Bound tightly, Sophia moved far slower than she'd imagined. Her ascetic upbringing left her hypersensitive; every three steps tugged the crotch rope, sending waves of unbearable sensation through her. After a few dozen meters, she was drenched with arousal. The silver shackles, ironically, offered no real restraint—her steps were so small and tentative, never reaching the chain's limit, each one a powerless shuffle. Poor Isaac, too timid to question, assumed this was his mistress's peculiar pleasure.
By evening, they'd covered only half the planned distance. Windleaf Town would have to wait until tomorrow night. Isaac found a secluded spot, lit a fire, and resigned to camping there. Suddenly, Sophia's cloak, Bloodwing, parted, its edge forming an arrow pointing to Moonshine at her waist.
"Use the sword?" Isaac asked.
"Mmm," Sophia nodded. As a royal vampire, she could survive a crushed skull, but this human—her only hope for freedom—could not. He needed protection.
"Thank you, Lady Dominax." Isaac unfastened the rapier and hung it at his waist. Greedy, lustful, and cowardly, he'd joined the army for coin, owning no sword of his own. Now he wielded the world's mightiest silver blade, a relic coveted by adventurers—though he thought it merely a common rapier.
"I'll protect you with it," he vowed, knowing he'd flee danger. Cowardice had kept him a nobody while his childhood friends, Jules and Luke, became heroes. Still, no threat could faze the vampire who'd obliterated a thousand soldiers and a grand mage. Glancing at Sophia, he saw she'd already lain down, asleep. Bloodwing enveloped her, yet her sensual curves remained tantalizingly visible.
Isaac's lust surfaced. His hand reached toward her "forbidden zones"—No, Isaac, you'll die! The image of a thousand corpses chilled him, sweat beading on his brow. In truth, touching her would've been safe—Sophia was fast asleep.
Raised in safety, Sophia had faced ancient dragons but never a successful ambush. Most couldn't breach Bloodwing's defenses. Even in a wolf's den, she'd slumber unharmed. Unlike typical vampires, who didn't sleep but entered a death-like torpor to pass time, Sophia was unique. Born to a human mother, not turned via blood kiss, she was the world's only natural vampire, a "Daywalker" nearly immune to sunlight's discomfort. Her hybrid nature meant she didn't need food, drink, or breath, but without them, she felt fatigue and hunger—human sensations that didn't harm her but caused discomfort. Sleep, another human trait, was unnecessary yet instinctive. She slept deeply, blending vampire torpor with human dreaming, undisturbed even by explosions.
Isaac, lacking Bloodwing's comfort, made do as a pauper, settling on the ground and drifting off. Sophia's deep sleep lasted until noon, and timid Isaac dared not wake her, waiting patiently.
After yesterday's ordeal with the crotch rope, Sophia adapted, stepping to the shackles' full length without soaking herself every few paces. But a new torment arose—her bladder. Before meeting the goblin, she'd drunk a large bottle of wine, and now her bladder screamed. She could hold it without harm, but the discomfort was maddening. Urinating would shatter her fearsome, aloof image before Isaac, violate her mother's ladylike teachings, and ruin her precious 40-gold-coin elven underwear. Thankfully, she'd eaten little, sparing her further indignity. With her pace finally matching the shackles' limit—though she paused often, overwhelmed by sensation—they reached Windleaf Town by 9 p.m.
Their pairing screamed noblewoman and servant. Even without Bloodwing or her gold-embroidered headscarf, Sophia's commanding eyes marked her as high aristocracy. The innkeeper, eyeing a chance to fleece a capital noble, was disappointed when Isaac, not the bound Sophia, paid. Haggling like a street rat, Isaac slashed the rate from three gold coins to 30 copper, booking a single room—scandalous, as a servant and mistress should have separate quarters. The innkeeper's suspicious glare sized up Isaac, plotting to report this audacious servant or extort Sophia, preferably with her body as payment.
