Chapter 20: Chapter-20

Five figures entered the secret chamber in perfect silence, black masks concealing their faces entirely. Only cold, indifferent eyes were visible through narrow slits as they surveyed the scene before them.

The stench hit them first—sweat, release, desperation. The air was thick with it.

The five men barely resembled the powerful lords who’d entered this chamber two days ago. They were wrecks—trembling, glazed-eyed, bodies covered in the evidence of their torment. The aphrodisiac had worked exactly as designed, forcing release after agonizing release with no relief, no end, just continuous waves of overwhelming sensation that left them shattered.

Prince Kieran’s silver hair was plastered to his skull, his ice-blue eyes unfocused and hazy. White stains covered his thighs, his abdomen, dried and fresh mixed together. He’d lost count of how many times his body had betrayed him. Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Time had stopped meaning anything except the next unbearable wave.

Duke Adrian shook uncontrollably on the X-frame, his glasses long since fallen away. Golden eyes rolled back periodically as another involuntary orgasm ripped through him. His scholarly mind—his greatest weapon—had fragmented into incoherent desperation.

General Lucian hung limp in his suspension, the legendary warrior reduced to a twitching mess. Even unconscious, his body continued its betrayal, responding to the chemicals burning through his system.

High Priest Raphael had given up on prayer hours ago. Now he just sobbed—broken, pitiful sounds muffled by his gag. His violet eyes saw nothing, lost completely to the haze.

Lord Damien, usually so controlled, was perhaps the worst. The master poisoner understood exactly what was happening to him on a chemical level, which made it so much more horrifying. His pretty face was a mask of ruined composure, green eyes wild and desperate.

The lead shadow guard approached Kieran first and yanked out the gag.

“RELEASE ME!” The words exploded from Kieran’s raw throat immediately, hoarse and broken. “I command you—I’m a prince! You can’t—” His voice cracked as another wave hit him mid-sentence, his body convulsing. “Please… please just make it stop…”

The guard held up the water cup with clinical detachment, checking Kieran’s vitals with practiced efficiency. Pulse elevated but stable. Pupils responsive. Dehydrated but surviving.

He brought the cup to Kieran’s cracked lips and poured.

Kieran drank desperately between gasps, water spilling down his chin. “More,” he choked out. “Please, more water, then let me go—I swear I’ll—” Another involuntary shudder cut him off, his eyes rolling back.

The guard was already moving to Adrian.

When Adrian’s double gag was removed, he immediately started talking—his strategic mind still trying to function through the haze. “Listen to me. Whatever she’s paying you, I’ll triple it. I control the treasury. I can—” He gasped as sensation overwhelmed him again. “Fuck! Just let me out! I need—I can’t—”

Water was shoved against his lips. He drank frantically, then continued his desperate negotiation. “Name your price! Anything! Just open these restraints and—”

The guard had already moved on. Adrian’s bargaining fell on deaf ears.

Lucian barely registered when his gag was removed. Water had to be poured slowly into his slack mouth. When awareness flickered back, he managed a slurred curse. “Bastards… release me… I’ll kill… all of you…”

His head lolled back, too exhausted to maintain even threats.

Raphael wept openly when the gag came out. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please, in the name of mercy, just let me see her. Let me see the Empress. I’ll beg her forgiveness. I’ll do anything she wants. Just make this stop. Please, I’m begging you—”

The guard gave him water and nothing else. Prayers and pleas had no effect.

Then Damien’s gag was removed.

Unlike the others, he didn’t immediately beg or threaten. He drank his water in silence, those sharp green eyes watching through the haze of suffering. When the cup emptied, he spoke—his voice hoarse but surprisingly controlled.

“I want to see the Empress.”

The guard paused for half a second. This one was different. Still calculating even now.

“Tell her,” Damien continued, his voice strengthening slightly, “that Lord Damien requests an audience. That I wish to… negotiate terms.” His lips twisted in something that might have been a smile if it wasn’t so broken. “She’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

The other four men heard this through their respective hazes.

“Yes!” Adrian’s voice cracked with desperate hope. “Bring her here! We need to see her!”

“The Empress!” Kieran shouted, finding strength in the possibility. “Tell her we demand—” His voice broke. “We request an audience. Now. Please.”

Even Lucian managed to mumble agreement through his exhaustion.

But the shadow guards’ expressions never changed. They didn’t acknowledge the requests, didn’t respond to the demands, didn’t even indicate they’d heard. They simply continued their mechanical routine—checking restraints, providing minimal medical care, shoving bread into mouths.

“Did you hear me?” Damien’s voice rose, frustration breaking through his control. “I said I want to see the Empress! Tell her! You have to tell her!”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition.

Within fifteen minutes, the task was complete. Gags replaced despite the muffled protests, despite the renewed struggling, despite the desperate pleas. The men were secured once more in their private hells.

As the five guards filed out in synchronized silence, Damien’s muffled shout echoed behind them—a wordless sound of rage and desperation that died against stone walls.

The door closed with finality.

And the five powerful lords were alone again, knowing that even begging to see their captor had gotten them nothing but indifferent silence.

The shadow guards served only one person.

And that person would come when she chose to.

Not a moment before.

.

.

.

Heena was reviewing trade documents when suddenly System 427 materialized directly in front of her face. His tiny paws clenched around her hand so tightly that the pen snapped in half, ink splattering across the parchment.

She looked up slowly, her expression darkening. “What is it?”

The system was frantic now, his golden form flickering erratically. “D-don’t you think it’s… too much? We’ve had them tied up since last night and with their condition—what if they die? Even for an animal, that much torture would be fatal! So why are you—”

“427.” Heena rubbed her forehead, irritation seeping into her voice. “How many times have I told you not to compare pitiful animals with these beasts?”

The system looked at her with wide, distressed eyes. He floated back slightly, then sighed. “But they’re still human beings and—”

“They are much more powerful than any person on this planet right now,” Heena interrupted, setting down the broken pen. She met his gaze directly. “Do you really think that with such a strong drug, a normal person would even remember their own name? They’d be dead or brain-damaged by now. But those five? They’re still conscious. Still plotting. Still dangerous.”

“But even then, we shouldn’t—” System 427 tried to argue.

Heena raised her hand, cutting him off. “System, that’s your problem. You’re young, so you think male leads, NPCs, and everyone else are the same. But you have to understand the fundamental difference.”

She stood up despite her injured ankle, using the desk for support. “For killing an NPC, you don’t even need a bullet—just a slap and they hit the ground. Something random happens and they die. Maybe they hit their head on a stone. One bullet passes through their body? Dead instantly. That’s how normal people work in these story worlds.”

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