Chapter 5: Submission

The hero slowly raised her head, extremely weak, her eyes carrying a habitual submissiveness, like a pet trying to please its owner, making one almost want to reward her just a little.

In that instant, the Demon King almost thought she saw another “her”—gentle eyes, slightly upturned lips, carrying a mesmerizing fragility and submission.

However, the Demon King quickly distinguished the difference.

This was the hero, not “her.”

Though both were submissive, there was a different kind of persistence hidden within the hero’s gaze.

“Demon King…”

Her voice was as soft as a sigh, weak yet utterly compliant, like a kitten exposing its belly.

“I choose… to accept.”

The Demon King’s eyes widened slightly, then she laughed.

“Oh? I thought you would resist for a bit longer.”

She stepped closer, her fingertips gently brushing the hero’s cheek as she laughed teasingly.

“But this is fine too… it makes things much more interesting.”

The hero trembled faintly, her tone humble as she asked in a nearly pleading voice.

“Demon King… if… if I kept resisting, what would you… do to me?”

The Demon King laughed, her voice low and delighted, carrying a sweetness that sent chills down the spine and muddled the mind.

“In a certain sense… you would become my ‘daughter.’”

She leaned down and whispered by her ear.

“I would use the strongest demonic curse to completely crush your will and turn you entirely into a monster.

I would give you no chance to think and no reason to hate.

At that point, you would only lie at my feet, wagging your tail, crying and begging me to touch you…

Just like a real little pet.”

Merorin’s body stiffened, her pupils shrinking slightly, fear and relief intertwining within her heart.

Thank goodness… thank goodness I chose to submit.

She screamed internally, cold sweat soaking her back as dread crept in at that possible ending.

If it truly reached that point, let alone revenge, she would completely forget who she was.

She would not even think of escaping.

At that time, would she still be herself?

Truly, the heavens have protected me…

The Demon King gazed at the submissive girl before her, the corners of her lips lifting into a victorious smile.

“Since you have already submitted to me…”

She spoke slowly, smiling.

“Then let me give you a name.”

She paused, as if savoring the climax of a ritual.

“Merorin.”

The three syllables fell lightly, yet carved themselves into space like a brand.

“From now on, this will be your name.”

“No… wait!”

The hero trembled violently, instinctively trying to refute it.

“I have a name! My name is… is…”

She opened her mouth, but her mind was completely blank.

That name that once belonged to her.

The name her companions used to call her when she was a hero.

The name that carried all her past memories and identity.

The name that shook the world when she crossed into this other realm.

It vanished like mist.

“What is my name?

What is my name supposed to be?!”

She growled urgently, nails digging deep into her flesh as if trying to claw the memory out of her brain.

But the harder she tried to remember, the deeper that blankness became.

As if it had never existed at all.

“I can’t remember… why… why can’t I remember…”

Her voice began to tremble, her eyes quickly reddening.

“Please… tell me… what is my name really called?

I beg you…”

The Demon King stepped forward slowly, black hair falling to hide the fleeting complexity in her eyes.

She leaned down close to Merorin’s ear, warm breath brushing against a sensitive place, and whispered in an almost caressing tone.

“Your name?”

“Your name is—Merorin.”

At that instant, it was as if the chains of fate finally locked into place.

“Merorin…”

“I am Merorin…”

“I have always… been Merorin…”

Those three syllables surged like a tide, crushing the final embankment of memory.

The outlines of the past blurred, twisted, faded, and were finally overwritten completely.

She was no longer the defeated hero.

No longer a man.

No longer a rebel.

She was born a succubus.

Born to belong to the Demon King.

Born to be called Merorin.

Tears slid down silently, dripping from her pale cheeks onto the cold stone floor.

Not from pain.

Not from pleasure.

But from a bone-deep sense of powerlessness—she had even lost “who she was.”

Damn it… Merorin… from now on I can only be called Merorin…

Just moments ago… I had planned… revenge… escape…

But now… even my name…

The anger still burned in her heart, but it had been doused by icy water called “Merorin,” leaving only embers.

She wanted to hate, but no longer knew whom to hate.

She wanted to flee, but had forgotten why she should.

The Demon King watched her crying, a trace of satisfaction flashing through her eyes, mixed with an indescribable amusement.

“Enough.”

She said softly, raising her hand.

The restraints binding Merorin’s wrists and ankles shattered at once, dissolving into fragments of light.

Deprived of support, her body slid limply to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut.

The Demon King looked down at her.

Seeing her still curled up and crying, her brow furrowed imperceptibly before relaxing again.

She raised her hand, a point of dark light gathering at her fingertip, and lightly tapped.

In that instant—

The magical rune engraved below Merorin’s abdomen, at the end of her spine, flared brilliantly.

“Ahhh—!!!”

She threw her head back and screamed, her body arching violently, ten fingers spasming as they clawed at the ground.

The Demon King looked down upon the scene, the corners of her lips curling into a gentle yet cruel smile.

“Poor Merorin…”

“Let me help you… ease it a little.”

After an unknown length of time, consciousness slowly flowed back like a tide.

Merorin lay collapsed on the ground, her limbs weak and sore, her breathing still carrying trembling aftershocks.

Her pupils gradually focused, and that familiar, heart-stirring voice reached her ears.

She looked like a kitten that had been overstimulated, carrying a shattered kind of beauty.

“Little Merorin.”

The Demon King crouched down, gently brushing aside the damp hair stuck to her forehead, her tone almost indulgently tender.

“From now on, you are my wife, just like Sylvia.”

She paused, as if observing her reaction.

But Merorin only stared blankly at the floor, her eyes hollow, even blinking slowly.

That fragile beauty inspired pity.

Whether intentionally or by cruel fate, when Sylvia was mentioned, Merorin felt no anger at all.

Only numb confusion.

The Demon King chuckled softly, seemingly satisfied with her silence.

“Little Merorin… being dirty won’t do.”

Her gaze swept between her legs, over the mess there and the traces of cold sweat and tears covering her body.

“Go wash yourself.”

Merorin lay prone on the ground, her throat moving slightly, but no sound came out.

The extreme pleasure triggered by the rune had completely shattered her language center, leaving only instinctive gasps and faint whimpers.

Seeing this, the Demon King’s lips curved upward as she clapped her hands lightly.

“Whoosh—”

A dark shadow appeared soundlessly, kneeling behind her.