Sophia's 800 years of experience read the innkeeper's vile thoughts—another human too foul to drink. Ignoring him, she and Isaac ascended to their room. Sophia kicked Isaac off the bed with her shackled feet, claiming it. Bloodwing's edge pointed to the floor—his sleeping spot.
"Y-yes, my lady," Isaac grumbled, making a pallet and collapsing into sleep.
Neither Isaac nor Sophia, her senses dulled by the collar, noticed they'd been followed into Windleaf Town.
Midnight.
Duang! The inn door was kicked open, jolting Isaac awake. Bandits stormed in, a blade at his throat.
"Don't move, little servant. We're here for your mistress," the leader sneered.
Isaac stifled a laugh. They clearly hadn't witnessed Sophia's power. He made no move to stop them.
The bandits hoisted the sleeping Sophia, puzzled by her cloak and veil but unconcerned. They bound her cloak with ropes, unaware she was already tightly restrained beneath, and carried her like a bagged beauty, taller than most of them, out of the inn, planning to enslave and ravish this noble.
Half-asleep, Sophia sensed hands on her. Isaac, you bastard, no touching! she thought, forgetting her gag. It came out as: "Mmm-mmm-mmm, mmm-mmm-mmm, mmm-mmm-ah!"
"Mmm?" Where am I? Fully awake, she realized she was slung over two bandits' shoulders, flanked by two more, their hands groping her. Her sensitive body reacted, eliciting muffled moans.
"Big beauty, no wonder the veil—you and your servant play rough, gagged on the road?" The bandits, hearing her moans, caught on. "Bet your cloak hides ropes and bondage gear. We only bound the cloak, not your hands, or you'd be fighting."
Fearless humans, Sophia thought, unruffled, teasing them as usual, though the gag turned it into: "Mmm-mmm-mmm, mmm-mmm-mmm!"
"Haha, lady, no use crying for help," they mocked, thinking she begged. "No one's coming." One slapped her buttocks, absorbed by Bloodwing, but then squeezed her firm, elastic rear.
"Mmm-mmm-oh!" Sophia moaned. Pinched by humans? Like a woman groped by a pig—humiliating. But she remained calm. Enjoy my body while it lasts. You're all dead soon.
Consciously composed, her subconscious raged. Untouched for centuries, her body was hypersensitive to stimulation. She justified her predicament as part of the "adventure," bending her usual standards for fun. Normally, such touching would mean instant death. Yet her subconscious, like any woman's, valued chastity, recoiling at the violation. Her body struggled futilely, the ropes tightening with each movement, stimulating her chest and groin, fueling shame-driven resistance in an endless cycle.
Damn you filthy humans, defiling my noble body! Not there! I'm the highest aristocrat, you're our livestock! Stop—it feels too good! No! Let me go! Her mind battled—calm acceptance clashing with virginal outrage, shame, and pleasure.
Carried into an abandoned watchtower, guarded by more bandits, she heard: "Back so soon with the beauty?"
"Better yet—she was already bound and gagged by her servant!"
"What? That's too good! You guys have fun, I'll take watch, then I'll play with this slut."
The word "slut" snapped Sophia's subconscious, overriding her calm. She realized she faced violation, powerless. Her vampire glare, irises flaring red with bloodline power, exuded regal terror—but the collar stifled her abilities, leaving only the color change. It briefly intimidated the bandits, but their lust for her perfect body overcame fear. They rationalized her red eyes as rage-induced bloodshot, not supernatural.
Furious at their self-delusion, Sophia seethed. Without the collar, her glare would've slaughtered them with her bloodline power. Now, she was tossed onto a tower bed.
The bandits untied the ropes over Bloodwing. The cloak resisted weakly—its cow-strangling strength reduced to a man's by the collar. Lust-blinded, they ignored its movement, tearing it off and severing Sophia's connection, revealing her bound body.
"Told you, lady, you're a depraved one, letting your servant truss you up."
