Lewd System: Every Scream and Moan is EXP Chapter 401: A Lamb Fed Well

Hestia laughed. "Hah. Look at who’s threatening whom now. Pahaha."

Then the laughter dropped clean off her face. "You are nothing but a plaything for the duke. A lamb being fattened before the slaughter, fed well for no reason other than to make sure it tastes better on the day."

"He’s spoiling you for his own gain. For his own objective, winning that tournament, where a slave’s worth counts for a great deal. He’s fooling you into believing you hold some genuine importance in his life. He’ll have made you believe he isn’t disgusted every single time you stand beside him."

Hestia tilted her head. "...I mean, that’s what every celestial is taught at the academy, isn’t it? A frightened slave is useful. But a devoted slave is invaluable. Feed them. Praise them. Protect them. Convince them they’re family, if you must. They’ll fight harder, bleed longer, and die smiling for you."

Her smile turned mocking. "And once they’ve served their purpose, you throw them away. That is how it has always been done. And that is exactly how it will go for you."

"It would be a genuine delight to see your face on the day it happens." She stepped in close and took one of Lysia’s hands in hers, cradling it with all the tenderness of a nurse. "Looking at this poor little thing, I do believe she thinks she owns the duke. Perhaps she’s even imagined herself as his wife."

"But my dear. Marriage between a mortal and a celestial has been forbidden for longer than your entire bloodline has existed, and the penalty for it is death. So hold your horses. Take a good look at reality. And see exactly where it is you belong."

The smug grin slid off Lysia’s face.

She turned her head and searched Athanor’s face for something. Anything.

Then she turned back to Hestia, and hurled what was left of the wine straight into it.

"Now a bitch like you is going to lecture me about this scum Athanor?" Lysia said. "He may be cold-hearted, sure. But underneath all that he’s just a fool. A fool who isn’t rotted straight through like nobles such as you."

Hestia scraped the wine off her cheeks and looked around the hall, at a hundred guests with their hands clapped over their mouths in open shock.

Her rage boiled over. Her hand flew back for a slap.

And stopped dead in the air.

Athanor had caught her by the wrist. "I have been patient with you this entire evening," he said. "That patience has run out. Forget laying a hand on her. One more insult is all it will take for me to become the monster duke I have spent months trying not to be."

"Are you truly taking her side?" Hestia hissed. "Do you understand who it is you’re crossing? For a Don’t tell me you’ve grown so obsessed with your own pet that you’ve gone blind to the fact that you’re walking straight into your own ruination."

Athanor looked at her with eyes that had frozen better fighters solid without lifting a finger. "Try me. But know this before you do. I have buried far greater names than yours."

His voice stayed level. "In fact, you are a no-name to begin with. Your mother was a whore who tricked his majesty into putting a child in her, and birthed you for no purpose beyond securing herself the position of concubine. And you know it too. That’s why you’re so desperate for my family’s name. You want a bloodline built on honor to cleanse the stain in your own."

"And now that same leech blood has the audacity to climb even higher than the scrap of a seat our lord graciously threw at your feet." He let go of her wrist. "How pathetic."

Hestia’s fist clenched white. "I want this man’s head, and his slave’s, sitting on a plate right next to my cake."

Five knights charged.

A single look stopped all five of them cold. He never touched his magic. He simply turned that stare on them, and every one of those poor souls silently decided that dying by Hestia’s hand later was a far kinder fate than dying by his right now.

One of them dropped his sword outright.

Athanor took Lysia’s hand. "Let’s leave. This place has grown unbearably noisy."

"Treasure your little pet while you still can," Hestia called after his back. "The day I reach the top will be the very day your ruin begins."

Athanor grinned, glancing back over his shoulder. "That day will never come. Look around this hall and tell me you honestly believe you’re still reaching for that throne."

He kept walking. "No matter what you pull, your blood remains exactly what it is. And you would do well to forget any notion that Lord Zeus will hand you that seat. Certainly not after watching you humiliated at your own birthday."

He walked out with drunk Lysia’s hand in his, while she twisted around to show Hestia one final, extremely deliberate middle finger.

-x-X-x-

[A few hours pass]

Athanor carried Lysia through the palace halls in a princess carry, on account of her being far too drunk to operate her own legs.

"Man." She flopped an arm over her eyes. "What a colossal waste of effort, convincing you to let me come to that boring party. They didn’t even have real wine."

"What a scam. They actually called that stuff wine? I’ve had stronger than that. Didn’t even get me a little tipsy."

Athanor looked down at the woman who could not currently stand.

"Though what can you expect from that bitch’s party, honestly." She waved vaguely at the ceiling. "Ah, speaking of that bitch. You did great back there."

And she reached up and patted him on the head.

Athanor, who had long since lost the energy to argue with anything she said, found his own face going hot as he looked down at that drunk, grinning face.

He carried her the rest of the way to her room, set her down on the bed, and turned to leave.

A hand caught the back of his suit.

Lysia had a fistful of his coat, and when she spoke, her voice came out hesitant. For the very first time since he’d known her.

"Why didn’t you reject her offer on the spot?" she asked. "Don’t tell me you were actually thinking of going through with it."