“I’ve told you before—I’m not interested in your body, only your skills. I just want to see what makes you so special that he is paying attention to you.”
“You still can’t drop the act, huh? You’re as twisted as ever. What a depraved freak…”
Luke’s hands were bound with handcuffs, and his feet shackled for good measure.
“Hey!”
Naturally, this was Herace’s magic at work.
“Keep it down. If you’re really from such a prestigious family, why don’t you show me how you’d get out of there? If you can’t even manage that, I might as well toss you to the beasts as their next meal.”
Luke’s face, already red from anger, flushed even more at Herace’s mocking tone.
Unluckily for Luke, Herace’s words struck a nerve.
He came from a “renowned family of magicians,” yet had built his body into a bulky fortress instead of honing his magic.
Why?
‘Because he couldn’t use magic.’
Born without the ability to sense mana, he couldn’t wield magical energy or the sword aura his peers mastered.
As a result, he never gained his father’s recognition, despite learning swordsmanship as compensation.
Memories of his painful past surged, and Luke curled in on himself, falling silent.
Herace had been aiming for this reaction.
Now that the incessant shouting had stopped, the peace was welcome.
But then—
“Wait… just… hold on….”
Luke, still hunched over, started trembling.
“What’s wrong now?”
Was this another attempt at defiance?
But it didn’t look like that.
His flushed face wasn’t just limited to his cheeks; it had spread to his neck, and his breathing was uneven.
When Luke finally lifted his head, his glassy eyes betrayed an unfamiliar daze.
Something was definitely off.
“This… something… ah, something’s wrong….”
Herace nearly cursed aloud.
Seriously?
This wasn’t just physical restraint; they’d drugged him.
Of course, the slave traders probably considered this part of the premium package—giving their clients a fully “prepared” purchase.
It was headache-inducing.
‘I’m not a heroine, and no male-oriented audience wants to see a protagonist drugged and panting like this!’
For what it was worth, ‘The Black Sheep Swordsmanship Genius of a Magical Family’ was a novel rated for all ages.
There was no way this sort of scene should exist in it.
“Ah… just kill me…”
Luke’s voice cracked, humiliation trembling on the edge of every word.
He couldn’t bear the overwhelming shame.
He slammed his head into the ground, trying to calm himself, but all it did was amplify the sounds of his ragged breathing.
Each hit made him wince, emitting groans that turned the air thick with unintended sensuality.
“I paid a fortune for you; why would I kill you?”
Though Herace mocked him in response, his mind was racing.
This was worse than anticipated. It wasn’t just a difficult situation—this was catastrophic.
No amount of clever editing could make this scene redeemable.
Maybe they could rewrite the backstory entirely: Luke wasn’t drugged or humiliated, just an ordinary slave sold for his combat skills.
That could be spun into a satisfying underdog story.
The problem was…
“Ah… fuck, this…”
No amount of rewriting could erase the current reality from Luke’s experience.
He was fighting so hard to suppress himself that his lips were split, and blood welled up.
His hands pressed flat against the ground, trembling as they tried not to wander.
But his body betrayed him, instinctively pressing his hips against the ground for even the smallest bit of friction.
“How… how desperate are you… that you resorted to something like this… you limp old man…”
Old? Herace? The nerve!
Despite his annoyance, Herace chose not to lash out.
He had recently celebrated his 140th birthday, after all.
Still, it wasn’t the time to focus on such petty remarks.
The more time passed, the harder it would be to salvage this scene.
Something had to be done, and quickly.
The simplest solution?
Herace could cast a dispel to remove the drug’s effects.
But that…
That didn’t feel very villainous.
What kind of villain would immediately alleviate their captive’s suffering?
A proper antagonist would scoff at their plight, maybe mock them for their weakness, or discard them altogether.
After some contemplation, Herace smirked.
There was one other option: breaking Luke’s pride.
Force him to beg.
The audience might dislike seeing their hero humiliated, but if the scene was going to be rewritten anyway, what did it matter?
“Hey.”
Herace nudged Luke’s leg with his foot.
His thighs were so tense they felt like stone.
“G-get away… touch me, and…!”
Even in his delirium, Luke repeated the same defiant words, his body betraying him as he ground against the floor.
A pitiful sight that no typical male-oriented audience would ever want to see.
