Chapter 5

Slurp, suck, smack… suck, mwah, mwah.

Loud, obscene sucking noises echoed from the bed.

Count Rochshan Owin, with the head of his black slave buried between his legs, slumbered like a fallen angel. He was a defiled mediator of God. With his raw, sore eyes, the milky fluids dried upon his lips and jaw, and the swollen, blood-congested nipples on his chest… the sight inevitably conjured images of some barbaric myth.

Tuska’s beautiful, ambitious hero. The black beast of the rocky mountains who fell in love with him at first sight. A pact between human and non-human. Endless sex, pregnancy, and childbirth. And what had become of it in the end?

The first king committed suicide, and the black dragon threw itself into the abyss, chasing its mate who had escaped into death. The forty-eight remaining beastly seeds scattered. Only after several bloodbaths did the royal family of Tuska learn how to tame the beast descendants who continued to be born.

Tie a stick with prey to the crown of a starving beast’s head. Hang it on a string just short enough that their tongue can never reach it.

The beast would fret over the tantalizing prey, flicking its tongue its entire life before ultimately destroying itself. Eventually, they would turn vicious, losing their reason and wreaking havoc, but long-starved and weakened demons couldn’t last long. If fortunate, only the two of them died. It was the perfect method for excising a cancer.

The black beast, the dragon of the rocky mountain, called its mate its “nest.”

It was a prey named nest.

Nest and black dragon.

Their cycle repeated itself, making a mockery of time.

Regardless of gender or age, a newly born dragon invariably sought out its nest. Even locking the nest away at the top of a sheer, isolated tower proved futile. Through overlapping coincidences and fate, the dragon would somehow find its nest.

The Tuskan royal family never missed this golden opportunity.

Wasn’t it a waste to simply strike them down? Think of the countless achievements that could be realized through a dragon’s authority. Dragons controlled others with their words and grasped their weaknesses with their eyes. To freely wield this coveted ability, the king offered the dragon a poisoned chalice. Even if born from the same womb, a dragon was fundamentally a different creature from a human; there wasn’t a shred of brotherly affection to be found.

Make a pact with your nest. If you faithfully fulfill the terms, your nest will come to see you differently. But keep one thing in mind: the moment you break the pact, the nest dies.

This was the so-called “Nest Pact.” The royal family interfered as brokers in a contract that was originally meant to be strictly between one dragon and one human, forcing an unfair agreement that held the nest hostage. Tragically, not a single dragon ever refused. And so, generation after generation, the dragons were reduced to royal dogs.

Why?

Because the dragon craved that from the nest.

Because it desired the nest’s love—a spoken confession of that crimson heart. It simply wanted to hear those sweet whispers.

Yet, no dragon had ever obtained a nest’s confession.

Like the dragons, the nests were also bound to the shackles of this land. They were tragic figures who had unwittingly captured a dragon’s heart. They were people who merely intended to use the dragon and had absolutely no intention of surrendering their bodies and minds. As descendants born and raised on Tuskan soil, every successive nest fiercely despised the dragons without exception.

Not a single nest had ever loved a dragon.

But many were raped by them.

Just as many were devoured by them.

A dragon crawling servilely on the ground, a dragon begging while rubbing its forehead against their boots, an angry dragon, a threatening dragon, a weeping dragon… the nests witnessed countless variations. Yet, they could feel no pity for any of them. It was only repulsive and exhausting; even pretending to love them was impossible. To give them a genuine confession? It was utterly absurd.

Honor, gold, and jewels. The safety of their families. There were irresistible appeasements, and conversely, exploitation and torture, but in the end, it was all meaningless.

I’d rather fucking die than love a dragon.

That cold, spat-out phrase became the dying words of the nests.

The dragon wanted the nest’s love. No dragon had ever won it.

The black beast yearned for its mate’s confession. No beast had ever thrilled at hearing it.

The beast wanted to breed with its mate. And here lay the very first nest to conceive the seed of a beast, sprawled limply with his legs spread wide.

“Haa, Rochshan.”

Slurp, suck, mwah, smack… slurp, suck.

It was like watching a fiend drinking the blood of a fallen angel. The slave groveled obscenely, gripping his master’s buttocks like a holy grail as he relentlessly sucked the anus between them for tens of minutes. His gluttony knew no bounds.

“You have something you owe me.”

He looked like a swamp monster with only the upper half of its face breaching the water. The pitch-black eyes peering at the sleeping Count from between his legs were brimming with a bizarre heat. The sound of the rain lashing against the bedroom window fluctuated in intensity, matching the density of the darkness swirling within his pupils. It was as if the very sky was violently trembling in response to the dragon’s frustration and fury.

“You promised to give it to me. Don’t you remember?”

Of course he wouldn’t.

Sticking his tongue out, Kyle growled low in his throat.

It was that dog-shit Philip Bright-Ash who had incited the ten-year-old Rochshan—who had innocently read aloud the three restrictions of the Nest Pact written like a nursery rhyme—to use Dragon Speech to erase the boy’s memories of the pact, claiming it was for his safety.

Thanks to that fucking bastard, Rochshan’s memories of his time as a young lord in the imperial palace were riddled with holes. He couldn’t remember that he was the one who had found Kyle Blackburn first during hide-and-seek. He couldn’t remember flashing a charming eye-smile, dimples popping on his baby-fat cheeks, as he sweetly coaxed, Come on out here.

I’m ready to love you.

Thump. He had made a heart that didn’t exist drop to the floor.

What words do you want?

With an innocent expression that looked perfectly willing to recite even the language of demons.

Just that? Mommy told me to watch my words. But if it’s for you, I’ll say it as much as you want.

He had whispered with hot breath, promising to become a disobedient, unfilial son just for him.

I li—

Kyle’s ears had perked up, and cold sweat had pooled even on the soles of his feet in that agonizingly tense moment.

