Transmigrated into a reversed world
Chapter 222 - 222: Burn everything in this room

Viktor's heart pounded with each step she took—every movement felt like slow motion, except for the deafening thud in his chest.

Cyra stopped in front of him and reached for his hand, gently halting his fingers from tugging his bathrobe open.

"Boy," she murmured, her voice thick with amusement, "are you trying to seduce me?"

Her eyes darkened as they trailed to the exposed line of his chest peeking beneath the robe collar.

"What if I am? Would—"

His words were cut short. Her fingers clamped around the back of his neck.

She studied the flickering storm of emotions across his face—his eyes wet, a darker gold now, and his breath shallow as he panted.

Then, without warning, she dragged him inside. The door slammed shut behind them, sealing the room in tense silence.

"Mm…" A moan slipped past Viktor's lips as he glanced at his mistress. Her darkened grey eyes met his, and his core clenched in response.

"You like that, don't you?" she whispered, her lips just a hairsbreadth from his.

Her breath fanned over his skin, and Viktor fought to stay still, desperate for her to claim him.

"Pity," Cyra murmured, pulling back. "I can't touch you yet."

"Why?" he blurted, disappointment flooding his voice. "I… I prepared everything."

He paused, flushing instantly as the words left his lips.

Unable to meet her gaze, he looked away, the tips of his ears burning red. Cyra noticed his reaction and grew curious.

"And what exactly did you prepare?" she asked, her tone calm but probing.

At her question, Viktor tensed. He bit his lip, eyes darting away as nerves twisted in his gut.

'What if she thinks I'm desperate? I am… but if she hates clingy men—Ha! Just say it. Worst case, she leaves or we move forward.'

His face flickered with fear, anxiety, hope, and resignation.

Cyra, watching him closely, smiled. She hadn't expected to see such raw emotion from him. When they first met, he always wore a cheerful, innocent mask.

Now, he was at ease enough around her to let his guard down completely.

She raised his chin, their eyes locking. "So? What is it?" she asked again, genuinely curious.

Viktor stared at her, then whispered, "Alright, come with me... I'll show you."

Under her gaze, he tied his robe tightly and slipped on his flops.

They left the room. Viktor walked ahead slowly as if dragging out time or second-guessing himself.

Cyra didn't press him, simply followed. Their shadows merged on the hallway walls as they moved deeper into the castle.

When they reached the pillar, Viktor's panic returned. He hadn't felt this anxious showing Zane before—but this was Cyra.

Still, anticipation bubbled within him at the thought of her seeing the room.

"We're here," he said, pressing the wall. A low hum followed, and a hidden door slid open.

Cyra stepped inside and froze.

The room was meticulously prepared. Furniture padded in soft leather. Ropes, cuffs, canes. A rack of tailored tools lined the far wall.

Viktor peeked at her from the side, eager to read her reaction.

She quickly composed herself and began walking around, her fingers grazing over everything in the room.

Viktor watched, entranced, as her pale fingers curled around a black crop handle.

Snap!

She slapped it against her palm, testing its feel. Then her gaze met his—and a glint appeared in her eyes.

She turned, her expression stern.

"Kneel."

Her curt command struck him like lightning. His body responded before his mind did—he dropped to his knees, spine straightening under her gaze.

She approached slowly. Every step sent his heartbeat racing.

When she reached him, she tapped his cheek with the crop. Viktor tensed, his eyes glowing with anticipation.

"Do you know what you did wrong?" she asked, disappointment lacing her tone.

She had intended to be the one in charge of every detail, but he disrupted her plan.

Viktor's expression changed instantly. "M-Mistress?" he stammered, reaching for her, but she stepped back.

Panic set in. His mind slipped fully into his submissive space. Right now, all he wanted was to please her.

Cyra sighed, tossed the crop aside, and crouched before him, cupping his cheeks.

"You crossed the line by rushing things. I'll punish you later." Her tone softened, though her gaze remained firm.

Standing up, she glanced around the dim room and frowned.

