Chapter 215: Surrender or Not?

"You're the Princess of the Silver Moon Tribe? Not bad-looking, but why are you so stupid?"

Gervas sized up the Silver Moon Tribe princess.

She wore a leather crop top exposing her midriff, and a leather skirt reaching her knees.

Beneath that skirt, however, she wore a pair of linen trousers.

Combined with her long, straight, beautiful legs, her slender yet powerful waist, and her exquisite face,

she was unmistakably a wild, fierce beauty.

Though her skin was slightly duller than that of a noble lady,

she lived on the wastelands—this was unmistakably healthy wheat-colored skin.

"You know me? Which traitor revealed our assassination plan?"

She'd already felt something was off about tonight's events—as if the noble had set a trap in advance.

Now that he'd identified her instantly, Freya was certain a traitor had emerged from her tribe!

Gervas offered no explanation, only a mysterious smile. "Who it is doesn't matter. What matters is you're trapped now, with no way out."

"So, I'll give you one final chance: drop your weapons and surrender immediately!"

"Surrender? Never. Shameless Gervas, our tribal warriors would rather die than surrender!"

Unexpectedly, though she was a woman, the Silver Moon Tribe princess was fiercely defiant.

"That's right! Freya speaks the truth—our warriors would rather die than yield!"

The other tribal heirs echoed her in unison.

Gervas laughed.

He laughed heartily.

"Won't surrender, huh?"

Gervas grabbed Iron Claw, who had just been captured, and hoisted him up.

Slap!

A loud palm struck Iron Claw's face.

"Ugh…" Iron Claw was stunned.

I didn't even say anything…

Why are you hitting me?

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Unfortunately, Gervas clearly didn't care about Iron Claw's feelings.

More slaps followed—slap! slap! slap!

Iron Claw's face visibly reddened and swelled.

Iron Claw began struggling violently.

But his hands and feet were bound—he couldn't resist at all.

"Now tell me—do you surrender?" Gervas glared fiercely at Freya and the others.

Freya: "???"

The other heirs: "???"

Finally, Freya and the other heirs exchanged hesitant glances, then gritted their teeth: "We won't surrender…"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Won't surrender, huh?"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Would rather die than yield, huh?"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Hard-headed, huh?"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"I hate hard-headed people the least!"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Now—do you surrender?"

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"I'm asking you—do you surrender?"

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

"Huh… huff… I… I surrender! I surrender! My lord, please stop hitting me!"

Freya and the others stared, dumbfounded.

They hadn't even spoken yet—and yet Iron Claw had surrendered first.

He was barely breathing.

His face had burned fiercely moments ago, but now he felt nothing at all.

Out of fear and fury, he finally spoke.

After all, Gervas had clearly been asking Freya and the others—but why was he beating him?

If this kept up, he'd be beaten to death.

Yet Gervas remained unmoved, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Freya and the others.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

"I'll ask one more time—do you surrender?"

"We… we…"

Freya and the others were now filled with rage and terror.

Gervas's methods were brutally cruel.

Seeing Iron Claw's pitiful state sent chills through them.

His cheeks were swollen like pig's heads; his teeth were nearly all gone.

Blood streamed continuously from his nose and gums—so pitiful it was unbearable.

In such a situation, they'd rather be killed outright than endure this torment.

"…We surrender. Let go of Iron Claw right now!" Freya could no longer bear it.

Her beautiful eyes burned red, fixed on Gervas as if he were a demon.

Upon hearing the word "surrender," Gervas finally stopped.

"That's better! Why not surrender earlier? What a waste of suffering!"

Gervas set Iron Claw down and, with a look of feigned pity, adjusted the collar of the man who could barely stand, supported by guards.

"Y-you… you…" Iron Claw, seeing this, choked on a breath and fainted on the spot.

…

Splash!

Two days later.

The tribal heirs, locked in the dungeon for two full days, finally heard movement.

During that time, Gervas had given them nothing but water—not a single morsel of food.

Upon seeing Gervas, the tribal heirs instinctively glared at him with hatred.

But the moment their eyes met his, they remembered something—and immediately lowered their heads, refusing to meet his gaze.

"How was your stay in my castle, my dear princesses and young lords?" Gervas observed their reactions with interest.

"Human noble, kill us!"

The other heirs dared not speak—but Freya, teeth clenched, finally couldn't hold back.

She'd rather be killed instantly than endure this humiliation!

"Oh? Princess of the Silver Moon, you've got the most courage!" Gervas exclaimed. "Open her cell!"

"What are you going to do, noble?!"

Seeing her solitary cell unlocked, Freya turned pale, clenched her teeth, and stepped back several paces.

"What am I going to do? What do you think?" Gervas grinned wickedly as he stepped into the cell.

"Human, kill me! Let this be your punishment—we won't resist!" Freya finally felt fear.

"Kill you? That'd be too easy—and too much of a waste…" Gervas's mockery deepened.

Freya shuddered. "Human, if you dare lay a hand on me, my father will never let you live!"

Though she knew her threat rang hollow, it was her last shred of defiance.

But Gervas didn't stop—he kept advancing toward her.

Finally, Freya curled up, closed her eyes, and trembled, waiting for the demon's touch.

But long moments passed—and the demon's claws never came.

When she cautiously opened her eyes again, she saw Gervas seated calmly in a chair, his gaze clear, his expression serene.

"Now you're afraid? Why weren't you afraid when you planned to assassinate me?" Gervas sneered.

Freya clenched her teeth, realizing she'd been toyed with—but dared not speak another harsh word.

"Now I ask you—do you want to live?"

After observing for a long while and confirming Gervas wasn't mocking them, Freya asked: "Will you spare us?"

"It depends on how you behave!"

Hearing this, several companions in nearby cells perked up their ears,

"What do you want?" Freya asked further.

"First, write letters demanding your respective tribes send large ransoms!"

"Besides, I've been short a maid to dress and wash me these past few days—I'll need you, the Silver Moon Princess, to fill in!"

"Impossible!" The earlier demands were tolerable; the ransom was reasonable.

But upon hearing Gervas's final demand, Freya gritted her teeth and refused outright.

For her to become a servant—especially this man's enemy's servant—was an unbearable humiliation.