What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

The curtain, which had swelled with overwhelming anticipation so long ago, was ruthlessly ripped down by the ambushing adults. From then on, Kyle Blackburn’s entire existence had been nothing but an extended wait to hear the rest of the words the blond boy had left unfinished.

“To think it would take this long…”

The grinding servant’s pronunciation was slightly slurred, entirely because his long tongue was still buried deep inside his master’s ass.

How could it be this wrinkled and convoluted? An absurd sense of awe followed. Kyle pressed his lips fully against the pigmented anal mucosa, relentlessly swallowing the slippery intestinal fluids leaking from within. He simply couldn’t stop. Even his own semen, caught between the inner folds, mixed with Rochshan’s fluids to create a distinct, intoxicating flavor.

“Mmm, ngh.”

Moans that were far removed from human dining etiquette spilled continuously from his lips. He looked like a lady obsessed with desserts, shoveling cake into her mouth with both hands. It made sense; the aftertaste of Rochshan was the only ‘flavor’ Kyle—whose palate couldn’t distinguish the five basic tastes—could truly savor. This was what sweetness was. Having tasted a cloying sweetness that only made him burn with more thirst the more he drank, an infinite gluttony naturally surged within him.

Slurp, suck. Slurp, mmm, ngh.

He was no different from a beggar ravenously licking a thin trickle of sweet nectar from a cliff face.

Kyle’s tongue, thicker than an average man’s cock, burrowed into Rochshan’s rear like a snake digging a tunnel. The fragile flesh of the plump, brown outer rim clung to his invading tongue, breathing rhythmically like clam meat.

My pretty little pussy. The ecstatic sensation sent a sour ache through his ribs, making it impossible to hold back a kiss. Breathing heavily through his nose, Kyle pursed his lips and gave the protruding anus a wet suck, as if begging for a kiss. He gave it an experimental chew with his front teeth. The texture was exquisite.

“How can an ass leak so much water? Like a broken faucet.”

His vulgar chiding quickly morphed into a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Well, my cock is broken too, I suppose.”

It was literal truth.

Protruding from the dense pubic hair as he lay on his stomach, the tip of Kyle’s cock-club—a dark foreskin half-wrapping a bright red glans—was dripping thick, milky pre-cum in sticky strands.

Fuck. His patience had finally reached its limit. Sliding a hand down beneath his abs with crude urgency, Kyle began to roughly knead his two massive testicles. Blue veins bulged fiercely on the back of his hand as he gripped them like rolling walnuts. He was undoubtedly imagining mercilessly battering Rochshan’s perineum with his fist-sized, taut ballsack.

“So, haah… how long are you going to keep it? My confession. Hmm?”

You started to give it but stopped, so that confession is already mine. You are unjustly withholding what belongs to me.

The movements of the tongue probing the rear-pussy grew rougher. His cock was desperate, but fucking with his tongue had its merits, too. Through flexible movements, he could savor the inside of Rochshan’s body more dynamically, and the immediate transfer of heat warmed him from his esophagus down to his lower belly.

I want to flip you inside out and lick you. If I could, I’d pluck out my own eyeballs, shove them inside you, and roll them around.

Harboring such horrifying desires, Kyle prodded and scraped Rochshan’s scrotum and perineum with the sharp bridge of his nose. He sniffed, inhaling the scent of the noble lord’s crotch. The man’s lips curled up at the concentrated scent that signaled his territory had been thoroughly marked.

“How much longer do I have to wait?”

His resentful blame, spoken with the audacity of a shameless debtor, continued.

This badgering was only possible because the unawakened nest had completely fainted. There were, of course, other reasons it was fortunate the master had lost consciousness. It was far better he didn’t know exactly how far his servant’s tongue had licked into his internal organs.

“I’m going to completely lose my mind at this rate.”

Not much time was left.

For generations, no dragon had passed the age of twenty-six without going mad. It was said that the King of Tuska and the black dragon had lived as a married couple for exactly twenty-six years before meeting their catastrophic end. Every dragon born thereafter was given this exact amount of time as a ticking clock. A dragon that failed to fully bond with its nest within the allotted time inevitably went insane.

Therefore, the current King Philip had accurately set the date of this country’s memorial service. Coincidentally, the date of the upcoming Nest Wedding—the grand finale of the Black Dragon Festival—was Kyle’s twenty-six birthday.

From now, there were merely seven days and seven nights left.

On that day, Kyle Blackburn would either miraculously become a new groom or a blood-soaked, crazed dragon. Of course, the name of the holy officiant who would determine the direction of this wedding was Rochshan Owin.

“I think about it sometimes.” Weighing the time he had left, Kyle’s voice sank heavily. “Why do I have horns?”

Why did he have fangs, and claws?

“Did they grow so I could pierce you and force a confession?”

Should I skewer your back, letting your crimson heart pour out like a fountain to drench my horns and my entire face?

The madness thickened in his whispers.

Suddenly, Kyle’s pupils narrowed sharply. The blood drained from his cheeks in an instant, and blue veins branched out from his rigid jaw like dry twigs. It looked as though if you sliced them open, dry sand would pour out instead of blood.

In Kyle’s world, the sound of Rochshan’s breathing was erased.

The roaring pulse of his own blood had drowned out all surrounding noise. Boiling like magma, it clamored to tear apart this wretched flesh and be liberated at once. Accompanied by this came intense agony. His internal organs were squeezed tight, and all the bones in his body felt as if they were breaking and splintering, multiplying to match the number of joints he possessed in his dragon form.

Bone fragments began to bulge and erupt from Kyle’s bare back. Wing joints shaped like triangles pierced through his skin, ready to take flight draped in flesh rather than feathers—right at that very moment.

“Huu…”

Rochshan’s body, which had been sleeping as motionlessly as a corpse, twitched minutely.

