Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3. The Sacrificial Virgin (Content Warning)

“...You, are not a witch... you’re a demon king—!!!”

As he ascertained the true identity of his enemy, Julius seized his sword, which lay beside him.

However, before he could do so, something seized his wrists, and forcibly restrained them above his head.

Upon closer inspection, Julius realized that both of his hands were restrained by shackles.

Despite so, they weren't the normal kind.

The purple glow outlining the pure white matter constructing the shackles spoke of its magical nature. Meanwhile, the chains were attached to the headboard in a manner that seemed like they were never two separate objects to begin with. 

The shackles were made using magic materialization—

—amidst the crisis, Julius ironically noted that although it counted as first-class magic, it was still within the realm of normalcy. Almost similar to his wind blades, even.

Despite this, the fact that no matter how much magic he had channeled resulted in not even a dent only emphasized their difference in level.

“'Demon king'...? That's not very nice. Also, will you stop attacking me at any given chance?”

The witch remarked with a hint of annoyance.

In fact, it didn't feel like he was able to cast any kind of magic. Every time he felt ready to unleash his magic, said magic would vanish without a trace.

“Thank you for teaching me how to meticulously seal one's magic without causing any adverse effects.”

“—be quick with it.”

At that point in time, Julius had already embraced death.

Everything he had planned, everything he had prepared ended up backfiring.

All that remained was his dignity as the knight templar, and also despair.

At the very least, his death wouldn't be in vain, because he'd be keeping the church's secrets and everyone else safe.

Julius closed both of his eyes, refusing to have the witch's face as the last thing he'd gaze upon.

"...Very well. Seeing your insistence upon not resolving this matter in a civilized manner, I'll resort to doing things my way."

In the next moment, both of his eyes snapped open as he heard the rustling noises of clothes--his clothes.

The witch was undressing him.

It dawned upon him—

—the witch was about to have her way with him.

How am I so naïve—!!

Considering the nature of her crime, of course it'd come to that—!!

No wonder she pushed him to the bed, and left all his senses intact—!!

It seemed that in the end, not even his dignity was spared.

Immediately, what came into his mind was the previous victims of the witch—those men, whose mind were so broken, they kept beckoning for the witch despite the fact that she had cruelly abused them to the point of no return—

—his soon-to-be fate.

Indignation and abhorrence shot to the back of his throat as he desperately tried to hold back a hiss.

His remaining pride disallowed him from showing the exact feelings he was experiencing under the witch's torment.

If such was his fate, then as long as he was still himself, he'd prevent the witch from deriving as much enjoyment as possible!

Nevertheless, he couldn't stop his gaze, which was trying to bore a hole into the witch's face. He could hear the clattering of his gritted teeth.

Too absorbed with her ‘work’, the witch didn’t pay any heed.

The entire process was slow—excruciatingly so.

Contrary to his expectation, instead of buttons popping and clothes being ripped, the witch took her sweet time disrobing him.

The cold sensation of aiguillette touching his neck told him that the witch had simply lifted his mantle out of the way. Then, he felt a soft tugging around his neck, indicating that the witch was undoing his cravat—

—those mundane, ignorable, sensations reminded him of the simple fact that he was at the mercy of his enemy.

The witch could do whatever she wanted to him because there was simply nothing he could do.

Every time he recalled said fact, his anger, disgust—and most of all, shame, skyrocketed.

The embarrassment was simply unbearable, he’d chose actual torture anytime of the day.

Please, please hurry up and get this over with—!

What took this damn witch so long...!?

Ignoring his frustration, the room was mostly quiet. The rustling noises of fabrics filled the air—which only caused him to yearn for death even more. He tried to distract himself.

It was amidst that when he realized he had been holding his breath. No wonder his chest felt painful. Adding to that, was the ringing pain in his head after being involved in one spell after another. As if his current predicament wasn’t already tormenting enough.

Due to his blurred focus, he could only make out the fact that the room had but one source of lighting, which was the candlestick right beside the bed. The only two windows, which were at his right side, were covered by the long, velveteen, curtain. The evening light spilled from the curtain gaps.

He didn’t know if it was due to the fact that the room was heavily consisted of red, or due to the heady scent, or simply because he had been holding his breath—

—it felt... stuffy.

As if sensing his crisis, the hands which were originally fumbling with his tunic paused, before reaching for his cravat. The once simply-loosened white fabric was removed entirely. Afterwards, the witch unbuttoned the top-most buttons of his shirt.

It didn’t alleviate his burden altogether, but did provide immense relief.

...Why? It’s as if...

It was as if the witch was trying to be gentle.

...A slight curiosity arose. He wanted to know what kind of expression the witch was making. Nevertheless, he managed to resist said urge.

The witch was probably treating the entire thing like she was unwrapping a present or something. Because, after all was said and done, her hands never ceased their movement.

In a second, he was back to feeling sickened, as his repulsion for witches returned in full force.

Seeing her look of enjoyment as she started to open the gift from its outermost layer was the last thing he wanted to see. Most probably, if he did see that, he would never be able to recover.

Finally, his shirt was spread wide open, as his belt fell to his side.

With the last thing obstructing the witch’s view from his naked upper body gone, he laid there, exposed, for the utter viewing pleasure of the witch.

He could already feel it—

—the witch’s gaze, devouring every single inch of his body.

...Shameful.

In his twenty years of life, he had never yearned for death that fervently. Regardless of his desperate plea, the sweet release never came, and all he could do was bury his face in the sheet.

Then, a second, which turned into a few, then into a full minute passed, in which nothing happened.

...?

He could still feel the witch staring at his torso.

No longer able to withstand the tension, Julius finally stared back at her.

Despite so, his question was only met with a question.