"Wearing a collar? You his little pet?"
"Traveling in shackles?"
Sophia's rage boiled over. She cursed them, but it emerged as: "Mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm!" A bandit grabbed her, and she braced for violation.
One tried tearing her bodysuit, failing, then used a dagger. It barely scratched the elite leather, but his forceful cuts vibrated like a bladed toy, combining with the crotch rope to push the abstinent, hypersensitive Sophia to her first climax in centuries.
"Mmm-mmm-mmm! Mmm-mmm-oh! Mmm-mmm!" She writhed, the intense pleasure overwhelming. Her pent-up bladder gave way, urine and fluids spilling as the bandit cut a slit, soaking his hand.
"Wow, so eager you climaxed and wet yourself?" He smeared the fluids on her face.
"Mmm-mmm-mmm!!!" Sophia burned with shame, fury, and helplessness. She kicked the dagger-wielding bandit's groin with her shackled feet. Her hand-to-hand combat, while not as masterful as her swordplay or magic, ranked among humanity's top 30–50. Though weakened to human strength and restricted, her technique and leverage—using both legs to avoid chain interference—shattered his testicles.
"Argh!" The bandit collapsed, clutching himself.
Two others pounced, pummeling her. The blows tickled a vampire but deepened her shame, highlighting her fall from supreme predator to a human slave-like victim, bound and defiled by the lowliest bandits.
Ignoring their fallen comrade, one bandit dropped his trousers, aiming for the cut in her suit, while another ripped off her veil and gag, demanding oral pleasure. "Bite me, and I'll whip you like a slave, noble girl."
"You beast, you'll die—fine, yes…" Sophia's rage halted mid-curse, feigning submission. Her 800 years taught her to stay calm. An opportunity arose.
As the bandit's member entered her mouth, her vampire fangs extended five centimeters, piercing it. His blood-rich organ, mixed with semen and urine, poured into her fangs. In one second, she drained him dry—her first direct bite in years. The blood was filthy, physically and mentally, laden with rape fantasies, as humiliating as starring in her own depraved tale.
Royal vampires didn't need blood to survive, provided they overcame blood addiction, which Sophia had. For her, drinking blood was a gourmet pleasure, not a beastly necessity. The other bandit, witnessing his comrade reduced to a husk, was paralyzed with fear, his arousal gone.
During the feeding, Sophia discovered a loophole: the collar blocked stored magic, mental energy, and bloodline abilities, but not freshly absorbed blood's energy, which hadn't integrated into her body. Using this, she crafted a small energy field around the collar, temporarily neutralizing its suppression.
Her terrifying vampire eyes locked onto the remaining bandit's, her irises blood-red. He became her eternal thrall, his soul tormented forever via Soul Gaze, the pinnacle of the Dominax clan's Soul Mastery ability. This power let them sense and read souls—mind-reading, as with Isaac, was its basic form. Mental control was another facet, far stronger than psychic or magical equivalents. Soul Gaze enslaved souls instantly, irrevocably.
Ten Minutes Later, in the Wilderness Outside the Watchtower
The six remaining bandits, including the groin-kicked one, lay limbless and castrated, bloodless yet alive. Sophia's necromantic spell ensured they'd endure eternal agony as desiccated husks, undying unless their brains were destroyed. The enthralled bandit, drained, was transformed via transmutation magic into a bloodless, castrated pig—a beast among the livestock humans raised, in vampire eyes.
The eight bandits' blood fueled a robust field, suppressing the collar's effects for a while. Only Sophia, a blood magic master, could convert blood into external energy to counter the collar. Time was short—she needed a plan. The ropes were unbreakable, but the shackles might yield. A basic spell, Knock, popular among adventurers for lockpicking, could work.
Sophia cast Knock on her shackles, but the spell, even from a master, failed against restraints designed for high vampires. She smirked. "Heh, did I expect otherwise? But am I, a princess, so easily thwarted?"
