements, exactly the same." Robles said, word by word.

"Hmm, I get it. There's someone who looks and builds very much like Elson, and speaks similarly.
Plus —his acting skills, he can fool everyone in the city hall by impersonating Elson."
Although it sounded a bit unbelievable, Karak accepted it with a hint of skepticism. "See, there
's nothing hard to explain. As long as you tell the truth—"

"Uh, actually, he—" Robles was already sweating profusely at this point, "Excuse me, can I
confirm something?"

"Sure? Confirm what?" Karak was used to Robles's stammering.

"I'm so sorry." Robles suddenly grabbed Karak's cheek and yanked it hard.

"What are you doing!" Karak slapped Robles' hand away.

"I'm sorry!" "

Hahaha, you'd better explain yourself. If you want to confirm you're not dreaming, you should pinch your own
cheek!" Karak couldn't help but laugh—was Robles still asleep?

"I'm very sorry! I really have no other way. Only this way can I confirm you're not that person
in disguise ."

"Which person?" Karak's laughter stopped abruptly.

"The one pretending to be Elson."

Karak fiddled with the stem of his wine glass, remaining silent for nearly half a minute.

"...Hahaha, my buddy, my friend, you must be—joking." Karak
swirled his glass in front of Robles, a half-smile playing on
his "You mean, there's this guy who can impersonate anyone—ah, let me think, face,
build, voice, age, mannerisms—you know what you're talking about?"

"That's exactly what I mean! That's exactly what I mean! I swear I'm not lying to you." Robles glanced nervously
to his left and right , as if afraid this man had overheard him.

Karak stared at Robles, stunned for a moment—Robles looked terrified.

"Calm down." Karak patted Robles' shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. "At least he
can't impersonate you, man, look at your belly."

"Don't say that, he can. I once asked him to impersonate me to buy goods at the Fent border—
I really couldn't get away that time, and the Fents don't believe in seals."

"...Okay, maybe it's from fillers—unbelievable." Karak found himself sweating
profusely .

"Right? Terrifying—thankfully he's a friend."

"A friend? You're right. If someone like that were an enemy—" Karak shuddered. "I should get to know him
sometime Could you introduce us?"

"No! I'm already making an exception by telling you this! Only Elson and I
knew ! And that person forbade us to tell anyone else!"

"Where does he live? What's his name? What's his true identity—" "

I don't know." Robles shook his head and waved his hand. "I know nothing, I'm not lying!"

"God of War! You actually trust someone like that?"

"Trust him! Before Elson became mayor—" Robles suddenly covered his mouth.

Karak frowned and took a large gulp of his drink.

"...Alright, I won't force you. Let's leave the parts that are inconvenient to discuss here. I
can ignore this person's matter; the most urgent thing now is to send someone to meet Elson—why don't we use this guy? Infiltrating
Walker Harbor should be a piece of cake for him."

"No, he refuses to leave Ram City—he didn't leave the country during that shipping trip either."

"Then what should we do? We can't just let me—damn it." As a garrison officer, Karak couldn't
leave his post at will.

"Don't worry too much." Suddenly noticing something, Robles looked at the wine in his glass and
licked it with his tongue.

"But what about Elson?"

"He's fine. He gave instructions before he left—given how things have developed, there's a chance he might not come back, be
detained , have all contact cut off, etc. He's prepared for all that." Robles sipped the golden
liquor slowly. "Do you know how many times he's been assassinated? He's not that easy to kill."

"Well, let me remind you, that beautiful secretary isn't with him right now."

"That's alright. Mirania only became his secretary a few years ago—this liquor is really
good ."

Seeing that Robles didn't seem to be feigning ease, and considering that this matter involved Charon's internal affairs, Karak had to stop
for the time being .

"Hey, tell me about your past. What kind of person was Elson's previous bodyguard?"

Karak thought, "Let's change to a lighter topic first."

"Before? He never had a bodyguard before." Robles blinked.

(7 PM, October 6, 1900, Walkerport, Vaneburg)

"Please try our port's specialties, Mayor, please."

"Oh, thank you so much. While Ram City also has seafood, it's not as fresh as here."

"By the way—Mayor, are you sure you want to dine here?" Dieter looked around the dimly lit dungeon, lit by
candles .