His handprint-bruised pelvis twisted, and a smooth heel scratched against the sheets. His stretched hole and insides must have felt ticklish. Slurrrp. Only then did the tongue, which had been lapping at the entrance of his colon behind his navel, retreat and pull out. Quickly restoring his human form, Kyle slowly lifted his head. His pale face, drenched in cold sweat, looked utterly disappointed.

“What, you’ve dried up already.”

His hole, that is.

“Every second with you is unbearably precious, yet time flies so fast. I need to suck you elsewhere, too.”

He had been sucking Rochshan’s rear for nearly two hours.

The grinning fiend slowly crawled up the angel’s naked body. His wing joints relaxed into the hollow of his back as he seized the angel’s pelvis. The fiend, possessing a bewitching beauty, first gave his master’s wilting penis a few sucks before meticulously combing the golden pubic hair—like fine charcoal—with his tongue. Mwah, mwah, mwah. His bloodless lips traveled past the deep navel and up to the chest. Sucking loudly on the large nipples was the natural next step.

The muscular physique, heavy as if a massive volume had been condensed and forcibly sewn together, cast a dark shadow over the Count. Reaching the dazed Count’s face in a flash, the fiend rolled his black eyes.

“Kyle.”

“Yeah.”

“Kyle…”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Ah, the sleep-talking he loved to death. Even while being intimately fucked, Rochshan would often call out his name as if terrified Kyle might vanish somewhere. Kyle adored this deeply. Later, it became such a habit that Kyle would sometimes pre-cum just from hearing his name called meaninglessly like a sigh. There was no need to hide it; Kyle Blackburn couldn’t even count the number of years he had spent holding his breath and masturbating with his ear pressed against Rochshan’s lips.

“…Kyle.”

“Yes.”

His answers, which would never be heard, were incredibly tender. A sudden warmth washed over Kyle’s thinly narrowed pupils. He was staring, mesmerized, as he fondled the nipples of the nest he had secretly impregnated.

How can such a pretty human exist?

It was a marvel he expressed every single day without fail. From the moment he first saw the nine-year-old Rochshan with his golden hair fluttering in the wind, Kyle thought his non-existent heart had plummeted.

My beautiful nest. If you’d only give me permission, I’d praise you more than twelve times a day until you rushed at me, threatening to sew my cringe-inducing mouth shut.

Kyle Blackburn had desperately grown and molded himself purely to fit his nest’s tastes. Yet, conversely, Rochshan Owin’s innate temperament and appearance naturally aligned perfectly with Blackburn’s preferences. No, strictly speaking, Rochshan’s very existence was Kyle’s exact preference.

Even if Rochshan had red hair and dark brown eyes, he would have loved him. It wouldn’t have mattered if he were blind, hunchbacked, or crippled. If he had been a begging vagrant, things might have even gone a bit smoother.

“Kyle.”

“What is it, Master? Ah, you must be feeling empty.”

The reverent gaze licking the master’s face transformed into something vulgar in a split second. The slave, interpreting his master’s sleep-talking however he pleased, answered with the feigned obedience of a loyal servant.

“Of course. If your bottom has dried up, I must wet it for you again.”

His engorged cock dragged down beneath Rochshan’s balls.

“This is my duty, after all.”

To fuck you relentlessly.

“Huu…”

Kyle’s abdomen immediately plastered itself against Rochshan’s lower belly.

The sweat-slicked skin of the two men stuck together with a damp smack and separated, repeating the motion. It was a truly indecent coupling between a fiend and an angel. Droplets of milk splattered from the angel’s squeezed nipples, wetting the fiend’s cheeks like thin semen.

“Hoo, ngh, mmm… ah, haah.”

Having thoroughly violated it with his tongue, slotting his cockhead into the soaking, loosened rear-pussy was effortless. With every gradual inch of insertion, the foreskin caught on the inner flesh and was pushed back behind the shaft, sending a thrilling ache all the way to the spaces between his fingers. Kyle’s heavy groan burst forth instantly, filling the dim bedroom.

“Ah, hah, hut… huuk.”

The slave of Count Owin—a man renowned as a cynical beauty unfitting of his status—currently wore an expression so utterly sloppy it would have horrified everyone in the manor. He thrust his rigid jaw upward, panting as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Heavy moans, like steam burning through fuel, and messy drool gathered at the corners of his mouth, which usually boasted a foul-mouthed swagger. Lost in ecstasy, the meat-beast’s half-lidded eyes wandered through the dead of night.

“I’m going, hah, going to go crazy, Master.”

It was a lie.

Because he had already gone crazy.

“Why do you tighten up so fast? You’re biting into my flesh and stripping my foreskin back.”

It was an unwarranted blame. In truth, his cock had simply gotten bigger.

He could offer various excuses as to why his cock had grown even thicker now. Because it was becoming difficult to maintain his human form delicately. Or because his desire to strike his nest’s womb more certainly and violently was materializing. Or perhaps because his libido had surged unprecedentedly, much like a fierce final erection right before death.

The cock’s growth was gradual. Thus, while Rochshan complained more frequently than before that his rear felt like it was falling out or his insides were being overturned, he hadn’t yet realized that Kyle’s cock had grown noticeably thicker.

Squlch, squelch… Slop, slurp, squelch, slop, slurp, smack.

The forearm-sized cock rubbed against the Count’s balls like a bow drawing across strings as it continually buried itself downwards. The absurdly thick organ began to slide in and out with a sticky viscosity, caving in the swollen pussy-flesh.

“Ah… K-Kyyle.”

“Hah, is it uncomfortable?”

“Uuk…”

“Feel like throwing up? No, don’t do that, focus on the good sensations.”

“Ah, uut.”

“Feel how covered my cock is in ridges. It’s thoroughly scraping all your sweet spots, hm?”

“Hwaa… ahng.”

