CHAPTER 728: CHAPTER 113 - TRIS (3)

Tris’s POV

My mother and I made our way through the bustling capital, the sound of wheels clattering against cobblestone echoing beneath the carriage as we neared Earl Prisk’s estate.

And from the moment we arrived—stepping past the gates and being greeted by the guards—I felt it.

Something was wrong.

The air was heavy. It was stifling.

And then, I saw them—lined up in plain view were countless maids, more than I’d ever seen gathered in one place.

But that wasn’t what made me freeze.

No... it was what they were wearing—or rather, what they weren’t.

Nothing but thin undergarments clung to their bodies, their skin bared and exposed to the open air like livestock waiting to be chosen.

They were practically naked, and yet...

They didn’t flinch.

They didn’t try to hide.

None of them looked remotely embarrassed.

If anything, they looked... vacant.

Hollow.

As if every trace of resistance, shame, or disgust had long since been wrung out of them.

It wasn’t that they weren’t bothered—it was that they had given up.

Maybe it was because they had lived in this wretched place for so long that they had been stripped of their ability to care.

Like whatever piece of them that once hated this was already dead.

No fire left to burn.

No disgust left to feel.

And I knew... I would be the same.

If I had to sleep with that man—if I had to lie beneath him and endure his disgusting hands on me—I’d probably be just as empty too.

And I would have to. That much was certain.

Because right now, my own mother was walking beside me, about to serve me up to him like a lamb on a platter.

"Ugh. I swear that man’s fetish is completely out of control," she muttered, voice low but laced with irritation. "I can’t believe someone like him can just do whatever he wants with women. Who does he think he is?"

She said that... yet here she was, willingly offering me to him.

Hypocrisy laced her every word, feeding the exact fetish she claimed to despise.

As we passed through the towering double doors of the estate, the first figure to greet us was a massive, bald-headed man.

He looked old—mid-fifties or maybe early sixties—with sunken eyes and a thick neck that oozed sweat even in still air.

This was a man that nobles would crawl to in desperation. When they had no other cards left to play, they offered him their daughters in exchange for favors.

And he accepted.

Not because he was generous, but because he loved the power—because he enjoyed owning women like property.

He would "marry" them, just enough to give the family face, then use them however he wanted.

His body was bloated, swollen with excess, like he had gorged himself on every vice known to man.

Not the kind of big that came from strength, but from overindulgence—like gluttony and sloth had fused into flesh.

His head was completely bald, and the yellowing of his teeth peeked through every time he grinned.

This... this was Earl Prisk.

The infamous beast of a man. The glutton for both food and women. A walking symbol of greed and perversion.

"Oh, hello there, Madam," he said, flashing a grotesque smile. His yellow teeth caught the light, making the sight even more revolting. "Is this your daughter? She’s... quite plain, huh?"

"She doesn’t groom herself that much," my mother replied with a forced chuckle. "But take off her glasses, slap on some makeup—trust me, she’ll shine. I mean, I brought her into this world. And I’m quite the beauty myself."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well... I don’t know about that," he said, shamelessly eyeing her up and down.

I saw the twitch in my mother’s jaw, the subtle vein bulging at her temple, but she bit down on her pride and smiled through it.

"Well, in any case, she’s a good one. Her marriage with the Sword Saint’s daughter—er, son—wasn’t consummated. Or so she claims. But even if it was, you’re not the type to be picky, right?"

Earl Prisk extended his fat, sweaty hand toward me, brushing my bangs aside to get a better look at my face.

Every cell in my body screamed to recoil.

But I didn’t.

I swallowed the bile in my throat and stood still.

"She’s not bad," he murmured, licking his chapped lips and smacking them together. His eyes devoured me like I was a dish he couldn’t wait to sink his rotten teeth into. "I’ll take her."

"Good," my mother said, letting out a sigh of relief. "She’s no use to us anymore, so I think she’s better off with you."

"I’ll take good care of her," he said, voice laced with malicious promise. "Thoroughly."

"Well then, I’ll be going. This place has always given me the creeps, and I don’t plan to stay longer than I need to. Goodbye."

"Hehehe~ Goodbye."

I stood there in stunned silence.

My nightmare was only just beginning.

***

He led me deeper into his home.

"Come on," he said, his grotesque arm slung over my shoulders like I was already his property. "We’re just about ready for dinner. I want to introduce you to my other wives."

His arm was unbearably heavy.

And the stench that clung to him—his body odor—was thick, musky, and unbearable.

The kind of smell that didn’t just linger in your nose but stuck to your skin.

As we walked, I couldn’t take my eyes off the maids.

Still working.

Still in their undergarments.

Some were sweeping, others wiping down furniture, but every time Earl Prisk got close, they would freeze. Like statues. Then they’d lower their heads and bow in silence.

They didn’t look at him.

They didn’t even breathe too loudly.

This place was twisted.

Every corner oozed perversion. Every hallway felt corrupted.

Eventually, we arrived at what could only be described as a grand dining room.

A long, lavish table stretched across the space—and seated along it were women.

Unlike the maids, these women wore nothing at all.

Completely naked.

Their breasts were bared, their expressions empty. They sat motionless, eyes blank and devoid of life.

"Hello, my wives!" Earl Prisk boomed, voice echoing with sick pride. His triple chin jiggled with each word, the folds of his neck undulating like sacks of meat. "Meet my new wife!"

The women lifted their hands and began to clap.

The sound was dull.

Lifeless.

There was no excitement.

No welcome.

Only hollow obedience.

Like dolls forced to perform a scene they no longer had the will to understand.