"Haha, safety first, safety first." Elson tied his napkin, "I
'd like to live another twenty years, you know."

"You flatter me, sir. I assure you the defenses here are impregnable!"

"Hmm, I trust you young people." Elson picked up a piece of clam meat, took a small bite,
carefully tasted it, and then put a large piece into his mouth.

"Please rest assured, sir, all these dishes have been tested for poison."

"Excuse me, I was just trying it out. I'm afraid I won't be used to the food here, don't be nervous." Elson
waved his hand with a smile.

"Then, please allow

me to take my leave. Is there anything you wish to tell Lord Vandorgan?" "Please convey my thanks to him, and also tell him that I envy him—he has found a good
successor ." Elson smiled and nodded to Dieter.

"What do you think?" In the lord's bedroom of Vandorgan Castle, Vandorgan Walker sat at his desk and asked Dieter
behind him .

For a lord, the bedroom was decorated rather simply. At first glance, the gray
stone walls occupied most of the room.

In the old stone fireplace, the flames leaped vigorously, driving away the cool air seeping in from the half-open window.

His ever-used cane leaned against the side. Vandorgan took a slightly worn, thick book from the drawer of his desk and,
following the bookmark, opened it to the middle.

"Please—excuse my bluntness, but this mayor doesn't seem to be—" Dieter paused, wanting to observe
Van Dorgon's attitude.

"Not really?" Van Dorgon, with his back to Dieter, turned a page in his book.

"—Not like the legends say." After much consideration, Dieter used a more conservative approach.

"Hmm—" Van Dorgon turned the candlelight a little brighter, squinted, and leaned closer to the pages,
staring intently at a certain spot.

After a while, Van Dorgon sighed, shook his head, and took a box from the drawer.

"...Sir."

"Dieter—" Van Dorgon took a pair of crystal-lensed glasses from the box and reluctantly placed them on
his nose. "—Did Elson say anything?"

"Yes, he asked me to thank you."

"Anything else?" Looking at the book again, this time Van Dorgon put the book further away.

"He also said—he admires you, sir." Dieter seemed a little embarrassed.

“…Just polite words.” Van Dorgon ran his fingers across the pages, trying to decipher the
small print . “But he’s right, we should start thinking about what happens after we’re gone.”

“My lord—do you know what he said?” Dieter’s face flushed instantly.

“Dieter, lately, my eyesight has been failing.” Van Dorgon’s fingertips tapped on the pages. “But thanks to
His Majesty, this old man can still see many things clearly.”

“My lord, you flatter me.”

“If you were in Elson’s position, what could you do?”

“This—”

“Dieter, I’ve always considered you my own child.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Van Dorgon’s wife had died young without leaving any children, and Van Dorgon had never remarried.

“Do you know what you lack compared to Elson?”

“…I’m sorry, please enlighten me, my lord.” Dieter frowned and bowed.

Van Dorgon didn’t answer immediately; focused on the book, he was pondering something between the lines.

"Go down." After a moment, Van Dorgon said to Dieter.

"Yes—please rest early, sir."

Disappointed at receiving no reply, Dieter turned and left, closing the door behind him.

"...Sigh." Reluctantly turning another page of the novel in his hands, Van Dorgon sighed,
"Our fate, like this novel, will eventually come to an end—let's stop here for today."

However, even the usually self-controlled Van Dorgon couldn't resist the allure of the plot—
after reading two more pages, he reluctantly put away the well-preserved, heavy book, ending one of his few hobbies.

Lying quietly in the drawer, the novel's cover bore the title, author's name,
and year printed in gold lettering—unfortunately, the author's name was almost completely worn away.

*The Story of Ram*—m*****, 1831.

(8 PM, October 6, 1900, Inner City, "Spring Palace")

"Spring Palace," which had risen to the ranks of the most prestigious high-society clubs in just a few months since its opening,
was unusually closed during its peak business hours.

In the lobby, a woman with understated makeup was apologizing to each of the evening's guests. Her sincere
words weary appearance didn't elicit blame; instead, they touched the hearts of the guests
, who offered words of comfort.

Finally, the distinguished guests left one by one, filled with regret, boarding their private carriages and embarking on their
journeys home—many leaving behind a carefully prepared gift for one of the club's ladies, a gift they had intended to give
that evening .

