Stepping out of the warehouse, Rogue paused at the door. Instantly, the warehouse walls turned transparent, revealing its cramped, dim interior.

Lilitha huddled in a corner, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her gaze remained fixed on the doorway, unmoving.

The initial herbal treatment had cleansed her wounds, washing away grime. Stripped bare, her pale skin contrasted starkly with the shocking whip marks—a haunting beauty impossible to describe. Even after Rogue left, her body stayed rigid with tension.

Unhurried, Rogue pulled up a chair and sat quietly outside. Observation was integral to interrogation. By watching her behavior after his departure, he could gauge the session’s effectiveness and plan his next move. He believed taming followed the same principle.

Mindless violence was the crudest approach. True effectiveness began in the mind.

After a long while, certain Rogue wouldn’t return immediately, Lilitha finally relaxed slightly. Her fingers brushed the pendant resting between her collarbones. Then, she lunged desperately toward the bread and waterskin Rogue had tossed on the floor.

Ignoring the dirt and straw mixed with the food, she grabbed it all. She didn’t eat—she *shoved* the bread into her mouth, gulping water to force it down as if an executioner’s blade hung over her head, demanding haste.

Rogue watched, frowning. Her past had scarred her too deeply. Feeding routines would need special attention during her taming.

*"Since this is Lady Aria’s assignment,"* he thought, *"I’ll postpone other interrogations. This young dragon takes priority."*

In moments, Lilitha devoured the half-loaf and drained the waterskin. Hesitating briefly, she snatched the tattered rough cloth and slowly retreated to her corner. A painful dry heave wracked her body before her eyes dulled once more, empty.

Only when Lilitha collapsed onto the straw, utterly spent by sleep, did Rogue rise. He pushed the chair aside and clapped his hands. A mechanical alchemical puppet whirred over on wheels—a mindless goblin-tech construct, perfect for obeying orders.

Rogue glanced at Lilitha. "Unit One, guard her. Alert me when she wakes. From today, you’re assigned solely to recording this dragon’s behavior. Ignore the other prisoners."

*"Gurgle-gurgle!"*

Unit One’s single eye flashed red—acknowledgment.

Rogue nodded and headed toward his quarters. He pulled out the other half-loaf meant for Lilitha, chewing slowly as he walked. *Had he been too harsh today?* Dragged from one hell to another unknown place—fear was inevitable, fragile hope understandable. But realizing this new place was *also* hell? Despair could easily drive her to seek death.

Compared to the prisoners he interrogated, his methods were practically child’s play. Yet perhaps still too much.

*Better consult Lady Aria. Two months to tame a pet dragon? Impossible.*

"Tch. Troublesome."

Back in his room, Rogue didn’t rest. He opened a notebook, jotting down Lilitha’s condition and needed supplies. Thick ledgers sat beside it—each detailing a different prisoner. Recording them wasn’t his duty; it was personal habit.

*"Come to think of it… the surname ‘Orianth’ sounds familiar."*

Rogue tapped his quill, gaze drifting to the crimson moon outside.

He worked on Lilitha’s notes until past 2 a.m. before finally sleeping.

At 5 a.m., Unit One roused him. At Lilitha’s warehouse door, he found her curled on the straw: knees tucked to her belly, a bulky tail threaded between her legs and clutched against her chest, hands gripping its tip as she trembled uncontrollably. The rough cloth barely covered her.

She was trapped in a nightmare, lips shaping sounds Rogue couldn’t understand. Perhaps she dreamed of rescue.

*Pity. That won’t happen.*

Rogue turned away, ordering Unit One to keep watch.

Demon King Aria was fickle, ruled by whim. Even if Lilitha became a perfect pet, returning her to the Demon King promised no happy ending. From the moment she arrived here, despair was her destiny.

Rogue returned to bed. An hour later, Unit One summoned him again.

6 a.m. The full crimson moon outside was waning. Rogue rubbed his temples, weary. "Looks like I’ll be sleeping outside the warehouse until this dragon stabilizes." He instructed Unit One, "Have Unit Two schedule an appointment with Lady Aria. I need to discuss this dragon."

Grabbing prepared supplies, he walked back to the warehouse. Through the transparent wall, Lilitha was awake—still huddled in the corner with the rough cloth, but her small face now etched with urgency.

Rogue checked the time and simply sat on his chair outside. At precisely 7 a.m., he pushed the warehouse door open.

***Clang!***

The noise jolted the young dragon. She flinched backward instinctively, gripping the rough cloth a little tighter.

Rogue said nothing. He strode toward Lilitha. Under her terrified gaze, he reached for the cloth.

A faint resistance pulled from the other end. Rogue lifted his eyes. Beneath his bangs, his gaze locked with Lilitha’s crimson pupils—and her breath hitched.

*Dark. Cold. Like a bloodthirsty demon.* The words flashed in her mind.

Still, she didn’t let go.

At her age, shame was ingrained. The idea of her body being seen was unthinkable. Besides, this rough cloth was her only source of warmth.

*Useless pride.* A pet may be playful, but it must never defy its master. When Lilitha refused to release the cloth after two tugs, Rogue let go.

His hand shot instead for the pendant around her neck.

"*Mmph!*" Lilitha clamped her hands over it—but Rogue roughly pried her fingers away. The pendant was his again.

Defiance demanded punishment. Last night’s half-loaf. Now this. Rewards for obedience. Punishment for resistance. Lilitha *would* learn this truth.

Words were useless. Actions would carve the lesson into her bones.

He was the master.

She was the pet.