Volume 10 Chapter 46 Interrogation at Portline
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”Hey,” he said, stepping into the small, underground room.
The woman inside glanced over her shoulder but immediately turned her face away.
”I’m a troop leader in the Humans Army. I’m the one who crushed you Demon Lord’s Army lot that was stationed in Portline. You know why you’ve been kept alive?”
He shut the door and crossed his arms behind the woman.
The prisoner did not respond to his question.
She was a Demonkin soldier, identifiable by the two horns that jutted forward from her brow. She was held in a crucifix-style bondage, her hands bound and raised to hang from the ceiling, her body stretched out backward. Chains extended from both sides to her ankles, ensuring she couldn’t sit, walk, or even close her legs.
”So, the Roldi who was supposed to be in Portline is missing. Do you know where he went?”
He started with a soft question. The interrogation had begun.
Unsurprisingly, she did not utter a single word.
There wasn’t even a chance for her to lie, let alone talk at all.
She was likely wary of any interrogation ‘ability’ that could discern the truth, like a mind’s eye, which would explain her silence. Given that her people were trained this well, getting her to talk, even to say the slightest thing, was going to be an effort.
For a Demonkin, being captured by the ‘inferior’ Humans race must have been the ultimate humiliation.
They weren’t going to cough up information so easily.
That was the creed of the Demonkin. That resolute intent radiated powerfully from her still back, and the man sighed, half in frustration, half in awe of her obstinance. If Klock were in her place, he’d have spilled everything instantly, because silence wouldn’t improve the situation.
Well, Klock might mix in a lie or two, perhaps.
”…!?”
Perhaps it was the unnatural silence.
The Demonkin woman flinched, glancing behind her.
What appeared before any words of negotiation could be exchanged was a massive, thick c*ck.
The woman’s face twisted into an expression of horror.
”You have no plan to share that secret, do you? Fine. It does not matter to me. I came here today only to use your body.”
He tilted a small bottle in his hand. The liquid inside dripped onto his hardness.
A sweet, heavy smell filled the air. He spread the scented oil over himself, making it shine and smooth.
Then he looked at her. His eyes fixed on her full, held hips.
To any man, a woman tied facing away was just a ready tool—a simple opening.
Once he pulled down her lower clothes, nothing stood in the way.
”G-ghhh—!?”
He tore the lower clothes from the woman, who could not fight back at all.
Her legs were tied open, so he could only pull the cloth to her thighs.
Underneath was plain cotton underclothes. He ripped those off too, showing her bare hips.
The woman twisted, trying to lift her hips and push back.
But with hands and feet locked, she could only turn her upper body.
He pressed his hardness against her open hips.
The woman fought, bending her back as far as the chains let her. The metal screamed.
He pinned her to the wall. With a thick, slick push, he drove his full strength inside without mercy.
The Demonkin woman gasped. Air rushed from her lungs. His hardness was much thicker than a human’s, and the deep reach pressed against the lower belly of most women.
”Old war stories say captured young women had it hard. A prisoner often served fifty soldiers a day. The youngest ones, from early teens to twenty, were most wanted. Camps were full of village girls crying out. Healing magic was not strong then, so every one bled from their center. The soldiers did not stop, they say.”
It was an old tale that made you look away.
He whispered it in her ear.
”You are lucky. We have men who use healing magic. You will not cry from pain before you become our soldiers’ tool.”
She had been thinking hard to survive the questions.
Now, with the sudden join, her body jumped and fought.
No matter her plan, a hardness deep inside made clear thoughts impossible.
”Guh—! Haaahhh…!!”
The prisoner’s center was not ready.
But the oil let him move deep into her belly without trouble.
He pushed half-way in, then started a steady rhythm.
Her warmth answered the join right away.
”Oh, and you can speak anytime to tell me something. If not, that is fine. Our men have time. Your body is wanted. We plan to care for you as long as we like.”
He pushed his hips, making her hips shake from the force.
He struck against the woman whose name he did not know, with no kind words between them, enjoying the feel of her warmth.
”Just so you know, over ten thousand soldiers wait behind me. Give up soon. Do not think you escape with simple use. Soon they will use high-land root, and you will be a joy-mad wreck.”
