“I had originally planned for an easy death for you… after all, a low-born, short-lived creature such as yourself has no right to even serve me. But now… I’ve changed my mind. Even though it still disgusts me to look at you, I feel it is my duty to proceed as such… such a fortunate creature you are… I just hope I won’t puke all of a sudden.”
Sarkath the Sword Dancer slowly walked up to the still shell-shocked female warrior. She was in a terrible condition right now and probably wouldn’t be able to get up in the short term. Because of her prone state, her body was filthy, a mix of fresh blood and dirt.
“I swear, I just can’t stand a dirty creature like you.” Sarkath arrogantly declared before swinging his sword in her direction.
A glint of steel flashed across her back, yet his sword did not hurt her as one would expect, instead, her dirtied hemp clothes were completely sliced apart.
What’s going on here? I thought you hated her, so why are you undressing her instead? At this point, the female human’s snowy white back was bare for the entire colosseum to see…
“WOOOOOOO!!!” The stands erupted in cheers once more, intoxicated by the deadly cocktail that was violence and procreation. Even under normal circumstances, such a combination always stirred the imaginations of those watching, let alone in a depraved society like the Dark Elf’s.
Are they going to have a go then? I thought to myself, still shocked by what was about to happen as I turned to face Paliseth.
In return, Paliseth flashed me a wide, long smile, as if to say that the true show was only beginning.
The colosseum was not just a place where blood was shed. Often, there would be public displays of procreation, perpetrated by the more open members of their society. In fact, it was basically a part of the daily show at this point; it wasn’t strange at all to see a few such cases in a day. Even some of the slave gladiators were a part of this live performance, choosing to have a go right after their victory instead of waiting till they were in the backrooms.
What was more shocking however, was that such acts of perversion were actually popular with the crowd… Naturally, all that was assuming such people survived the fight.
Reyage kept his cool for the most part, even when faced with a potentially exciting situation down below. He was every bit an old, wizened monk right now: expressionless and unaffected. As for his sister… her face was already buried in my chest.
Her hands were completely cupping her ears and her body was shivering just like it would when she was frightened. That was how timid of a girl she was. Even though the sword didn’t harm the human in the end, the mere thought of that grisly scene was enough to frighten her.
The human female below had already resigned herself to her fate, but apparently fate had something more cruel in store for her. The dreaded cold embrace of death never came, instead she felt a chill on her back, both figuratively and literally. The Sword Dancer chose not to kill her right away, he wanted to humiliate her in the worst possible way -that was why he sliced her shirt up under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of people.
Feeling her clothes slip off her back, the female human immediately grabbed onto whatever scraps of cloth that were left covering her chest. Then she turned around to face the Sword Dancer so as not to let him see her exposed back. This time, there was panic written all over her face. Real, visceral panic. Her body instinctively pulled itself away from Sarkath, crawling desperately away in a bid to put some distance between her and him.
Unfortunately, there was no way her crawling was ever going to save her. The perfectly unharmed Sword Dancer had on a sinister sneer as he looked at the female human, as if she was nothing more than a dirty Duergar. “Hmph, you should consider it an honor for lowly creatures like yourself to serve me. Do you honestly think I would covet that body of yours? That body which you might see as perfect but is actually no better than a filthy Duergar’s.”
His barbed words cut into her like a sword, but she never responded to him in the slightest. She merely continued crawling away, all the while clutching on that dangling piece of hemp on her chest.
Sarkath maintained a calm pace as he walked up to her. His face held none of the lust you would expect, instead it held that paradoxical look of disgust you would see on a person who was about to swallow something he knew was revolting but chose to do it anyway.
It was as if the unspeakable acts he was about to inflict on her were actually an insult to his noble self… like how one wouldn’t cavort in bed with a dog.
That self-aggrandising attitude of his only made me want to ask him this: so why are you doing this then… Suddenly, I remembered Paliseth’s mysterious smile. Nothing needed to be explained from that point onwards.
Before his dastardly deed was about to be perpetrated, I finally spoke up.
“Stop.” I said with furrowed brows, voice amplified significantly by my own magic.
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