CHAPTER 729: CHAPTER 113 - TRIS (4)

Then, with a slow but deliberate motion, Earl Prisk raised his hand into the air—his thick fingers spread wide, commanding attention.

As if controlled by an invisible string, the entire hall instantly fell silent.

The clapping ceased almost immediately, as though someone had cut the sound with a blade.

But... one pair of hands kept going.

The faint echo of that last, late clap rang through the now-quiet space like a blasphemy.

Earl Prisk’s eyelids fluttered shut, his jaw clenching tight.

"That could’ve been perfect..." he muttered through gritted teeth. "But someone just had to go and ruin everything."

His voice was calm, almost low, but seething with rage, like a storm pressing behind thin glass.

Then, his eyes snapped open, blazing with fury, filled with something primal and terrifying.

His gaze pierced through the crowd like a knife.

I didn’t understand why he was so enraged.

But it was clear now that that single, out-of-sync clap had shattered whatever illusion of perfection he had created.

That one imperfection had tipped him over the edge.

"Marka!" he roared, his voice booming off the marble walls, the sheer volume flapping his lips as he bellowed her name like a curse.

"Yes, Lord Husband," came the immediate response from the woman responsible.

Her voice was meek and almost robotic.

She stood up without hesitation.

The moment she rose from her seat, her fully nude body was exposed to everyone.

Her skin gleamed faintly under the ambient light, completely unashamed or unaware of her own nakedness.

She walked forward toward Earl Prisk with the slow, quiet obedience of someone used to this sort of spectacle—someone long since stripped of resistance.

When she finally stood in front of him, she was so close that her bare skin nearly brushed against the mound of his bloated belly.

Earl Prisk stared down at her.

With one hand, he gently caressed her cheek.

But then—without warning—he pulled his hand away wide, winding it up.

Then came the slap.

It landed with a sickening CRACK—sharp, wet, and thunderous.

The force behind it was enough to send the woman tumbling to the ground, her legs folding underneath her like a puppet with cut strings.

The sound alone was brutal—like a whip crack echoing off the walls.

It felt like something in the air shattered right then, something unseen but fragile.

And yet... none of the women seated at the table moved.

Not a flinch. Not even a blink.

They sat there like statues, as if nothing had happened.

"I hate it when you do something like that," Earl Prisk growled, taking a heavy step toward Marka. "You know that, right? So why the hell did you do it?"

His voice rumbled through the room like thunder, each word dripping with disgust and disappointment.

"When I raise my hand to stop you from clapping, you stop. And just stop. You do it exactly how I want it. Not like what you just did!"

With no hesitation, he reached down and began striking her again.

Once. Twice. Then again.

His big, meaty hands came down with brutal force, slapping her across the face, her shoulders, anywhere he could reach.

Each hit landed with a wet, echoing smack.

But Marka... she didn’t move.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t beg. Didn’t even raise a hand to protect herself.

She just stayed there—motionless, empty-eyed.

It was like the pain couldn’t even reach her anymore.

"I’ll punish you later for being a bad girl," Earl Prisk muttered, his voice dripping with cruel promise.

"Yes, Lord Husband," Marka replied softly, as if the words were stitched into her tongue.

Despite the red welts forming on her skin, despite the tremble in her legs, she rose—on her own—back to her feet.

Wobbling. Unsteady. But she stood.

She didn’t utter a single word of protest. Didn’t so much as groan.

And the other women? They didn’t even blink.

They just kept sitting, hands folded in their laps, staring ahead like none of this was strange.

Like this was part of a routine.

To them, this was normal.

Just another moment in the twisted rhythm of their lives.

That was all there was to it.

And I... I hated how this made me feel.

Watching them—all of them—accept it with blank stares, with hollow eyes... I felt sick.

Disgusted.

Even if they didn’t feel a thing, they had surrendered to this reality.

And I knew deep down—I would become just like them soon enough.

"Hey, you," Earl Prisk suddenly said, snapping his eyes to me. "Why aren’t you in your wife uniform yet?"

"E-Eh? U-Uniform?" I stammered, frozen in place.

He began walking toward me—slow, deliberate steps that made the floor creak.

My body stiffened.

Every instinct screamed at me to move. To run.

But I couldn’t.

I just stood there, heart hammering, legs trembling, waiting for whatever was coming.

Then he reached me.

His thick hands clamped down on both of my shoulders.

"Can’t you already see the uniform?" he sneered, gripping the fabric of my clothes with his stubby fingers.

And then—without hesitation—

"This is their uniform!"

He ripped my clothes apart.

The sound of tearing fabric filled the room. It was sudden. Violent.

Effortless.

He didn’t even strain. It was like he was peeling wrapping paper off a gift.

Even my bra came undone in that one motion.

All of it—gone.

I let out a gasp and immediately raised my arms to cover my exposed chest.

"This is their uniform," he repeated. "It’s the only thing you wear here as a wife. And when I say the only thing, I mean nothing."

He smirked, lips curling into a cruel, twisted grin.

"Don’t cover yourself. Or I’ll do to you what I did to her."

My arms shook.

But slowly, I lowered them—revealing my breasts to him.

"Good. Good," he said approvingly. "And what a fine pair of breasts you’ve got. Even if your face isn’t appealing, your tits... they’re something else," he chuckled darkly. "Perky. Firm. Not sagging at all. You’ve been taking real good care of them, haven’t you?"

He reached out and started fondling them—grabbing and squeezing.

I couldn’t even speak. My voice refused to come out.

"Huhuhu... I’m getting excited," he said with a twisted laugh. "My wives!"

"Yes, Lord Husband," they all responded in eerie unison.

"Prepare her for me," he ordered. "Clean her, groom her, and make her presentable for the ritual tonight. As for Marka... she needs punishment for that little indulgence earlier. I’m going to be thorough with her."

"Yes, Lord Husband."