“Yeah, good boy. Keep whimpering and crying for me, Master. I’ll do all the panting.”

Rochshan was such an admirable, obedient master.

Even last night, hadn’t he voluntarily climbed on top of this monster cock, even while dry-heaving?

‘Fuuck, my hole feels like it’s going to fall out, eungh, ngh, euhuk…!’

‘Should I pull it out then? Hut, should I just snap my cock clean off? So I can never torment you again?’

‘Shut the fuck up and just spray your cock-juice! Make it slicker… ah, what do I do, it, it went past it, it went past it again… agaaain, hiik…’

‘Went past what?’

‘Inside me, my hole…!’

‘The entrance to your colon?’

‘……!’

‘Hah, I guess that part’s gotten loose too. Without even needing force to break through, you just swallow it right down now?’

Teasing his complexes was particularly entertaining.

If he hated it, he could have just escaped, but he couldn’t stop because it felt too good. He wept like a burst dam… dangling his useless little dick… the sight of him trembling as he splayed his pelvic bones wide was still vivid in Kyle’s mind. The jewel-like eyes glaring at him in sheer indignation were more thrilling than anything else.

Rochshan. You have no idea how lovable you are, putting up your pride and pretending you aren’t completely surrendering everything to me.

Staring intently at Rochshan’s lower belly swelling and deflating with the entry and exit of his cock, the corners of Kyle’s mouth parted. He was overcome with a fresh wave of emotion. He gently swept back his master’s gleaming hair, his face scrunched in a grimace, and chuckled.

“You can brag about it, you know. Regardless of man or woman, there’s probably no one in this country who has been stretched open by a cock as thick as mine.”

“Ahng, mmm…”

“You’re probably the first noble man to grow a womb, too.”

They could count Philip as an exception, since he was born with a tiny fraction of special abilities.

Kyle could feel it through the tingling tip of his glans. The cervix of Rochshan’s womb, which he had diligently tempered with his cockhead all this time, was clamped shut quite firmly.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t twins.

The fetal dragon, which would have just begun to sprout a tail, was eagerly awaiting its mother’s second call. It was conceived because he had wished for it. Next, he had to intensely wish for it to be born for that to happen. That was still a distant prospect.

Outwardly, Count Owin praised celibacy and despised sodomy. He knew something was wrong with his body, but he hadn’t the slightest suspicion of pregnancy. It made sense. Guessing pregnancy just because he leaked a little breast milk due to a hormonal imbalance would have been a wild leap in logic.

Besides, problems were piled mountain-high.

First, how would he explain the pregnancy itself? I am actually a dragon. I used my authority to realize your secret desire. The moment he revealed it, Rochshan would die. ‘Do not reveal your abilities and true identity.’ It was all because of the fucking Nest Pact’s restriction.

Furthermore, even if Rochshan unluckily figured out the pregnancy on his own, it would be a problem. What if he panicked and grew terrified, thinking of his exalted status and sky-high pride? The fetal dragon would instantly vanish. Because the nest didn’t want it.

Yet, continuing to stand by as a spectator like now wasn’t the right answer either. Ultimately, they would both die.

At the hands of a maddened Kyle Blackburn.

Their eyes met when he was nine, he entered the Owin manor as a slave at ten, and he had lived starving for sixteen years.

‘Let’s try shock therapy.’

It was a few years ago, when the planning for the Nest Wedding began.

He remembered Philip, lounging on a rocking chair in the audience chamber and picking olives out of his wine glass, running his mouth.

‘Let’s stimulate his anxiety that he might lose you to someone else. When the situation gets urgent, he’ll have to cast aside his face and pride, what other choice is there? We can boost the national marriage rate while we’re at it…’

The only thing the brothers shared was their black hair. The King, annoyed and rubbing his aching head, had pouted in irritation.

‘Seriously. That Rochshan guy is so damn stubborn. I like you, I love you—are those words really that hard? You said you got right to the edge of a confession in the past.’

In truth, the Black Dragon Festival was also in line with the Nest Wedding in terms of laying down groundwork.

‘Even though I ordered you to erase Rochshan’s memories… what, you said Dragon Speech doesn’t work well on nests? Who knows. He might remember on his own that he became your mate someday. We’re doing a bit of image-laundering for you in advance for when that happens.’

It was also the perfect time to develop tourist products; wasn’t a legend perfect for making money? Philip, smelling thick coin, had been exceedingly talkative then as well.

‘A dragon who died of sorrow from an unrequited love is better than a dragon who raped and devoured its nest. Isn’t it?’

He was truly the country’s undisputed champion at making excuses.

The life of that fucking bastard, who had confidently declared that things would work out and told him to just trust and wait, was now hanging by a thread. The second Kyle’s eyes went blank with madness, he would rip that son of a bitch’s head off, spine and all. The saliva-filled growl grew fiercer. The fiend, who had miraculously managed to have consensual sex with his nest in this life, bared his fangs. Lust flowed like poison.

“This is no time to be sleeping so soundly, Prince.”

Hurry up and confess to me.

Break this tiresome cycle and grant my wish, Rochshan.

As if praying desperately, Kyle’s thrusts became more relentless.

No matter how far back he pulled his hips before driving in, his glans wouldn’t slip out. Kyle pushed up against Rochshan’s cervix with a gouging motion. Mmm. Judging by the heavy sensation, amniotic fluid was filling up. It felt like his belly would start showing soon.

“When we have our first child…”

Right then. Suddenly, a romantic wish—rare for a cold-blooded reptile—blossomed.

“Right, how about we paint a family portrait? Huu.”

Standing in front of the painter’s canvas, you’d probably be making an awkward expression, not knowing how to treat the child. You’d grip the silk swaddle wrapping the newborn tightly, terrified you might drop it.

His imagination fast-forwarded through time.