Meanwhile, deep within the club, in a lavishly decorated inner room,

the owner of "Spring Palace" sat drinking.

Beside her, piles of empty bottles lay scattered haphazardly on the floor.

"Huff—" A bottle of Neil liquor was downed in one gulp, and Xiao Ke tossed the empty bottle aside.

In front of Xiao Ke, a dozen or so women stood trembling, watching silently as their master,
clearly displeased, downed bottle after bottle of expensive liquor.

Fearing Xiao Ke's wrath, they all lowered their heads, instinctively avoiding her gaze—even though
Xiao Ke hadn't even glanced at them.

Her slender fingers reached for the coffee table in front of her, groping aimlessly.

"All gone?" Xiao Ke exhaled softly. "Bring me more."

The women exchanged glances, none daring to move an inch.

"Are you all deaf?" Xiao Ke propped herself up on her elbows, her swaying upper body supported by her elbows, tilting her head, her face a
picture of utter despair and intoxication.

"Master! You—" A strikingly beautiful woman at the front of the line suddenly knelt down. "—You've
drunk too much."

"Hmm—at least one more." Xiao Ke switched hands, turned around, and looked at
the woman who was genuinely trying to persuade her. "You should have said that earlier—actually, I'm not drunk."

"Yes, yes." The woman hurriedly agreed.

Xiao Ke noticed a half-empty bottle of wine. She held it up to her eyes and shook it, seeing that some wine was still
left .

"You're not drunk—but even if you aren't, you can't drink anymore!" Feeling that her tone was a bit too harsh,
the woman quickly added, "I, everyone is very worried about Master's health."

The crowd's expressions softened slightly, and they all looked up at Xiao Ke, their eyes full of feigned concern.

Xiao Ke tilted her head back and finished the remaining wine in the bottle. She shook the empty bottle a few times, waiting for the last few drops to slide into
her mouth.

Scanning the faces of the crowd, Xiao Ke gave a cold laugh.

"Well, that's settled then."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Tell me, what's going on today?" Xiao Ke slumped heavily onto the coffee table.

The crowd, who had just calmed down a little, couldn't help but feel their hearts leap into their throats again.

"Hey, do you guys like Barnes?" Xiao Ke suddenly asked.

Everyone was startled.

"Do you like him? And you too." Xiao Ke didn't look up, but simply held up her fingers,
gesturing .

For those standing in front of Xiao Ke, this was a difficult question to answer.

A promising young talent who was poised to become the police chief, a handsome and gentle man, from a wealthy family,
whose father was the current deputy chief of the police department—of course they liked such a good man.

This was the honest thought of most of those present.

Several others thought Barnes was just an unromantic young man, too "boring"
and old-fashioned; flirting or casual flirting might be okay, but as a boyfriend, forget it.

But liking or disliking someone isn't something you can simply say to Miss Claire.

Everyone saw Miranda's fate, so "like" was definitely the wrong answer.

But if she answered "dislike," Xiao Ke might—

"To Miss Claire, I don't like him," a woman eager to extricate herself from this
game replied.

"Oh? He's such a good man, how could you not like him?" Xiao Ke looked up,
squinting , staring at her suspiciously. "What's wrong with him?"

Everyone couldn't help but worry for this simple-minded woman—after being in the world of pleasure for so long,
couldn't she see through her master's thoughts?

"Uh, he's not mine—I, I mean, this type isn't really, no, no, I just don't
like this type—" The woman realized her mistake and panicked as she tried to explain.

"Is that so?" Xiao Ke tilted her head, thought for a moment, "Then you'll—"

Everyone held their breath, waiting for Xiao Ke's impending "judgment."

"—Go work at the 'Summer Palace'."

"Thank you, Master!"

Everyone finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Um, I think he's very good, I like men like that." At this moment,
the woman named Tang Cuisi, who had just knelt in front of Xiao Ke, spoke up.

Everyone's first reaction was—has she gone mad?

"Why? What's so good about him?" Xiao Ke opened her eyes, beckoned Tang Cuisi to come closer
.

"He's a good man, someone Master has chosen, I trust Master's judgment." Tang Cuisi got up and walked to
Xiao Ke, kneeling down on one knee again, her clear voice smooth and without any confusion.