"Burn everything in this room."

Her words landed with finality. Without sparing him another glance, she turned and left.

The wall closed behind her.

Viktor collapsed onto the fur-covered floor, his racing heartbeat gradually slowing, and the tension in his body finally easing.

He stared up at the icy, high ceiling, his thoughts drifting to the emotions she stirred in him—her control, her every frown, breath, and touch could send him spiralling.

He should've been afraid, should've kept his distance, but instead, he felt drawn in by the very power she held over him.

He wanted to be hers—completely owned, utterly controlled.

A drunken smile curled on Viktor's lips—intoxicated not by wine, but by the sheer thrill of surrendering to her.

After a while, he collected himself and began dismantling the room, calling on Pain to assist him.

.....

In the living room, Zane sharpened his sword. Tiny chips marred its edge—leftover damage from the night's hunt.

He couldn't help but miss his old sword—crafted by a renowned blacksmith in the olden days.

He didn't blame the current manufacturer; after all, this one was built for fighting humans, not desolate land monsters.

"I'll have to make do with this," he muttered, continuing to sharpen the chipped edge against the siltstone.

The cushion beside him dipped, but he didn't need to look—Cyra's red hair spilled freely down her back, visible from the corner of his eye.

"Are you going to train the women—or leave them here to fend for themselves?" Zane asked, still focused on his blade.

Cyra was silent for a while then spoke of her plans.

"We'll stay here for a week to let them familiarize themselves with the surroundings. Then we'll head to the island."

Cyra estimated how long their training would take, silently hoping they'd be ready for the Dark Organization.

"Three months—that's all they get," she told Zane

Zane hummed in response, lifting his sword to the light to inspect its edge.

"When we get back, I'll have a new one made," he muttered, still displeased with the small chips that remained despite his sharpening.

Cyra glanced at it, recalling his old sword. But with everything going on at that time, retrieving it hadn't crossed her mind.

Then, a thought struck her.

"Do you miss your life here? The monster hunts?"

Zane paused. Slowly, he lowered the sword, her question echoing in his mind.

He didn't miss his time there save for those times they hunted together, their gains, injuries and funny moments.

Except for this, nothing. His life before her was a tasteless motion of living, no laughter only living to exist and nothing else.

"I miss our time here together… and I can always kill monsters in games," Zane added feeling it unique and fun in games.

But the image of his destroyed home flashed through his mind, and his expression darkened. His grip on the sword tightened.

"When it comes to the Dark Organization, I won't sit this one out," Zane said firmly, the sword's edge catching the light—and the fury in his eyes.

Cyra didn't argue. She knew the anger from that incident had quieted on the surface, but deep down, it still simmered in his heart.

"When I get enough information about them and their hideout...we strike," Cyra said in a deadly calm tone.

"Let me know when that time comes." Zane's anger eased—he trusted her word.

Before he could sheath his sword, a hand slipped around his waist.

"You haven't forgotten what I said… have you?" Cyra's abrupt change of subject threw him off for a second, but realization dawned quickly, and his body tensed.

"Wife… we have a long day tomorrow. Let's do this another time," he pleaded, trying to inch away.

No use.

Cyra pulled him onto her lap, arms caging him in place.

"Just one round and no more.'' Cyra's sultry whisper floated into his ears, sending a shiver through his body.

"No…mm…'' his words were interrupted by actions. A moan escaped his lips as her tongue trailed slowly against his nape.

Zane's body weakened against hers, and she slowly unbuttoned his shirt as her hand stroked his chest—her nails brushing against his pink nipples.

Nipping on his nape slowly as she pinched his nipped roughly.

A moan escaped his lips, his mind turned to mush, all traces of resistance melting away.

And she took the opportunity, to undress him, flipping him on his back, her elbow accidentally hitting the hilt of the sword, pushing off the table.

The sword fell to the ground with a loud clank. Zane's eyes cleared a bit, but she claimed his lips, making him forget about the sound.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.