When the kid starts talking and calls you ‘Count’, you’ll feel hurt. But if they call you ‘Mother’, you’ll look like you want to cry, right? Either way, you’d find it awkward and try to leave the room, but if the kid actually went out of sight, you’d be a nervous wreck. You’d pretend to scold them strictly, saying you can’t spoil them, but behind their back, you’d buy them every toy imaginable, ready to bankrupt the estate.

“I want to see that version of you, Rochshan.”

The nest, shaking shallowly as he was pierced by the dragon, turned his head to the side and panted. Seeing that he didn’t wake up even from the stimulation hitting his womb, it seemed he was having a nightmare. Since a long time ago, Rochshan had trouble waking up whenever he dreamt of his parents.

Kyle wanted to paint over his nightmares with a new family. What did it matter if it wasn’t a proper family? Wasn’t the fact that it was ‘our family’ what was important?

“You won’t be able to cry or laugh. But I’ll definitely be smiling, standing behind you both. A new jewel was added to my jewelry box, after all.”

You know I go crazy for shiny things.

“Rochshan. You don’t ask me what I want.”

Reach him, even in his nightmare.

Bowing his head to chew on the Count’s earlobe, the servant panted.

“You’re scared I might demand something you can’t handle. Right?”

But if you actually knew my dearest wish, you’d sigh in relief.

The only ones in the world who could grant the wish of an omnipotent dragon were the nests. That opportunity came only once, when the nest confessed to the dragon. When that time came, Rochshan would probably throw a temper tantrum. What is this pathetic wish? With a body that big, is this all the ambition you have? He might even recommend world domination instead.

“I want to become a human.”

A human with a beating pulse, exactly like you. A person who can hold your hand and slowly grow old with you.

This was Kyle Blackburn’s single, solitary desire.

It would be wonderful if his epitaph could just read like this: A bedroom foot-mat who only had a handsome face. A devoted lover who was good at fucking. A husband who deliciously sucked his wife’s large breasts. A spouse who had zero talent for parenting but tried his best to care for his child. The man who fell asleep and woke up beside you every day. A man who lived exactly one day longer than Count Rochshan Owin, and then died.

I was born to do that, Rochshan. And only you can grant my wish.

Why won’t you understand? Your slave is a crippled retard who will just drop dead if he isn’t loved by you.

“So…”

The dragon’s sigh deepened by the nest’s ear.

“If you like me, you have to say you like me, hm?”

Putting it into words was crucial.

In the distant past, the curse was established by a tongue, so the breaking of that curse must also be performed solely through words. Only true words, devoid of coercion and intimidation, would be valid. A nest’s confession, realized alone and built upon solid rock, would become the lost heart of the dragon.

And thus, it would grant the dragon’s wish.

“Why the hell can’t you just say you like me.”

Did he even know that the predestined murderer scheduled for a week from now was violating him?

Go ahead and violate me to your heart’s content. The black, venomous fingernails touched the un-waking Count’s pale pink lips. The gleaming nails dug into the soft mucosa, rubbing against the white teeth that sparkled like milk teeth. The contrast of black and white was chilling.

What are you hiding inside this stubbornly closed mouth? What’s inside that head of yours, weighing tens of thousands of possible scenarios? Just what kind of nightmare is lurking in that timid heart of yours, worrying over every little thing?

“I can’t just rip you open and shake it out… huuk.”

Squueeelch.

At that moment, Kyle’s thrust sank exceptionally deep. The noise of his foal-like cock being swallowed and collapsing into the anus was as loud as thunder. Squelch, slop, slurp. The insertion, which had been stiff at first, had smoothed out long ago. Rochshan’s rear had become thoroughly drenched once again.

“Haha. It tastes so good you’re drooling down there, huh.”

You know I’m going to soak your pussy.

His chuckling continued.

“My cock, hah, looks pretty appetizing, doesn’t it? It might be ugly, but it gets hard easily, and it’s stiff enough to stab you perfectly. Right?”

It was said a man’s cock should possess three virtues: it must be thick, long, and hard. Furthermore, there were three manners to fucking: thrust for a long time, thrust properly, and cum multiple times.

Kyle Blackburn, unequivocally, possessed all these fucking etiquettes. Complete with a rag-like tongue and slutty moans specifically tailored for Rochshan.

“Ah, ah… Rochshan, haa, what do I do. I feel like I’m going to leak.”

An ejaculation, the count of which he had long forgotten, surged up to his chin. The man’s breath grew ragged, and his waist sharply contracted.

Slipping and sliding everywhere, he couldn’t bear it. Even the stinging pain in the folds beneath his glans, chafed from excessive friction, was transforming into pleasure. I really think I’m going to cum. Grinding his molars, Kyle brought his thighs together and began to violently hammer his groin forward. His back muscles, fully inflated and contorted, looked like a roaring beast.

“It’s so fucking tight, haah.”

Every time the mushy, wrinkled hole pulled at him like pursed lips, dragging his foreskin back, it felt as though thousands of brain cells were exploding. It was perhaps natural that Kyle, whose sense of pain was dulled and to whom the world appeared bland and monotonous, would become addicted to this stimulation.

“My cock is going to melt… Master.”

What was hot, what was cold. The servant, who hadn’t even recognized the changing of seasons, learned temperature through sex.

When he plunged his cock into his master’s guts, his core boiled so hot it felt like it was scorching; when he pulled his cock out of his pussy, it was so cold his skin crawled. Due to this exhausting temperature difference, Kyle had no choice but to pry Rochshan’s cheeks apart and find his hole, much like crawling under a blanket in the dead of winter.

“Can I piss it inside you? Hm?”

Don’t be surprised that it’s as watery as urine. I’ve already blasted my load into you countless times since last night.

Whispering his final words, Kyle seized Rochshan’s face. Just as he was drooling over those delicate features with eyelashes that seemed to sparkle, spurring the speed of his thrusts—Rochshan, furrowing his brow, faintly mumbled in his sleep.