"...You saw him today?" Xiao Ke's fingertips brushed against Tang Cuisi's face. "What were you
thinking then?"

Everyone saw it; Tang Cuisi was clinging to Barnes's leg, crying, which led Barnes to
rush upstairs and witness Xiao Ke and Simon's "good deed."

This was extremely disadvantageous for Tang Cuisi, who had just killed her friend on Xiao Ke's orders. It was hard to say that Tang Cuisi
hadn't lured Barnes to Xiao Ke and Simon's room out of revenge.

"Master," Tang Cuisi turned her head to one side, clasped her hands together, and hugged them to her chest, "I just didn't
want to see you, Master, kneel down to 'Mr. Simon' for the sake of the shop, for everyone."

Her words were earnest, and tears streamed down Tang Cuisi's face. Everyone looked at Xiao Ke, stunned.

It was common knowledge among those present that Xiao Ke was the owner of "Spring Palace" and "Summer Palace."

The next group—above Xiao Ke, is Miss Lin Hua, a high-ranking member of the largest gang in the slums;
then Simon, and Haiya—these are matters unknown to ordinary people.

Not all the women present are gang members.

Tang Cuisi's words have different, yet similar, implications for both groups.

For the gang members, Xiao Ke's confidants already know their master's plan—to break away from the gang and
establish a new one.

Therefore, Xiao Ke's original master will inevitably try to obstruct it—everyone has witnessed Simon's aggressive behavior today
.

There were rumors of a close relationship between Xiao Ke and Simon before, but that was two years ago. Now
, Simon is Haiya's lackey.

For most of the non-gang members present, the name "Mr. Simon" evokes
unsettling associations.

"Mr. Simon" was a somewhat well-known figure in the local folklore. The girls in the brothel
, always well-informed, had all heard of Simon's name and some stories about him, some true and some false.

"It's a lie, right? That boy is actually—" The girls standing in the back row, far from Xiao Ke, immediately started
whispering amongst themselves.

In their eyes, Xiao Ke, who had "knelt down to that
extent " had suddenly become someone completely different from their previous impressions—a selfless
protector, not a pure perpetrator or oppressor.

Thinking about Tang Cuisi's words, Xiao Ke sensed the subtle change in the atmosphere.

Well done—anyway, this kind of thing would have to be explained to everyone sooner or later.

Xiao Ke secretly praised herself.

But she had also been tricked—now, she couldn't explain to everyone that she and Simon were actually
"mutually in love."

Xiao Ke couldn't help but click her tongue in amazement.

Was Tang Cuisi's action intentional? Or unintentional?

Xiao Ke thought for a moment. Of her subordinates, only six or seven knew about her true relationship with Simon, and
most of them weren't here at the moment—Tang Cuisi probably didn't know.

But Miranda seemed to know a little—oh, I see.

Xiao Ke suddenly realized, and her drunkenness mostly cleared up.

"Why weren't we notified in advance about this impromptu inspection?"

During today's inspection, "Summer Palace" didn't suffer any direct losses; the only "problem" was that
Xiao Ke and Simon's affair was exposed on the spot.

“Sister Ke Lian, I—I have a guess.” A girl from “Spring Palace” stepped forward.

“Speak.”

“Could today’s raid have been the work of that young man, oh no, ‘Mr. Simon’?”

“…Tang Cuisi, what do you think?” Xiao Ke pulled Tang Cuisi’s chin close to her eyes.

“Yes! It must be!” Tang Cuisi hurriedly answered, and she even tilted her head back,
shouting in a voice that everyone present could hear.

It must be.

Or rather, it could only be.

Otherwise, the police raid could only have been orchestrated by Tang Cuisi.

In the nick of time, Tang Cuisi instinctively understood Xiao Ke’s sinister intentions.

—Although Xiao Ke’s judgment wasn’t entirely wrong.

Looking at the eyes of the people in front of her, Xiao Ke was deeply moved.

Xiao Ke knew all too well that the girls under her command were usually filled with comparison and jealousy, forming cliques
to exclude those who were different, or bullying newcomers of lower status. However, they had one thing in common, which was that they always
harbored a fear of themselves.

