Chapter 2

A freezing, bone-chilling liquid poured over Leon's head, shocking him awake. Cold water streamed down his face, soaking him to the skin. He coughed violently, the suffocating sensation leaving him momentarily breathless. Blinking hard, he opened his eyes, only to be confronted by a woman whose presence was nothing short of horrifying—a living embodiment of an evil witch from a dark fairy tale.

Her skin was waxy and ashen, etched with deep, uneven creases, as though time had cruelly carved its mark upon her. Her nose was sunken, her lips cracked, and her hair hung in disheveled, straw-like strands over her shoulders. Her half-lidded eyes glimmered with a frigid malice that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Awake, are we?" she rasped, her voice a grating, metallic screech-like nails on glass. She let out a hoarse, grating laugh. "If it weren’t for the fact that this ritual demands your consciousness, I wouldn’t have wasted a basin of my precious well water on you."

“Ritual? What ritual?” Leon wanted to ask, but before the words could form, the scene around him struck him dumb with terror.

He looked around, his scalp prickling with unease. This place bore no resemblance to anything he had ever encountered in reality; it felt more like hell.

The entire space was engulfed in darkness, with only a faint, blood-red glow flickering in the distance. In the dim light, strange symbols crawled across the walls, drawn in blood, emanating a foul, nauseating stench. The air was thick with the smell of damp decay like a long-forgotten tomb had been unearthed deep underground, releasing both the stench of death and a wave of malignant intent.

To his shock, he found himself bound to a massive wooden pillar. The wood was ancient and rough, scarred with cracks and stained with dark splotches, seemed like it had once been soaked in blood, and resembled a cursed sacrificial post.

His hands and feet were tightly bound with rough ropes. So harsh they felt like old hemp, and with every movement, they dug deeper into his skin, leaving painful indentations. He looked down and saw that the area around the wooden pillar was surrounded by burning candles, their flames flickering as they cast eerie, shifting shadows over the "altar" where he stood like he was trapped in a twisted dream.

Leon’s heart raced uncontrollably, his mind on the verge of shattering. Everything felt too absurd, yet too real. He forced himself to regain control, lifting his gaze to lock eyes with the woman. His voice trembled, laced with anger: "Who are you? Why did you bring me here? What are you trying to do?"

The woman paused her movements, tilting her head slightly as a sinister smile curled across her lips. "Who I am is none of your concern," she said slowly, drawing closer, each word dripping with malicious mockery. "Why are you taken here is none of your business either."

Leon glared at her with all his might, his breath growing more erratic, but the woman seemed completely indifferent to his fear. She hesitated for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter. It was sharp and grating, like a knife scraping against his eardrum. "However, I can tell you what I’m trying to do," she continued, her tone now cold and detached. "You’ve been sold. My master bought you, and I’m here to deliver you to him."

Leon’s body trembled with a mixture of rage and fear. He struggled with all his might, but the ropes were tighter than iron, binding him in a cruel grip. He had never felt so helpless, so utterly desperate. "You’re insane!" he shouted with all his strength, but his voice seemed small and insignificant in this eerie space.

The woman, however, paid no attention to him. She turned her back and walked toward the center of the altar, preparing for the ritual. Her arms lifted high above her head as she began chanting in a language he couldn’t recognize. The words were strange and sharp, like a blend of several languages, each syllable carrying an unnerving chill. As the chant grew faster, the air thickened with the heavy stench of blood, and the floor beneath him seemed to tremble, as though the very earth was being awakened by some unseen force.

"With blood as the offering, with souls as the guide, open the gate to the abyss..." she murmured, her voice filled with a fervent, almost fanatical devotion.

The flames of the surrounding candles suddenly turned green, flickering wildly, as if blown by an invisible wind, their light unstable and erratic. Leon felt a sudden drop in temperature, the chill seeping into his very bones and a heavy boulder had settled on his chest, making each breath a struggle, laboring through his lungs with increasing difficulty.