“Kyle…”

It was the servant’s name.

“……!”

At that moment, his climax erupted like a seizure. Swept away by the intense sensation, the slave trembled, forgetting even to breathe, and only began to writhe after a long while. The fist he had slammed down with all his might beside his master’s pillow finally loosened its grip.

How long had he lingered in the afterglow?

Kyle Blackburn slowly hoisted up his sweat-drenched body.

From the tip of the drooping organ in the lean, V-shaped area of his lower abdomen, thin, milky semen dripped down like drops of piss. The glans, angrily red as if suffering a burn, throbbed intensely. Wiping his cockhead carelessly, the dragon once again prostrated himself between the nest’s legs.

The sound of sucking the holy grail resumed.

Having stuffed it to the brim, it was now time to lock the hole, which was gaping open too wide to close fully.

Kyle pushed Rochshan’s knees back and licked his hidden sanctuary with utmost devotion. Get tight. Get chewy. Shrink just enough so Master won’t cry. Accompanied by the most obscene Dragon Speech in history, his curled tongue swam deep inside.

Savoring the sweet taste of his nest mixed with his own semen, he meticulously licked the curves at the very end of the large intestine. A sturdier womb. Personal greed was added behind the blessing. May Rochshan fall deeper for me.

Deep enough that he can no longer hide his heart. As quickly as possible.

Instinctively groping the bed to find his nest’s hand, dark scales rose upon the back of his hand as he intertwined their fingers. It trembled violently, as if screaming.

The blood vessels beneath his pale skin boiled up once more.

Only the nest’s heartbeat, vibrating through their pressed palms, echoed through Kyle’s world, replacing his vanished hearing. Kyle, too, wanted to possess that pulse.

CRASH!

At that moment. A deafening roar struck outside the window.

In an instant, intangible space was torn apart, and the sound of rain rushed in like a tidal wave. Amid the flashing, frantic strobes of lightning throwing a tantrum, the dragon lifted his head. A manic smile hooked onto his pale, bloodless cheeks.

Mmm. This rotting stench.

It had been a while since prey had crawled into his garden.

Even with his eyes closed, he could vividly sketch that garbage-like presence. He could feel the immoral footsteps and the breath reeking of foul water. It was someone carrying a dirty secret, ready to be eaten whole.

It was, at last, the permitted time for slaughter.

***

Why did the black dragon become an object of fear and disgust?

One might guess its origins from the chilling nursery rhymes passed down orally.

Shh, be quiet. Do you hear the huffing breath? Cover your ears quickly. The dragon’s voice will turn your brain to dough. You’ll be reduced to a living doll.

Shh, look at the threshold. Do you see the shadow of sharp horns? Close your eyes quickly. The dragon’s eyes will devour your secrets. You’ll become a slave stripped of your soul.

So run away, quickly!

***

“Lose something?”

“……!”

It was a dim dawn, thick with mist.

Had the black dragon gone mad? It was late summer, when the weather threw a fit a dozen times a day. It was a golden opportunity for a petty thief. Thus, the hairy man—who had visited the Owin manor yesterday as a contract gardener, and returned today as a night prowler—was startled out of his wits by the voice suddenly sounding behind his back.

Damn it.

He had let his guard down because the security was unusually lax for a noble’s estate. Quickly pasting on a docile expression, the hairy man, John Miller, turned around, bowing subserviently. Standing with his hands behind his back, at a distance easily closed for a fatal strike, was a tall, pitch-black man.

They say crows eat meat…

It was a terrifying first impression.

Shit. Shaking his head to brush off the stray thought, John belatedly raised his eyes. Ah, that bastard. He remembered. The arrogant prick who ordered people around with a jut of his chin, despite being an outdated slave. He clearly recalled the surge of anger he felt while working, irritated by those unnervingly calm, abyssal black eyes that didn’t seem human at all.

Fine. If things go south, I’ll tear him apart. Let’s see, how many pieces should I cut him into?

The rain would wash away the blood, and the chunks of flesh could just be tossed to the starving beasts in the woods. Hiding his vindictive murderous intent, the gardener scratched at his raincoat-cape and feigned clumsiness. His polished excuse flowed out naturally.

“Oh my, my deepest apologies, sir. I am the gardener. Truth be told, I left my pruning tools—my very livelihood—here yesterday. I was too embarrassed by my own foolishness, so I sneaked back to retrieve them. It’s a pair of pruning shears I’ve broken in over a long time, probably somewhere around here…”

“Shears, you say. With a red handle wrapped in cloth?”

“Excuse me? Y-Yes… th-that’s correct. If you happen to have seen them, elder…”

“I saw them. They’re sticking out of your back pocket right now.”

Fuck.

John Miller’s servile smile cracked wide open. The weapon he had brought to swing if necessary had been discovered from the start. Can’t fool him anymore then. Spit. Hawking a thick wad of phlegm, John glared at his blurry opponent through the spray of rain.

“Fuck off! Pretend you saw nothing, and I’ll spare your life.”

It was quite a fierce, bloody threat. Of course, it was a lie.

Spare his life? As if. Why would I leave a loose end? The second you show me the back of your head, I’ll stab you with these shears… Just as he was plotting a treacherous scheme befitting a criminal with a record.

Yet, the state of the fake gardener drawing his long-bladed shears and pointing them forward was bizarre. Why were his hands gripping the shears trembling so violently, and why had his squeezed-out voice shrunk to the size of a mosquito’s wing, making it look as though his own life was in peril instead? Moreover, his petty, button-hole eyes were brimming with an unidentifiable terror. Soon, betraying his own will, his thick lips began babbling a completely different excuse.

“I-I just thought I’d steal some garden ornaments. No one notices if one or two go missing. I had absolutely no intention of doing anything more foolish than that… so please…”

“Please?”