She invoked Supreme Unpuzzle, a pinnacle spell unmatched in power. It unraveled any mystery—locks, secrets—unless countered by equal magic. Few beings rivaled Sophia: a couple of dragons, a unique creature, some extraplanar entities, a few demigods, an elf. Humans? None.
Despite her bound hands, she cast Supreme Unpuzzle via Fixed Casting. Resistance met her spell. Recognizing it would work if the shackles' magical defenses were broken, she cast Spell Impact to counter the resistance. The effort strained her collar's blood-field, threatening its collapse. Pouring all her magic into the clash, she pressed on.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
A massive explosion cratered the ground, a meter-wide, half-meter-deep pit. The shockwave toppled parts of the dilapidated watchtower. Though small in range, the magical clash's roar woke all of Windleaf Town, including Isaac.
The shackles fell, undone by Supreme Unpuzzle's might. But the explosion wracked Sophia with pain. It wasn't destructive, leaving her feet intact, though numb. As an undead vampire, she'd regenerate even severed limbs, but the loss stung—her 40-gold-coin elven underwear, destroyed! In crisis, this fearless noble fretted over fashion, planning to buy more.
Numb below the calves, she collapsed face-down, her massive breasts pressed against rough grass, tormenting her sensitive body. Magically drained and legless, she writhed like a worm. The explosion spared the gag and shackles, unscathed at the blast's epicenter, confirming brute force was futile. Supreme Unpuzzle was the right call—blood-fueled magic alone wouldn't have lasted.
The clash revealed the shackles' resistance was modest by her standards, but the collar's suppression and her reduced Fixed Casting power—cut by two-thirds—slowed her. Urgency forced her to expend all magic, triggering the explosion. The blood-field collapsed, restoring the collar's grip, stripping her of magic and bloodline abilities. The ropes, absorbing magical fallout, tightened, binding her forearms flush and forcing her to arch her chest humiliatingly.
For humans, such binding would damage nerves and joints within thirty minutes. Vampires regenerated, but Sophia's human-like pain sensitivity made it excruciating. She'd endured battle wounds shattering half her body, but her pampered upbringing left her low tolerance for sustained discomfort. Cutting off limbs to escape wasn't an option—pain aside, the collar blocked magic, and bound as she was, she couldn't sever them.
Without her resistant bodysuit, the vampire-suppressing ropes seared her bare skin like electrified, chili-coated cords would a human woman. Worse, the tightened crotch rope, now bare against her sensitive folds, dug deeper, holy energy driving relentless arousal.
"Ugh… ugh… so uncomfortable… my thighs… can't move…" Her legs clamped instinctively, writhing against the stimulation. The loud explosion risked drawing attention. She had to escape.
Her gaze fell on Bloodwing, discarded nearby. Suppressed, she couldn't control it remotely, but touch would restore command. "Damn… a princess, crawling like a worm…" she growled, inching toward it. The grass and stones scraped her tender skin, especially her breasts and groin, eliciting moans. Her manicured purple nails clenched and unclenched, as if tortured.
"Ugh… ahh… damn grass, daring to graze my sacred breasts—argh!" She moaned, leaving a trail of fluids, soaking the vegetation that tormented her.
Finally reaching Bloodwing, she regained control. The collar barred flight, but Bloodwing could slither her to safety like a snake—or worm. It couldn't cloak her but mimicked the environment's colors for camouflage. Without the collar, she'd regenerate her legs in minutes, even without magic or blood. Now, recovery seemed distant.
Bloodwing retrieved the shackles and gag—Sophia didn't want them in anyone but Isaac's hands. It carried her to a tree, blending into roots and grass. Exhausted, she slept.
When was I last injured? Centuries ago, fighting the Time Dragon King Akuyun! Even against the Demon Emperor, I was unscathed! Now I'm a wriggling worm. Isaac, you bastard, where are you?!