The witch’s expression was dead serious. It was unlike anything he had previously seen from her before. Not to mention, that gaze of her...

The witch was wholly observing his body, just like that of a scholar, who was trying to decipher all that was there to a statue.

...There was neither a hint of shyness in it, nor hesitation.

The witch before him was taking everything in with unabashed wonder.

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Instead, he found himself on the faltering end.

...Why are you gazing at me like that?

Although both of his hands were restrained above his head, he could still move his body to some extent. He should be turning around to shield his body, instead of giving the witch what she wanted. He should be utilizing his buckling legs to aid his escape—after all, they were both free.

...If, you were to stare at me that intently...

Yet, instead of anything, he could only lay there helplessly...

Julius Visconti, who was hailed as one of the best knight templars in the current generation, was providing maximum viewing pleasure to his archnemesis, the witch.

All that aside, there was also the fact that he was at the mercy of a girl who was seemingly younger than him...

Every single aspect of the situation infuriated him to no end.

However, at the same time, he could feel a rushing sensation throughout his body. The warmth feeling was different than that of heat originated from anger, or shame—

—In mere seconds, the feverish sensation had swallowed his entire body, flushing his face, before erupting in the form of tears at both corners of his eyes.

“Don’t... stare at me...” Such a pitiful sounding voice spilled from his mouth. Instead of chancing their luck at escaping, his legs were bunched up, desperately trying to hide something. A sheen of sweat covered his bare torso. His breathing had also become ragged.

Of course he knew what was actually happening to him.

No way...!! Remember, the one standing before you is a full-fledged witch...!!

It was just that his entire being refusing to entertain such an idea, was all. Even if the stiff feeling, which could be felt through his pants, and were sometimes rubbing against his bunched-up thighs, stated otherwise.

If it became known to the witch that merely a stare from her had caused him to become undone... he’d rather die—

—no, even admitting that fact to himself made him feel like he was already done for.

After what felt like an eternity, the witch finally spoke.

"It seems safe to assume that you are the most outstanding out of your peers, seeing that you have seven seals."

The witch's remark was akin to a splash of cold water.

"What...?" He was dumbfounded.

...No way.

The reason she had chained him to the headboard, and then made him suffer tremendous humiliation for an insane period of time—

—was merely because of that-!?

"As much of a great witch I am, I don't possess the ability to see through clothes, nor could I read minds. After locating one of your seals, I just traced the pathway to other seals and concluded the exact amount! More importantly, why is your face red—"

"—Spare me your nonsense and just do what you are set to do—!!" For the first time ever since his captivity, Julius acted based on his raw emotions.

"What am I set to do??? What is it that I'm set to do??? That isn't important right now. How are you feeling? It's because of the previous spells, isn't it?"

The incessant witch reached for his face. Amidst his attempt of evading her hand, his gaze accidentally met hers. The witch seemed genuinely concerned that his next words got stuck in his throat.

—N, no. She's merely pretending. It's part of her trickery...

Despite convincing himself so, the moment he felt her palm cupping his cheek, he found himself sinking his face further into said hand.

His once extinguished fervor was reignited.

What, is happening to me...?

In majority of literatures, witches were depicted as having coarse hands, on which sets of sharp nails resembling claws were embedded—

Of course, it was an embellishment, but the truth shouldn’t be too far from that.

...As in, the witch’s hand shouldn’t feel this nice to the touch.

As the right side of his face was being cupped by the witch, all that he could perceive, all that filled the entirety of his vision, was the witch.

That was when the witch decided to smile.

Being of noble birth, most women he knew through social events were always conscious about the way they smiled. To tilt their head at a certain degree, to avoid smiling too wide, to exude elegance—

—yet the girl before him showed the most forthright smile.

Her smile was akin to a child grinning ear to ear after finding what she considered as the world most precious treasure—in a way, she looked foolish.

Yet, at the same time, said idiotic smile was the purest thing he had ever seen.

It exuded different kind of radiance; one that couldn’t be found in a grand ball filled with sparkling chandeliers; one that could only be found in that forest, which beauty was untouched—

—one that he couldn’t look away from.

The heat enveloping his face went to the next level—it was sizzling.

“...What’s so funny?” Julius forced himself to ask in an irritated tone, but ended up sounding desperate instead.

The witch immediately retracted her hand as she laughed sheepishly. “Ah, no, it’s just that from the bottom of my heart, I think that you’re really beautiful!”

—!

He was rendered speechless due to the fact that his heart had missed a beat.

No—

—this isn’t right.

Then, he recalled something important.

Bewitchment—!

Everything finally made sense.

The witch was using a charm spell on him.

No wonder his mind felt sluggish...! Hence the reason why he was behaving erratically...!

Julius forced himself to be on high alert, something that was easily achieved when he noticed the witch was fixatedly staring at something.

To be precise, at his lower body.

“...What is this supposed to be?”

...No!!!

Julius tightly shut his eyes.

Anyone, please, free me from this misery!

Something was pulled out of his pants—

“—...a letter?”

At the mention of something even more damning, the blood drained from Julius’ face.

“...No.” Before he could even think, such words left him. The fleeting, breathless, voice spoke of his absolute misery.

That uncalled-for reaction of his only aroused the witch’s curiosity. In half a second, the once neatly folded paper was opened. In the dim light, Julius could see the witch’s eyes consuming the words contained within the letter.

“Is this the letter detailing your mission from the church, perhaps? Yet before marching to the enemy’s camp, you don’t even bother discarding it. So, you have this clumsy side to you, too, Mr. Julius. ...Wait, this isn’t—”

“—Don’t.”

A momentary silence ensued.

I... am done for.

“...I see. So that’s how it is. My, isn’t it fitting? I’m the demon king, while you’re the sacrificial virgin.”

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