“S-Spare me.”

John Miller’s knees buckled under him, and he ended up dropping to his knees on the wet mud.

It was a truly strange occurrence.

He had definitely intended to chase down the frightened bastard and stab him to death the moment he turned around, yet somehow, John was now groveling flat on the ground before the arrogant deputy butler, trembling like an aspen leaf and begging for his life. It was the result of his subconscious surrendering to the overwhelming presence of an entity he dared not approach.

Can’t you smell the blood? The few drops of blood you’ve scattered are nothing. The stench of rotting meat, from torn flesh so numerous it cannot be counted… that man is walking death, slaughter, murder itself. Do not stand against him. Act as if you are dead. Don’t even roll your eyes. As the warning sirens of his survival instinct scrambled his brain, making him dry-heave.

Footsteps splashing through the momentarily calming rain stopped right in front of the crown of John’s head.

“My, my. There’s no need to be so terrified. Not yet.”

The dragon, Kyle Blackburn, expanding his lungs to inhale deeply the rotting scent of secrets, chuckled lowly.

“Because I cannot harm you recklessly.”

It was chilling hypocrisy.

Conversely, it meant that given the right conditions and circumstances, he could harm him as much as he pleased. It was spot on.

“It’s fascinating. I don’t understand why secrets sparkle so brilliantly.”

Especially rotten secrets that had abandoned human morality—their luminescence was exceedingly clamorous.

Whether nauseating secrets were simply harder to hide, or whether the desperate attempt to conceal them inadvertently triggered humanity’s unique, contradictory desire to be found out, he couldn’t say.

A dragon was, by nature, an entity helplessly mesmerized by shiny things, and the objects of their aesthetic appreciation were not limited to gold and jewels. Immature innocence, the grief drowning in successive misfortunes, and the filthy secrets radiating a damp luster—to a dragon, they were all equally radiant and dazzling.

Furthermore, dirty secrets could be used as leverage for pacts, killing two birds with one stone.

Like holding the aroma of aged wine in the mouth before exhaling, Kyle Blackburn let out a slow breath and looked down at his newly chosen sacrifice. He grinned. His voice, as it began to lay bare every single one of John Miller’s secrets, even carried a hint of joy.

“Right, are you anxious because your one and only niece is starting to look more and more like you as she grows?”

“……!”

At that moment. The face of John, who had jerked his head up in terror, turned ashen as a corpse.

Aha. That expression itself was as good as a confession. With this, the predator’s amusement deepened. The deputy butler of the Owin family narrowed his eyes and continued his explosive revelations as if reading from a script.

“You must have felt relieved when your younger sister got married. Turning a blind eye to the fact that you gagged her and enjoyed her to your heart’s content right up until the day before her wedding.”

“H-How could you…!”

“How do I know? It’s simple. I can see your secrets. The more desperately you try to hide them, the clearer they become.”

Except for the nest’s secrets, that is.

Thus, the black dragon was also called the Eater of Secrets.

This ability occasionally led to a ‘Secret-Eating Pact.’ The premise was simple.

I will keep your ugly secret. In return, fulfill my condition. If you fail to keep the condition, I will punish you.

Kyle Blackburn had cleverly exploited this contract, bypassing his muzzled true nature to relieve his urges.

What was the first restriction established by the Nest Pact? Do not kill without a condition.

It was a clause that revealed just how despicable a bastard Philip Bright-Ash was. This restriction was practically an authorization for conditional slaughter. In other words, he simply had to ‘justifiably’ kill anyone who failed to keep the conditions of a pact.

Kyle had helped Philip numerous times through this pact. In fact, the earliest contractors of the Secret-Eating Pact were mostly Philip’s five concubines. Possessing secrets that must never be revealed, they diligently fulfilled their contracts, dutifully playing the role of mothers to princes and princesses they had never birthed.

Kyle smiled once more at the horrified John.

It was a rare piece of entertainment. He began to disorient John like a cunning serpent. Even as raindrops clung to his eyelids and fell continuously in the pouring rain, he didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“You’d be in quite a bind if I reported this secret. Perpetrators of incestuous rape go straight to the gallows without room for leniency.”

“Oh my God, elder! Absolutely not. P-Please, anything but that…!”

It was laughable.

He was a criminal who exploited others without hesitation. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; it was only fitting that he pay a gruesome price commensurate with his atrocities. Yet, to a man, they all struggled desperately to somehow evade this just law of equivalent exchange. Regardless, it was a cowardly habit that was advantageous to Kyle.

If it had been Rochshan, he would have mobilized every possible means to punish this piece of trash.

He wished that one day, he too would come to empathize with Rochshan’s human indignation.

Feigning leniency with a nod, Kyle Blackburn pulled John Miller completely into the abyss of his trap. The name of the trap was the dragon’s maw.

“Fine, I can keep my mouth shut about your filthy circumstances, John Miller. Provided you keep the condition I ask of you.”

It was a junk-food meal that might very well be his last.

“Are you serious? If so, anything. Just say the word, elder.”

“Will you follow the task I order you without fail?”

As if you would.

“Of course. Please, trust me!”

How does he know my name? The fleeting question vanished like smoke. John Miller promised resoundingly.

The glaring eyes of the incestuous rapist dilated abnormally. It was a typical reaction of a human trapped within a dragon’s domain. He probably felt hazy in the head, as if hypnotized. Humans in this state acted and babbled as prompted, completely unaware of it.

They were truly fascinating animals. Forgetting their own nature and deceiving even themselves. If only that clumsy someone elsewhere was this easy. Letting out a brief sigh, Kyle smacked his lips.

“Then I suppose you can also accept the punishment if you carelessly break the promise.”

“Of course! I’ll even forfeit my neck…!”

“Good. Let’s do that then. You’ll forfeit your neck.”