"Stop! Don’t... don’t do this!" Leon screamed, desperately writhing in his restraints. His voice was hoarse, his face flushed with exertion. Each breath felt like the claws of some wild beast tightening around his throat, suffocating him. His vision blurred, and the chant mixed with the crackling of the candles seemed to spiral together, creating a hellish symphony that shredded his nerves.

He could feel an invisible force slowly draining his life away, his lungs filling with the weight of sand and earth, each breath growing heavier, more painful. Cold sweat poured down his forehead in thick beads, but his limbs had lost all strength, leaving him powerless to resist, helpless as the darkness threatened to consume him.

In the final moment, the woman’s chant reached its peak, and a deep, thunderous sound suddenly reverberated through the space. The green flames shot up violently, and Leon’s consciousness was torn apart. He felt himself being dragged by some unseen force into an endless abyss. He tried to struggle, tried to scream, but all sound was devoured by the encroaching darkness. “Is this how I die? Am I going to die?”

A deep silence followed. Leon’s world plunged into complete darkness.

Leon slowly opened his eyes, his consciousness still struggling to clear the haze. His body ached with exhaustion, but everything around him was completely different from the cold, dark altar he had been in. The room wasn't brightly lit, but it was refined and luxurious. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was a far cry from the hellish space he had just left behind.

"Where am I?" he muttered softly, his head still heavy with confusion.

He lifted his hand and realized there were no restraints on his wrists, and his movements felt much freer than before. Had he been reborn? Or had he ended up in the "master's place" the witch had mentioned? He shook his head forcefully, trying to dismiss such absurd thoughts. But the scene that followed threw him into yet another shock.

As he tried to get out of bed, a cold sensation ran through his ankle. He looked down and saw a delicate iron chain securely fastened around his foot, the other end anchored to the bedpost. The chain made a sharp, metallic clink as it swayed.

The sound didn’t linger in the room; it soon attracted someone’s attention. Calm, measured footsteps grew louder, drawing nearer. Moments later, the door creaked open, and a man stepped inside.

He was tall, standing at 182 cm, his height imposing yet graceful. His slender, well-proportioned figure was draped in a perfectly tailored suit, which hugged his frame and accentuated his aristocratic elegance. His face was flawless—sharp, defined features with smooth contours, and a slight curve to his lips that made him seem both stern and, at the same time, subtly composed.

For a brief moment, Leon was taken aback. "Noble Son" seemed like the most fitting description for this man.

"You're awake?" The man spoke, his voice deep and magnetic, carrying a hint of subtle curiosity.

Leon snapped back to his senses, eyeing the man warily, a trace of unease in his tone. "Uh... who are you?"

The man's lips curled slightly into a smile, his response swift and assured. "I am Jasper Blackwood."

"Jasper Blackwood?" Leon furrowed his brow, repeating the unfamiliar name to himself. Suddenly, memories of the auction and the witch’s words flooded his mind, and his voice became tinged with urgency. "Are you 'master'?"

The words slipped out before Leon could stop himself. He hadn't had time to carefully form his thoughts; his mind was overwhelmed with the strange, sudden events that had occurred, and "master" was the only word that came to him. He knew it sounded absurd, but in the face of the situation, he couldn’t care less about logic or phrasing.

Jasper raised an eyebrow, a faint, almost imperceptible smile crossing his face. "I’m not your master." He paused, his gaze locking with Leon’s, before slowly adding, "I’m your fiancé."

Leon shot up from the bed, his head spinning as if struck by something unfathomable. The information felt too much to process, his mind reeling. "Fiancé...?" he stammered. "Are you joking?"

Jasper didn’t seem amused in the slightest. His tone was calm and assured. "We’re getting married, tonight."

"Married?!" Leon’s heart raced as he took a few steps forward, but the length of the iron chain stopped him from approaching Jasper. His emotions flared, and his voice shot up in pitch. "I don’t even know you! How could I marry you?"

"You’re right, you don’t know me," Jasper replied, his gaze unwavering, his voice as steady as ever. "But that doesn’t matter. Either way, you’re mine now."