Whether they would use it was another thing.
But such joy-bringing plants did exist.
High-land root was known. It raised men’s strength and made women feel more, driving them wild.
The woman effect was most wanted. Stories said a woman’s center would open at peak, making child easier, giving it value.
It was not likely for questions.
”Guh, huh, kuh…nn…!!”
The prisoner bit her teeth.
Her quiet cries only made his hardness stronger. He held her slim, trained waist and struck her full, drawing hips with a sharp sound.
The oil he spread and her growing fluid mixed, making wet sounds deep inside her warmth.
He drove his thick hardness back and forth, but she stayed silent. She chose to endure the join.
The room became only a place where a prisoner took silent force. Yuuri pressed his lips, thinking, That is what I expected. No soldier would stop after one try.
As heat grew in him, he made his pushes faster, like feeding a fire.
”St-stop…!!”
Any woman who knew joining saw the faster pace as the sign before peak.
After hard pushes for a time, the woman moved at last, twisting her hips to pull away.
But he would not let her go. He leaned his full weight on her, pinning her to the wall. He held her hips tight and struck deep.
A rush of release filled the space. He gave no break, pouring his care deep into the warmth—softened only by his hardness. The joy of sharing inside an unknown woman was strong. Held by tight, warm grip, he drove his gift deep into her center.
”Ugh… huh, huh… ughhh…!!”
The held woman, the prisoner, took the deep care in her lower belly with only wet, hard breaths. Her hips shone with sweat, her ears red, her body jumping with each strong push. He slid his hand down, through her rough hair, and took her swollen sensitive spot. He pressed his finger hard, then moved in soft circles. The woman bent her body, twisting against him in full give, mastered by touch on that small point.
By her look, she was in her mid-to-late twenties. Her answer showed much experience.
People said women rarely felt joy or wet in force. Just as men feel no want for an ugly partner, a woman cannot warm to an unwanted one.
But this woman’s warmth showed clear practice. Her body knew joining as joy. That was why, even without ready, her warmth grew hot under him.
He raised his hand and struck her hips sharp. The woman jumped, her sensitive spot pulsing again. The sound filled the small room, and her warmth held him tighter.
”Where is Roldi? Why did he leave his place? Does he have the Mask Altar—the thing that killed my men?”
His still-strong hardness felt warm squeeze inside. He pulled his hips back, then pushed slow again. Just moving forward shook the woman; when his tip touched her deep point, she tried to rise on her toes to escape. He held her waist, pulled her back, and struck her warmth deep. As price for her weak fight, he pinched her sensitive spot harder, making her shake strong.
”Where is Bandanzine now? What is your next goal?”
The woman gave no words, only wet, hard breaths. The Majin woman, strong in will, kept her small fight on toes.
Wet, striking sounds filled between them. Pinned to the wall, her rough breath clear, he kept taking her. He struck the twisting hips, pinched and held her sensitive spot. As her fight faded, he poured white care deep into her belly.
”Listen, silence from anger changes nothing. We cannot let you go. Your Demonkin came to us first. We fight back. You should pull away. You go home if you lose, but we have no other place. You know we cannot be kind.”
He held her neck tight, pushed her down, and drove deep one last time, sharing fully in her warmth. He pulsed strong, the care flooding her so hard it shook her belly. At last, she seemed to stop. She only took the hot liquid in her warmth with rough, pained breaths.
Enjoying the lasting warmth of his gift, he gently touched her sensitive spot. He moved his hips a little, savoring the after, his hardness feeling the soft, holding warmth.
”If I speak…”
”Hm?”
”…You’ll kill me anyway.”
He raised an eyebrow at the woman’s long-delayed response. Prioritizing his continued pleasure, he rocked his hips, processing her words in the back of his mind.
She wanted a guarantee of her safety, then.
Well, of course she did.
Even a soldier of the Klock² would never be so soft-hearted as to unconditionally release an enemy combatant. However, he had no intention of killing her. He was even considering letting her go if she gave him the information he needed. The problem was, if he told her that, she’d likely seize the opportunity and stall for time.