It was strange. Amidst the rain, only Kyle Blackburn’s voice pierced clearly into John Miller’s mind.

A dawn stained with ominous colors. Only the face of the black butler, smiling faintly, was dreadfully pale.

“Compared to your resolve, my request is incredibly meager. If you actually intend to keep it, breaking the promise will be much harder.”

And you will manage that difficult feat.

Kyle Blackburn raised a single index finger. He pointed to the path behind him, from where he had come.

“From here to the end of that path. Do not move an inch while I am walking. It’ll take a minute, at most. Can you do it?”

“Excuse me? I’m tempted to ask if you’re joking with me. Naturally…”

“Then let’s begin.”

With this, a Secret-Eating Pact that was ‘guaranteed to be broken’ was established.

The tongue of the bastard who carelessly ran his mouth was the contract paper. The useless, yellowed teeth became the seal. Having easily concluded his business, Kyle Blackburn turned around and immediately began to walk away toward the designated spot with an even stride. At that moment. John Miller’s bruised forehead, which had been pressed against the ground, slowly lifted.

The smell of dirt, heavily mixed with the metallic scent of rain, pierced the inside of his snot-smeared mustache.

What the hell was going on?

Why am I doing this?

The gardener was vastly bewildered. And for good reason. Those subjugated by Dragon Speech, and those bound by a pact with a dragon, lost all memory the moment the dragon stepped out of its limited range.

Contractors instinctively grew to detest or deeply fear the dragon. John Miller was no exception. But simultaneously, overwhelmed by an inexplicable grudge, he hastily regripped the pruning shears he had dropped in the mud.

I have to kill that fucking bastard. Otherwise, I’ll be ruined.

The moment he was freed from the binding, the gardener was gripped by a fierce compulsion. Cold sweat, indistinguishable from the raindrops, poured down relentlessly.

Humans possess a nature that makes them violently despise anyone who knows their shameful secrets more than anyone else. Furthermore, this intense grudge did not disappear even if the memories were wiped away.

“Uwaaaaaah!”

The man robbed of his secret roared like a bull charging into a slaughterhouse, lunging toward the defenseless back walking ahead of him. Foaming at the mouth, he swung the shear blades down with all his might. It was in that very second.

“What’s this. You didn’t even last half the time we agreed upon.”

“……!”

The deputy butler of the Owin manor clicked his tongue. His tone held no surprise at the fully anticipated conclusion.

As if he had eyes on the back of his head, Kyle Blackburn glanced over his shoulder just before John Miller’s ambush. John locked eyes directly with those ominous black eyes he had found repulsive all along. It was the gardener’s last memory in life.

“Keu, hurk…!”

Swoosh.

Suddenly, his field of vision dropped.

Somehow, his neck and shoulders seemed to have crossed at a slanted angle. Thud. Crashing down neck-first, John belatedly saw his own fallen body. Blood vessels were still pulsating from the cross-section of his severed neck.

“You promised with your own tongue. Personally. That you would forfeit your neck if you broke the pact.”

Thwack.

“Did you know? Right after a clean decapitation, it doesn’t bleed all that much.”

Takes a bit of time for the brains to spill out.

Kicking John’s severed head with his boot, Kyle Blackburn tilted his head. The moment he lightly flicked one hand, five fingernails elongated all the way to the ground, plunging deep into the gardener’s sprawled body.

“The contract is terminated. I suppose it doesn’t matter if I do whatever I please with this now.”

Kyle Blackburn smiled down at John Miller’s head, which was half-buried in the mud.

The gardener was forced to spectate the performance of his own body being dismembered into five pieces, much like the un-dried wings of a newly metamorphosed insect being torn apart. The sound of hacking meat was drowned out by the rain, and there were no witnesses. The gruesome spectacle of the blood spray erupting from his sliced-open intestines, failing to overcome gravity and raining back down, was already a portrait of hell.

No, no, no…

John’s frantically convulsing eyelids stilled.

By the time the faint morning sunlight from the east cast Kyle Blackburn’s blurry shadow, all traces had already vanished without a trace.

There was no rolling head, no chopped-up body. Not a single drop of blood, nor a single piece of flesh remained. For a very brief moment, color bloomed on Blackburn’s cheeks before quickly cooling away.

It was still too early for the roosters to crow. Kyle chased away a wildcat prowling nearby. Then, he carelessly tossed the lone pruning shears into a trash bin in the corner of the poultry yard.

With this, he had completely devoured one secret.

Burping softly, Count Owin’s slave lightly brushed off his clothes, which had become bone-dry at some point. Straightening his back, he reclaimed his duty as the arrogant servant belonging solely to the Count.

Kyle thought of the soft curve of the back that would be sleeping face-down on the high bed. He felt his humanity, which had been worn down to the very floor, slowly refilling just a little bit.

As he returned to his master’s bedroom, he tallied the Secret-Eating contractors within the Count’s household. There were three in total.

Laura Smith. Her father, Giggs Smith. And Margaret Owin.

They were the puppet supporting actors who would illuminate the final stage. Didn’t they say modern plays required a massive plot twist? So Kyle, too, had prepared a trick of his own.

Among these three, there was one person who would absolutely break the conditions of the Secret-Eating Pact. Who would it be?

“Rochshan, I’ll soon open a stage just for you.”

He was already looking forward to his guest of honor’s sheer terror.

The tall servant had already reached the landing outside the main manor.

On the stone wall, cold and hard as an old corpse, Kyle’s handprint smeared like black soot before slowly fading away. An utterly unfitting lullaby melody resumed, flowing along the walls.

Soon, the song faded into the distance, and the high-hanging lanterns swayed one by one before all coming to a stop. At that moment, a figure let out a breath she had been holding. It was the maid, Laura Smith, who had witnessed the entire dawn massacre. She frantically clamped her hands over her mouth.

“Dear God.”