“Struggling, aren’t you? I could use magic to rid you of the aphrodisiac’s effects.”
“What…?”
Luke’s head shot up, disbelief clouding his gaze.
No matter how much he hated Herace, the promise of relief made him cling to the words.
“Of course, I won’t do it for free.”
“Just tell me, damn it!”
Luke barked, panting heavily.
His pride remained intact, though it was clear he was reaching his breaking point.
“Kneel and beg. Say, ‘Please, have mercy on me, and save this foolish, powerless wretch.’ Do that, and I’ll help you.”
“Son of a…!”
Luke slammed his head against the floor again.
Blood dripped from the repeated impact, painting his face in a vivid testament to his frustration.
“Like hell I’d—ah, ah… no way…!”
“Fine. Then keep grinding yourself into the ground until the drug wears off. I’ll leave if it bothers me too much. Or… I could deliver you to one of those eager buyers you mentioned earlier. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to assist.”
“You bastard…!”
Luke growled through clenched teeth, his voice breaking with raw emotion.
“I’ll kill you… tear you apart… bite you to pieces…!”
Luke, incensed, cursed under his breath. His words were harsh and brutal, fitting for someone of his wild disposition, but his noble upbringing kept them from crossing certain lines.
More troubling than his curses, however, was the sudden shift in his demeanor.
“Ugh, h-hic… Damn it… This is so f*cking humiliating…”
Luke began to sob, his voice hitching with each breath, making the situation all the more awkward.
His gasping cries mixed with his strained breathing, creating an unsettling sound that could easily be mistaken for something else—like someone overwhelmed by pleasure during intimacy.
The usually sharp, intimidating gaze of the unruly protagonist had melted into a teary mess.
His eyes glistened with unshed tears, spilling down his flushed cheeks.
His reddened, feverish expression looked less like a heroic fantasy protagonist and more like a character torn straight out of an R-rated romance novel.
Herace, startled by his own thoughts, instinctively stepped back.
“W-wait! Just wait a second—!”
But Luke reacted immediately.
“Damn it, fine! F-fine, I’ll do it! I’ll do whatever you want, so… just… don’t leave me!”
As much as Luke loathed the very idea, it seemed he was genuinely terrified of being abandoned again.
Even if he despised the lifeline dangled in front of him, he couldn’t afford to lose it entirely.
His voice was desperate and trembling.
This was exactly what Herace had been aiming for.
“Then go ahead and do it,” he said with an unbothered shrug.
Luke’s jaw tightened, his anger flaring momentarily.
“Y-you… You’ll regret treating me like this one day, you bastard—”
“That’s not what I asked for.”
Feigning disinterest, Herace turned away, pretending to leave.
Behind him, Luke let out a panicked yell.
“W-wait! Please!”
“Yes?” Herace replied nonchalantly, without even glancing back.
Luke’s voice broke as he forced the words out, his pride visibly crumbling.
“I’m… hic… I’m useless… foolish… and pathetic…”
His tone grew quieter and quieter as if each word drained him of dignity.
Herace’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smirk.
“Can’t hear you.”
“I’m… begging you,” Luke finally whimpered, his voice trembling.
“Please… save me.”
Got him.
Herace wasted no time casting a spell to dispel the status effect plaguing Luke.
As soon as the magic took hold, Luke immediately screamed,
“Forget that ever happened! Just erase it from your damn memory!”
But despite the magical remedy, his tear-streaked face and quivering shoulders betrayed him.
Even as he tried to curl in on himself, shrinking under the weight of his shame, it was clear his pride had taken a severe hit.
Herace, however, wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic. If anything, he was relieved.
The good news?
This pitiful sight wasn’t going to be shared with the story’s readers.
The bad news?
He couldn’t tell Luke that.
“Eh?”
Luke, who had been trembling in silence, had apparently dozed off mid-breakdown.
Taking advantage of the calm, Herace quickly restructured the narrative.
As far as the world was concerned, Luke had been sold into slavery, and the chain of events had been neatly rewritten to avoid any unsavory details.
With that done, Herace let out a tired sigh.
“Only three uses of that spell, and I’ve already burned through one…”
Still, saving the protagonist was the priority, so it wasn’t a complete waste.
Now all that remained was figuring out how to fix Luke’s damaged wrists.
“…Let’s just rest for now,” Herace muttered, feeling the mental strain of the day.
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