”Yeah, that’s probably true. It depends on your attitude. You’ve got a nice ass, though. But don’t think you’re safe just by keeping quiet. That’s the path that makes you disposable the moment another prisoner starts talking.”
”…”
There were no other prisoners. Regrettably, she was the only one they’d managed to capture alive.
”You’re a Demonkin. You should know there’s another one of your kind here.”
He used the calculated lie as a lever to shake her. Demonkin possess a racial skill of psychic communication, allowing them to sense their kin. Therefore, she should have recognized Suzette’s presence the moment she arrived here.
”We’re interrogating your other partner next. I’ll tell them you already snitched, and we’re just cross-referencing, which will make them talk. I’ll also tell them you’ll be executed as ‘used up’ if they don’t talk. And no, you won’t be exchanging messages psychically. That one’s horn is already useless.”
”…”
”You can’t reach her, can you?”
The fact that Suzette wouldn’t respond to the woman’s psychic skill was part of his plan. But the prisoner would never suspect that a traitor existed among her own kind.
The prisoner woman flicked her eyes up for a quick look, then immediately averted her face. Her expression showed a flicker of fear mixed with bitter resentment. That look only made his p*nis harden again.
”My guess is you’re going to be obsolete pretty quickly. I put her off for last because she seems weak-willed. She’s the main prize.”
”…”
Maybe he’d gone too far with the taunt.
The threat had been a mistake. If he pushed too hard, she’d suspect his bluff.
I really only came here to take you.
He thought, then resumed his aggressive, full-force thrusting. She quietly hung her head. She let out muffled cries, and the white fluids that had spilled out were dripping down her half-removed underwear and lower garments, making a terrible mess.
It felt almost pitiful to torment her further, but it couldn’t be helped. An enemy was an enemy. This woman was a soldier of the enemy state, here to destroy humanity. The only way for her to find relief was to spill what she knew, and quickly. If she didn’t want to go back home, that was her choice.
”I’ll ask one more time. Your name?”
”…”
The woman clamped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth. He stopped the rhythmic pounding of his hips. He waited for a moment, giving her a brief window of reprieve. But she only trembled and kept her head bowed, ultimately saying nothing.
”Understood.”
Klock let the torchlight catch the damp stones as he paused at the doorway of the underground cell. He had no intention of letting her go; the war had taught him patience for extracting answers. The woman—bound, suspended by rough chains—turned her face only once, then averted her eyes and folded into silence.
He spoke in short, clinical sentences. “Tell me where Roldi went.”
She did not answer. Her hands were tied above her; the chains held her so she could not huddle or step aside. Her shoulders were squared in a conditioned, silent defiance: a trained soldier, not a frightened villager.
Klock moved closer and pressed his weight against the wall so the cell had no easy corners to hide in. He tightened his grip on the questioning, changing his tone from blunt demand to slow, deliberate pressure. He described old cruelties—stories of how prisoners in other wars had been broken by neglect and by force—measuring her reaction with each sentence. The point was not spectacle; it was leverage.
She trembled when he mentioned the treatment that awaited traitors and collaborators, but she said nothing. Klock knew why. Demonkin were taught to hold their tongues against interrogation: some had mental-link training to detect lies and a cultural code that valued silence. That made his job harder, but not impossible.
A small sound—more breath than word—escaped her when he tightened the straps around the chain. Klock watched how her body folded in response. She was in her late twenties by the line of her jaw and the set of her shoulders, and despite the grime she carried herself with the economy of someone used to orders.
He shifted tactics. “If you want your life, speak plainly. If you lie, it changes nothing for you. But if you tell the truth, I can arrange certain conditions—food, a bed, washing. You will not be executed here.” The offer was pragmatic, not kind. That was deliberate: mercy as a tool.
The woman kept her head down. When Klock let the silence hang long enough, she finally spoke in a low voice. “My name is Misha.” It came out like a burnt thing—short and wary.
Klock let a small smile crease his face, more satisfaction than pleasure. It was proof his pressure worked. “Age?”
”Twenty-seven.”
”Military record?”
”I left Central University at twenty-one and joined the lines.” She said it without pride, as if reading a roll call.
