Rogue didn't actually expend much mana casting healing spells. In the Demon Lord Fortress, he'd always been seen as a weak human "borrowing Aria's authority to intimidate others."
Each time he healed, he pretended it drained him. Partly to hide his true strength. Partly because greater ability meant more responsibilities—and Rogue found that tedious.
After three years in the Demon Lord Fortress, Rogue lived secluded but wasn't ignorant of the outside world. Aria treated him, a mere human, exceptionally well. She rarely refused his requests.
With other subordinates, mistakes meant punishment—even for her closest aides. No one dared make absurd demands. She was a capricious Demon King, except when dealing with Rogue.
He avoided thinking Aria might have ulterior motives. Simply fulfilling her tasks as repayment felt safest.
Surely the Demon King couldn't be fond of a human?
Rogue shook his head, dismissing the thought. With nothing urgent left, he summoned Puppet No. 2 to clean the bloodstains. Then he practiced magic.
Goblin-made alchemical puppets were impressive. Rogue saw only one flaw: their stiffness.
Among elven magic lay Overlord Magic—granting "thought" and "life" to inanimate objects. Bored this past year, Rogue practiced it often. His manor held ten puppets; Numbers One through Four were his test subjects.
A year wasn't enough for success. But these four did show slightly more "vitality" than the others. Just a hint.
Rogue sensed that mastering this magic might even allow creating life from nothing.
Time flew to noon. Rogue grabbed bread and water, heading to Lilitha's storage room. Outside, Puppet No. 1 stood guard, utterly focused.
Peeking inside, Rogue saw Lilitha huddled in a corner. One hand clutched the Pendant to her chest. The other nervously twisted straw on the floor. She stared at the clock, breathing heavily.
Unaware, Lilitha’s small hands had synced their straw-twisting rhythm to the clock’s steady *tick-tock*.
Two days had passed. Rogue’s planned effect was finally taking hold.
Earlier, Lilitha’s attention split between Rogue and the Pendant. Now settled into waiting, she noticed her surroundings.
This must be unbearable.
No light. Oppressive silence. Like the whole world had abandoned her. Her weary yet stubborn face showed she endured—but barely.
Timing it precisely, Rogue stayed outside, observing.
*If I skipped noon visits, only coming morning and night... would the pressure grow?*
*Then she might start longing for my daily arrivals.*
*Clack.* The clock struck two. Rogue pushed the door open. Simultaneously, a small window above slid open, flooding the room with light.
Lilitha reflexively leaned forward. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted, yet she refused to shut them. Rogue saw raw longing on her small face.
But the expression lasted only two seconds. She shrank back, wary of Rogue again.
Two seconds was enough. Change had begun.
Rogue needed to shift Lilitha’s focus from the Pendant to himself.
These thrice-daily feedings bored Lilitha. The food was scarce. The bread dry. Dragons had huge appetites—this single slice couldn’t fill her.
Yet she couldn’t refuse it. Starving as she was, that fleeting fullness when swallowing was irresistible.
Still, it was better than before.
Hiding the Pendant like that morning, Lilitha let Rogue drag her to a small stool. He forced her into a begging-puppy posture, humiliating her.
Rogue tore off a bread piece, holding it motionless before her mouth. Shame flickered in Lilitha’s eyes.
Immobilized limbs forced her to lean forward slightly, lifting her head. She gently bit the bread, eyes fixed on Rogue’s fingers. Careful. Avoiding any brush of teeth or lips against his skin.
This posture and expression deeply embarrassed her.
Like she was deliberately performing for his gaze.
The first bite was cautious, perfect. No accidental touches meant no punishment. Sometimes, even praise from Rogue.
As she pulled back to chew, Rogue’s large hand reached under her chin. He scratched lightly. The sensation was oddly soothing—but Lilitha hated it.
*What’s the point of this? Why force such strange rituals during meals? I can’t fathom this man.*
The ordeal ended. The dry bread left Lilitha thirsty. Her eyes drifted to the waterskin.
Rogue didn’t remove the stopper. He just held the skin, watching her.
After days of feedings, Lilitha knew what he waited for. She bit her lip, adjusting her posture. Limbs still fixed, she leaned farther forward. Head lifted. Mouth opened. Her tiny tongue slipped out, drying quickly in the air.
Only then did Rogue pull the stopper. He pressed the spout to her pink tongue tip. Tilting it, water trickled out.
Some flowed down her throat. Some spilled from her lips, tracing her chin to her thigh. Feeling the wetness, Lilitha leaned closer, slowly taking the spout into her mouth.
Her throat bobbed with Rogue’s rhythm. She felt the water quench her thirst—yet discomfort lingered.
The water ran out. Much had spilled due to her posture.
Lilitha bit her lip, face twisting in disdain. Rogue produced a dry cloth. He lifted her hands, meticulously wiping the damp skin.
Lilitha turned her head away. Too embarrassed to watch his face or movements.
That’s why she loathed these feedings. Not a single moment was bearable.
After drying her, Rogue packed up. He swapped the chamber pot. Left without a word.
The door shut. The overhead window closed. Darkness swallowed the room again.
Another routine feeding ended—one Lilitha despised yet endured.