This wasn't child's play; only in this way could she keep them firmly in her grasp—these
were strategies Xiao Ke had learned from Hannah and Hyya, and had been practicing for the past two years.

Her subordinates united and getting along harmoniously?

That was the most troublesome situation.

But Tang Cuisi's words pointed everyone to another path.

An "organization," no matter how twisted the internal relationships, even if members constantly attacked each other
or feared one another, would become incredibly united as long as they had a common enemy.

Tang Cuisi had set up a target called "Simon," which instantly united
everyone .

This was far more sophisticated—and far more dangerous—than Xiao Ke's usual method of using her own people as an example.

It meant a break.

Not just a break in organizational relationships, but a complete break between Xiao Ke and Simon, and between Xiao Ke and Hyya.

"Simon" would henceforth become a target of hatred—even friendship was impossible.

Xiao Ke hesitated.

This was the first time in her history that she had shown hesitation in front of her subordinates.

Could Simon be the mastermind behind all this?

Frankly, the possibility isn't low.

Before his arrest, Simon coerced Xiao Ke into telling the police that he was
the real owner of "Spring Palace" and "Summer Palace." This way, if Xiao Ke went against Simon's wishes, Simon could
easily expose the truth to Barnes.

Furthermore, with official "cooperation," Simon could
solidify his ownership of "Spring Palace" and "Summer Palace"—simply by using his influence to force Xiao Ke to
hand over the land deeds and property deeds before Xiao Ke could gain a firm foothold.

Although this would
create . As for the other police officers, Simon could easily bribe and win them over, then sideline Barnes.

He could even use Xiao Ke to coerce Barnes.

Wait a minute! "What am I thinking?" Xiao Ke suddenly realized—how could Simon do such a thing?

But then, she laughed at herself—
how could she, who thought she had become so cold and ruthless over the past two years, have such a naive thought? To actually believe that a man wouldn't betray a
woman ?

Besides, did Simon's woman need her? Xiao Ke couldn't help but laugh out loud. "

Fine, fine.

Tang Cuisi, is this your plan? You've really gone too far.

Since you want to play, I'll play along to the end.

" Xiao Ke resisted the urge to strangle Tang Cuisi on the spot, instead shoving her away.

Killing Tang Cuisi now would shatter morale—Xiao Ke wouldn't do something so stupid.

There would be plenty of opportunities later.

Or, she could simply go along with Tang Cuisi's wishes until the very end.

Once she had everything under her feet, she could turn around and thank her, then send her to join her
Miranda .

"Yes, you're right."

Xiao Ke stood up and let out a long sigh.

She kicked aside the empty bottles piled at her feet and walked to the center of the crowd.

"I, Claire, will never be manipulated by 'Simon' again—ladies and gentlemen, we may be facing some
tough times ."

The crowd exchanged glances, except for Claire's few close subordinates who looked at their master with complicated emotions.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if anyone wants to leave, I will give you some money to send you away."

"No! We will stand with Miss Claire!" Tang Cuisi, who had slumped in a corner, shouted.

"We will never leave Miss Claire's side!" Claire's subordinates immediately reacted, raising their arms and shouting along
with .

Most of the women who were not gang members exchanged glances and abandoned their thoughts of leaving, joining
the ranks of those who swore allegiance to Claire—of course, how could they dare to choose to leave at this moment?

Compared to the legendary "Mr. Simon" who was far away, Claire was the immediate threat to their lives.

Regardless of whether what she had just said was true or false.

Claire turned to Tang Cuisi, smiling as she extended her hand to her.

"Get up, my Don Quixote, go prepare the car for me."

Happy holidays, everyone.

After three rounds of submissions, I've decided to write a modern story, set roughly ten
to twenty years after World War II.

There will be four main female characters and two male characters (the men are all bad guys...).

Here are some excerpts to give you a general idea:

1.

With Basari exhausted, two men, grinning wickedly, counted down one, two, three, then
simultaneously thrust their large penises into her—they must have used this vicious method to ravage more than one woman
. Especially the penis of one of the black men, its size was terrifying.
Basari, a couldn't handle such a size and screamed in pain.