He asked the next questions with care—where Roldi had been, what the Demonkin planned to do next. Each answer was another notch of certainty. She said Roldi had left for Sanrid the day before the attack. She did not know why; she only remembered orders and rumors.
When Klock asked about the mask altar—the cult object his scouts had mentioned—Misha blinked, genuinely confused. “Mask altar? I do not know it by that name. I am not devout.”
Klock frowned. Majin culture was supposed to hold such things sacred. Maybe she truly did not know; maybe she lied. He let the possibility of either stand between them. It gave him room to maneuver.
She told him the army’s next move: a northward push to strangle Dayrid from land and sea. But when he pressed who was supposed to cooperate with them from the inside, her answer cut through him like a cold wind: a human force, she believed, had agreed to help—Barreith, she thought, or a name close to that. She sounded uncertain, and that uncertainty made the claim both fragile and terrifying.
Klock felt his chest tighten. He had suspected treachery among their supposed allies; confirmation from an enemy soldier put a face on a threat he could not ignore. He softened his tone in a way that suggested he had the bigger picture: “Barreith’s betrayal has been… suspected. We already have ears inside their ranks. Good—this means we can contain it without panic.”
It was a half-truth, offered to steady the prisoner and to prevent her from retracting what she had said. He promised conditions in exchange for cooperation: she would not be killed, she would be kept here until they had verified her intelligence, and then he would arrange a return to Demon Continent—on the condition she renounce military service and swear not to return.
She asked for one thing more: assurance her fellow prisoner would be spared. Klock allowed himself a small, almost human twitch of humor. He could not promise for others he did not possess. But he used what he had—certainty around her compliance—to create leverage. “Tell us what you know about Roldi and your orders. If you cooperate fully, I will see you sent back after verification. If you attempt to flee or contact Bandanzine,” he said, naming the unit she had not yet mentioned publicly, “you will not survive the consequences.”
She nodded once. The motion was small and almost broken, but it was an acceptance.
They gave her simple food, clean garments taken from quartermaster stores, and loose cuffs instead of the iron that had bitten her wrists. She washed at a bucket near the cell and ate without ceremony. Klock arranged for limited comforts not because he had grown sentimental, but because a stable prisoner was a useful one.
When he walked away from the cell, the new knowledge sat at the center of his mind: a possible human traitor named Barreith, Roldi summoned away to Sanrid, and plans to strike Dayrid. Each piece changed the map. He would need to move carefully, keep the leak contained, and test where the loyalty of their so-called allies truly lay.
He left the underground room with a long breath and a longer list of precautions. The war had teeth in it he had not expected; now he had to make sure those teeth bit the right enemy.
Notes:
• Roldi – A male subordinate of Bandanzine, executes orders efficiently, tasked with commanding forces in Orrid and coordinating the invasion strategy.
• Yuu – A young boy, the Empress’s current boyfriend, who sits naked on her knees during their intimate moments.
• Mask Altar – A cult object that Klock’s scouts had mentioned, which he suspects might be connected to Roldi and the death of his men. Misha claims ignorance of it, suggesting she is not devout or that the object is known by a different name.
• Bandanzine – They are one of the Four Heavenly Kings, appeared as a warrior with a dignified gaze, known for their frontline combat prowess.
• Suzette – The older maid from Viscount Fennec. The head maid at the Viscount Fennec’s villa. She is confident, clear-spoken, and professional.
• Misha – Demonkin soldier, age 27, captured by the Human Army and identified by her horns. She is a highly trained, silent, and defiant prisoner who is subjected to brutal interrogation methods. She eventually breaks her silence and cooperates, revealing information about Roldi’s whereabouts (Sanrid), the Demonkin’s next target (Dayrid), and the suspected presence of a human traitor (Barreith) in exchange for a promise of spared life and eventual return home.
• Sanrid – The location where Roldi reportedly went the day before the attack on Portline. This movement is a key piece of strategic information Misha provides during her interrogation.
• Dayrid – The city the Demonkin army is planning to attack next, intending to “strangle Dayrid from land and sea.” This confirms the Demonkin’s immediate military objective for Klock.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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