Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master



The air was arid and they smelled of blood. The dust kicked up from the skirmish has died down and the sounds of the horses were the only things that could be heard in the distance.

Knights were in a serious job of tying the bandits who offered no resistance to their captures at all.

Their hands were bound with long ropes and are connected to one another. If they were to run away, it would be impossible.

But none of them did.

They were already defeated.

There was no hope of winning against the young lord.

"I never thought we would capture them this easily," said Sir Allister.

"Yes, I guess luck is on our side," said Luther.

Sir Allister looked around at the surroundings. In the middle of the plains, where nothing can be seen except for the lone tent.

"Do you think he is alright?" Sir Allister asked.

"I've no idea. I guess the bandits either will spill the beans or they will end up mentally ill." Luther sighed deeply. "He wasn't always like this you know. Young master, he was kind and he loved women. And I think that's a reason why he is paranoid like this."

"Paranoid?" Sir Allister asked.

"Yes, he is not normal," said Luther. "Ever since he came back, he started acting differently. I think the death of the Island Queen has indeed shaken him." Luther shook his head.

"The Island Queen? What of her?" Sir Allister was perplexed to hear that the young master changed because of the death of the Island Queen. He had heard rumors about him saving her but beyond that it was unclear.

"I heard he was close with her. It's hard to comprehend, but even though they only met once, they say he and she became close. Very close and I believe hearing about her assassination and now the duchess almost getting killed, he must be affected by it."

"Then what should we do?" asked Sir Allister.

"What can we do?" Luther shrugged. "If he didn't want to talk to us, then there is nothing we can do. Let him deal with it."

Sir Allister remained silent for he know what grief can do to a kind man. He understood where he was coming from when he suggested, without any humility, to execute the bandits. He must be fearing something unexpected will happen to the Duchess if he let anyone free.

...

Inside the tent, Damien was looking at the two men with indifference. There wasn't any dialogue exchanged and there wasn't much movement from him, just a simple stare. That's all. And that made the two men more terrified than they already were.

"Tell me, who sent you?"

No one answered.

Damien then bent and reached out to his calves to pull out a knife all the while maintaining eye contact with them. He tested its sharpness and traced his finger along the edge. "I'll ask you one more time before I bury this in one of your hands," he said. His voice was low and calm. "Who sent you?"

"You think that's gonna do something, boy," the bald man spoke, his breathing hard.

Though he was denying anything all Damien heard was the word "boy." His eyes stopped scanning the blade and shot toward the bald man. "What did you call me?"

The bald man was scared. He looked at the other man beside him who was trembling. He was also scared but the look of indifference on the boy's face made him shiver.

The bald man muster his courage and again spoke. His words cursing out of his mouth like spit. "You are just a lordling who doesn't know what people born less fortunate have to go through on a daily basis. People like me and him. You'll never understand our struggles, you'll never understand the need for a good job or a house to live in. You don't even know what it means to be hungry and you dare come here and try to act all high and mighty." He spat on the ground. "This task would've made us rich. Every single one of us could have a roof over their head and food on their table and you took it from us."

"We only wanted a better life," said the other man. "That's all we ever wanted. This is our first time taking on something like this. I swear nothing much of the person sent us is known."

"How am I gonna trust a word of someone who was just trying to assassinate the duchess," he said. "You expect me to believe that you-" he gestured to them. "-Took a job from an unknown person to assassinate the ruler of a duchy among the twelve that exist in the kingdom? You want me to believe this shit?"

"I'm not lying!" The man protested. "I swear on my mother's grave, we did not know the identity of the person who hired us. All we knew was that it was a lady who offered us a great amount of money--"

"Why are you squabbling with the boy, Tyrion--" The bald man couldn't finish his sentence as a sudden scream escaped through his mouth.

"As I said, I'm not a boy," Damien twisted the knife that was embedded in the table along with the man's right palm. A loud shriek followed by a quick wail came from the man.

"Scream all you want. I want your companions to hear your wailing. I want them to feel fear when they see this." Damien pushed the knife deeper into the table and pulled it out. "Now continue."

The man named Tyrion was left speechless by the cruelty of the young master hardly any man without his muscles. But he made a quick mental note not to call him that.

"Ah yes, Tyrion, where were we?" Damien said as he slid a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the blood stains on his hand. Then he produced a small vile from his pocket and slowly placed it on the table along with the knife next to it.

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