In fact, in the previous two sexual encounters, the "boss" had intended to torture Basari severely and
deliberately used extremely rough methods. An ordinary woman would probably have been injured and begged for mercy long ago. Even
Basari, whose body is stronger than the average person, still suffered a few small abrasions in her vagina, but only out of respect for her "boss".
She hadn't resisted because of his love, and had gritted her teeth and persevered.

But now, without any lubrication, and with the sweat pooling in her groin, the men forcibly
penetrated Basari's body. Her coarse pubic hair, soaked with sweat, rubbed violently against her vaginal opening during the thrusting motions
; the salt in it was nothing short of torture. Basari cried out in pain—she
wanted to call out "Boss's" name, but her mouth was blocked by a large black man's mouth.

Suddenly, the black man roared, and blood gushed from both his mouth and Basari's lower body—it was unclear whether it
was because the black man had used too much force, causing Basari to bite his tongue, or because Basari had bitten his
tongue first, causing the black man to lose control of his strength.

With a muffled thud, the black man delivered a powerful punch to Basari's side. Basari screamed in pain, throwing her head
back high. Before her screams could even finish, the black man grabbed her hair, yanked her head back,
forcing her to tilt it upwards—this way, the much taller man could look down at her pained
expression and assault her with the same force as before. Finally, the moment arrived, and

Saki

stopped reminiscing.

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

Saki was certain that the moving shadow behind the door in the flickering light was her target.

As always, Saki focused her attention on the line connecting the crossbow in her left arm to the 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 from the friction against the nock would
melt the bear fat almost imperceptibly 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 window paper or bulletproof vests without leaving a visible hole, and upon impact, they would shatter instantly
—even those near the victim couldn't discern the assassin's location.

It hit; there was no doubt.

But the panic Saki had anticipated didn't occur.

The shadow didn't fall.

It couldn't be a wax figure—Saki clearly saw him move, even making a gesture like 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 this, 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.

"Thermal imaging detection, a pistol that can fire electrodes—something that was once only in science fiction, but now
it's a reality." Fearing it might be too risky, the man activated the current again. "The renowned Mr. '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, excruciating pain. She gritted her teeth and tried to fake
unconsciousness letting out a low, agonizing scream before truly passing out in convulsive spasms.

"A woman?" Only then did the man jump down from the wall without hesitation and walk to Saki's side—he had just
turned the electric current to its maximum.

In the darkness, he touched the assassin's chest 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 veil.

3

"Try this one today, American chick, I guarantee it's more powerful than those clamps from the other day." The man grinned
wickedly as he forcefully shoved the metal rod inside, then twisted it by the bottom.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!" Hailey screamed in agony.

"Powerful, huh?" the men laughed.

At this moment, the small holes in the rod were filled with spikes protruding from them—these spikes were deeply embedded in the side walls of
Hailey 's vagina, causing her excruciating pain while also providing fixation.

"Beautiful lady, this 'spiked club' is specially made for women like you, have another one!"
The man repeated the process, shoving another identical metal rod into Hailey's anus. Hailey's screams lasted for nearly five minutes before stopping—the instant she stopped, a man raised his knee and slammed it into Hailey's crotch. The woman's screams and the men's laughter filled the basement again. "American, you've got

guts
, daring to offend the 'boss '. " "Aa ... Electrocution is indeed a form of torture that can inflict immense pain without causing excessive damage to the body's appearance. "Ugh, your 'boss' is definitely a coward—ahhhhhh!" Before Hailey could finish speaking, the man pulled the switch, slamming it all the way down. A bluish-white current surged, and sparks flew as the metal clamps collided with the metal rod between Hailey's legs . Hailey's body tensed instantly, every muscle exposed, every detail clearly visible. Especially her thighs and back, the bulging muscles even disrupting her original, sculpted figure. Her blonde hair danced wildly in the air as Hailey desperately shook her head from side to side, clenching her teeth and uttering incoherent murmurs—this was far from enough to alleviate the urges surging within her.

The metal rods were exerting an extremely vicious and terrifying effect.

Each small spike on the surface of the metal rod acted as an independent electrode, intermittently
releasing tens of thousands of volts of current into Hailey's highly sensitive vagina.

The men were not idle either; they would switch the switch on and off from time to time, completely
controlling , observing her mechanical physiological reactions as if watching a dance.

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