CHAPTER 730: CHAPTER 113 - TRIS (5)

"For now," he said, stepping back and licking his lips, "let’s have dinner. And after that... we do it. Make sure she’s properly prepared by then."

That was when it hit me—this place wasn’t just hell.

It was only just beginning.

And there was nothing I could do.

For now, I had no choice.

I had to grin and bear it.

***

After dinner, the Earl’s wives—naked and eerily graceful—gathered around me in silence.

Their movements were synchronized, almost ritualistic, as they gestured for me to follow.

Meanwhile, Earl Prisk had departed in the opposite direction, accompanied by another group of women.

Marka, the one he’d slapped earlier, was among them—walking as though nothing had happened.

The women around me moved without words, leading me through dim hallways lit only by faint, flickering lanterns embedded in the stone walls.

The path narrowed, then widened into a vast chamber ahead.

Steam curled thickly in the air like rolling fog, heat hanging in every breath I took.

It was humid, heavy... like the walls themselves were sweating.

It didn’t take long to realize we were in a bathhouse.

A massive one.

Without speaking, they guided me toward the center, where warm pools and stools lined the marble floor.

"Sit, here," one of them instructed, her voice flat but soft.

"O-Okay..." I replied hesitantly, the heat already beginning to make me lightheaded.

I lowered myself onto the small wooden stool.

A moment later, warm water cascaded over my head and shoulders, pouring down my back in waves.

Their hands—delicate yet firm—moved with an almost mechanical grace, soaking and washing me.

Soap bubbled in their palms as they lathered me, their fingers trailing along my arms, over my chest, and down my legs.

"Our husband is a good man," one of the women murmured gently, her tone oddly serene as she massaged the soap into my skin. "What he did earlier... it’s not typical of him. You don’t need to worry that he’s mad or anything."

"I see..." I murmured, the lie sitting on my tongue like ash.

I didn’t believe her, and she knew it. We both knew she was lying.

Still, she kept going, lathering my body, her fingers gliding along my stomach and back, soft but emotionless.

"Our husband is good," she said again, more slowly this time. "As long as you’re obedient. That’s the rule in this household. If you disobey, expect a slap. Or worse."

"Right..." I nodded, voice hollow.

"You just have to grin and bear it, alright?" she said, looking into my eyes for the first time.

There was something behind her eyes. Not coldness... but resignation.

It was then I noticed them—faint scars crisscrossing her skin.

Faint lines and welts along her ribs, hips, thighs—places easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely.

Earlier, I hadn’t seen them.

But under this light, with steam clinging to her bare body, they stood out starkly.

Was she covering them up before? Using powder to hide the damage? Maybe. It made sense.

Earl Prisk didn’t seem like the type to tolerate "imperfections."

He valued beauty.

Smooth, unmarred skin.

If he saw what he had done to her—what remained of her—he might discard her.

Or worse.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"I was his first wife," she said. "Well... not the first. But the only one still alive."

She looked distant, like she was remembering something buried deep.

"I wasn’t the original. But I’ve stayed with him the longest."

"So why are you still here? Why do you put up with this?"

"My parents were farmers... they lived on his land. When he visited, he saw me. Chose me. We didn’t have any power to stop him. No one did. And so... you can guess the rest."

I swallowed, feeling the sympathy rising up in my throat.

She had been stuck in this nightmare for so long... and hadn’t even tried to escape?

"You’re thinking it. Why I didn’t leave," she said, reading the look on my face. "But truth is—I could. I’ve lived here more than seventeen years. I know how to get in and out."

Her voice grew quieter.

"But if I leave... the others won’t survive. The women who keep getting sold into this place... if they don’t have someone here to support them, they’ll break. Completely."

She looked down at her hands for a moment. Scarred. Trembling just slightly.

"I stayed because I had to. Someone needed to be here. Someone needed to help them. That’s all I can do."

Her words echoed in my mind.

It was her silent rebellion.

She stayed, not because she was weak—but because she had chosen to bear the suffering for the sake of the others.

"If I left... they’d all be lost."

I couldn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say.

My eyes dropped to the floor.

Then, she shifted the topic.

"Changing the subject for a bit... have you experienced it?"

"I was married once," I replied. "To a man. But it turned out he was a woman. So, our marriage was never consummated. I’ve never had any experience—not romantically, not sexually."

"I see..." she murmured.

There was a long pause.

"Then... let us prepare you."

"P-Prepare me?"

"Lord Husband... is rough. Especially with girls who have never done it before. If you go in there with no preparation, you’ll only suffer more. So... let us help."

Their hands moved again—this time with intent.

They started fondling me.

Their fingers roamed over my breasts, slid down my stomach, brushed along my thighs.

Teasing. Stimulating. Warming me up.

They didn’t bring me to orgasm. But I was right on the edge of it, and I was trembling.

Then they stopped.

"You’re ready now," she said, her voice soft. "Please... go to the room in front of you."

I looked at her. Her eyes were calm, almost sad.

"Lord Husband is waiting for you."

I swallowed hard. My heart pounded.

This was it.

This was the edge of the pit—and I had no idea how deep it went or whether I’d ever crawl back out.