Chapter 36 : Where the Hell Did She Take Me?

She’d said everything she needed to.

Now, whatever came next—she wasn’t afraid.

Outside? Hunted on sight.
Here? Endless torment.

Both were hell.

Milly let out a bitter laugh.

Was there any transmigrator worse off than her? Probably not.

But there was one surprise.

When she screamed, “Go ahead, strangle me!”—she’d been angry. Desperate. Gambling.

But Stacy hadn’t.

She couldn’t.

So Milly mattered.

Stacy could torture her. Break her. Push her to leave this world—but not kill her.

Because death wasn’t enough.

She needed Milly to willingly depart.

Why?

And why her?

The second question was easier.

Only transmigrators could leave.

She’d arrived without memories, unable to speak—exposing herself as an outsider.

So Stacy had no choice but to focus on her.

But the first question remained:
What did Stacy gain if Milly left willingly?

Her body back?

No. If that were it, she’d extract Milly’s soul instead.

And if her “lover” could be revived… why was there no trace of the original consciousness?

Could it be… Stacy also wanted to leave—but couldn’t? And needed Milly to go first so she could follow?

But that made no sense.

Stacy ruled this world. Why would she want to escape?

Forget it. She didn’t have mind-reading powers. Who knew what twisted thoughts lived in that pervert’s head?

Better to worry about tomorrow. What would Stacy do next?

Back in the cage.

After fleeting freedom, she returned to this familiar prison.

Naked on the furry carpet—itchy, uncomfortable.

Her clothes? Thrown on the bed. Too far to reach.

No magic. No telekinesis.

Just endure.

Sleep came in fragments.

Then—click.

The cage door opened.

Half-dreaming, cold air brushed her face.

She felt herself lifted—gently.

The itchy fur vanished.

Replaced by something soft, warm—like the bed in the bedroom.

“Mmm…” She tried to resist—

Then—cold.

A freezing weight pressed against her spine—like winter itself draped over her back.

Familiar icy breath seeped into her skin, crawling down her spine.

Her body tensed—instinctively trying to flee.

But arms held her tight.

She struggled—weakly.

All strength drained.

Her wrists were pinned. Her fingers brushed smooth, frozen skin.

A shiver ran through her—like being coiled by a cold serpent.

Then—more cold.

A long leg draped over hers. An icy foot hooked around her ankle.

She felt like she was being hugged by a frost-type octopus—unable to move.

Her breath quickened. Her chest rose and fell—

But the embrace sapped her warmth, chilling her to the core.

She clawed for heat—found only two soft, strangely warm mounds within reach.

Yet, slowly… absurdly… her body adapted.

Despite the ice-cold limbs wrapped around her, the bed beneath was too soft to resist.

Milly drifted—caught between freezing and comfort.

Stacy’s breathing steadied beside her ear—rhythmic, hypnotic.

Milly’s breath synced with it.

Her tense muscles relaxed.

Before sleep claimed her, she felt Stacy’s chin rest on her shoulder.

Cold lips brushed her neck—making her shiver.

But exhaustion flooded in.

Darkness swallowed her.

The Ashen Woodland stretched along the southern border of the Augustian Empire, bordering demon territory. Its vast expanse served as a natural buffer zone between the two hostile races.

Due to the constant drift of gray-white spores—resembling ashes from a dying fire—the ancient forest was known among adventurers as the “Ashen Wastes.”

On its outer edges roamed low-level monsters—common targets for B-rank hunting quests, handled by small teams of equipped adventurers.

Deeper in, the creatures grew stronger. Only elite squads dared accept A-rank missions into the inner zones.

But at the heart of the forest—legends spoke of a Fallen God’s corpse buried beneath the roots. His lingering magic tainted the soil, birthing bloodthirsty horrors.

Adventurers who entered never returned. Vanished. Erased.

Thus, the core became a true no-man’s land—even veterans feared it.

Near that forbidden heart, sunlight pierced the canopy, dappling across a pale face.

Warm, bright—contrasting the surrounding chill.

Milly blinked, adjusting to the sudden light.

She followed the beam upward—seeing towering trees woven into an impenetrable ceiling, letting only scattered rays through.

She lay on thick, soft humus—a bed of decaying leaves, damp and musty.

“Ugh…”

She rubbed her eyes, sitting up slowly.

Last night… she’d been half-asleep when Stacy carried her to bed.

As always, her body was freezing.

But now—

She looked around.

Not on Stacy’s bed.

Not in the cage.

Was this still her house?

Where the hell did she take me?!