"Wife? What do you mean?" Marilyn whispered, her trembling voice betraying her astonishment.

"I'm not… I'm not your wife," she added in an almost timid tone, taking an uncertain step back.

Regulus lightly touched his forehead with his fingers, as though suppressing a wave of irritation. Then he straightened, his face resuming its cold, impeccably smooth expression.

"Ah, my apologies. This is a misunderstanding," he said calmly, his tone soft yet unsettlingly mechanical. "You're not my wife... yet. But you're my fiancée. I want to marry you. You're mine. And I am your betrothed."

He paused, as though assessing her reaction, then tilted his head slightly and added, "You know, I saved you. If it weren't for me, you'd be boiled alive right now," his voice grew slightly louder, tinged with reproach.

"So, please, show a bit of gratitude. The least you could do is agree to marry me."

Marilyn stared at him, her mouth slightly open, words failing her. Finally, the meaning of his words dawned on her, and she took a few more steps back, trying to distance herself.

"Who even are you?!" she demanded sharply, her voice trembling but laced with defiance. "You kidnapped me, and now you're telling me to… to marry you?! Do you even hear yourself?!"

She spun around, looking towards the direction of the capital. Her eyes widened even more.

Ahead was an endless forest stretching all the way to the horizon. The capital was far away—too far.

"Oh my god..." she whispered, her voice softer now. Thoughts whirled in her mind like a storm. "What even is this guy? How did he do this? We were just there a second ago..."

Regulus closed his eyes briefly and sighed, as if exhausted by her words.

"Kidnapped?" he said with a hint of irritation, opening his eyes. His gaze, filled with cold disdain, locked onto her frightened one.

"If it weren't for me, your body would already be boiling in a cauldron! And you call that kidnapping?"

His voice hardened, taking on an authoritative tone.

"This isn't a kidnapping. It's a rescue."

He stepped forward, his movements smooth yet deliberate.

"Of all people, you should be immensely grateful to me," he continued, leaning slightly towards her. "Without me, you wouldn't even exist anymore. So stop complaining, Marilyn."

Her breathing quickened, and she took another step back, feeling the air around her grow heavy. For a moment, she even forgot how to breathe.

She stood silently, her lips trembling, but still, no words came. Her gaze darted between Regulus and the forest surrounding them, as if searching for an escape, but realizing there was none.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, his eyes glinting with feigned curiosity behind the mask.

"Though, you know... I've been thinking," he began, his tone surprisingly light, even playful. But suddenly, his voice turned serious, almost icy.

"If you don't want to marry me, then... why don't I just put things back the way they were?"

A second of silence. Her face went pale, her eyes widening as his words sunk in.

"No," she whispered, barely breathing. "No, I don't want to go back there. Never."

Regulus smirked, and there was something terrifying in that smile. His gaze burned into her, cutting away her last sliver of hope like a blade.

"Then accept my proposal," he said calmly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Is there no other way?" she whispered, her voice shaking. She clasped her hands tightly, as if trying to summon the courage she lacked. "We… we don't even know anything about each other."

Her voice was plaintive, but there was still a note of resistance. She knew she had no choice, but her instincts fought to find a way out—any way to escape the inevitable.

Regulus leaned slightly closer, his movements slow but threatening.

"Oh, what's the big deal?" he asked, frowning beneath the mask. His voice was laced with irritation but also carried a strange patience, like an adult explaining something to a stubborn child.

"I'm only asking you to be my wife in name. No feelings, no obligations."

He paused before adding with a slight smirk, "And certainly nothing... physical." His tone was mocking, but his gaze remained cold as ice.

Marilyn lowered her eyes, her shoulders slumping. She understood she had no way out. Either she became this strange, terrifying man's wife, or she went back to the hell he had pulled her from.

"I..." Her voice was weak, almost inaudible. "I have no choice, do I?" Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she still lifted her gaze to meet his.

Regulus straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. His cloak rustled faintly in the wind.

"See? You're not as foolish as you look," he replied with a smirk. "You've made the right decision."

At that moment, he made up his mind: she was now his wife. Formally or not—it didn't matter.

A barely noticeable smile tugged at his lips, one that radiated authority.

Without another word, he activated the "Little King," and near her heart appeared his pseudo-heart. It began beating in perfect rhythm with her own life.

It was imperceptible, invisible, and inaudible to her—as if nothing had happened. But for Regulus, everything had changed.

With the rhythm of this small heart, his Lion Heart activated permanently, and he felt the familiar, absolute invulnerability that had become his norm.

He inhaled deeply, savoring the power now connecting him to her. His gaze settled on her face—pale and bewildered, but silent.

Marilyn, of course, understood nothing. She stood before him, trembling slightly but still holding herself upright, even as she seemed ready to collapse.

Regulus slowly tilted his head, as though contemplating something, then spoke. His voice was steady, but a mocking undertone lingered.

"You know..." he began, pausing as his eyes scanned her face, the bruises, the scrapes, the disheveled hair... and her lack of proper clothing. "I think I should tidy you up a bit."

Several hours later, the faint light of the moon filtered through the thin curtains of a small hotel room.

In the center of the room, Regulus sat in a high-backed chair, leaning back lazily as if the entire world belonged to him.

Marilyn stood across from him, now dressed in a pristine maid's outfit. Her face was pale, her posture straight, and her gaze fixed on the floor.

"I knew it," Regulus said with a faint smirk, his arms crossed as his eyes lazily roamed over her figure. "The maid outfit suits you."

Marilyn glanced at him briefly before quickly lowering her eyes again. Her voice was quiet but steady as she spoke.

"I used to work as a maid before all this… so, if you'd like, I can assist with something," she said, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, waving his hand dismissively.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said with casual indifference.

She nodded, swaying slightly where she stood. Regulus seemed momentarily lost in thought, his gaze turning distant. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, as if he'd remembered something amusing.

"Alright, alright," he said, rising from the chair. His movements were fluid, deliberate, as though standing was a declaration in itself.

"I think I'll go... put an end to the suffering of those being tortured," he said, casting a glance out the window, his eyes gleaming with a strange light.

"And while I'm at it… I'll test out my new abilities," he added silently to himself, a brief, almost smug smile flashing across his face.

Marilyn looked at him, her face expressionless, though tension was evident in her voice as she asked, "Should I stay here?" She straightened her posture further, as though afraid of disobeying him.

Regulus nodded curtly, heading for the door. His footsteps were soft yet purposeful, and his cloak rustled faintly as it skimmed the floor.

"Yeah. Stay here," he said over his shoulder without turning around.

She bowed her head slightly, her voice firm despite the turmoil within.

"Understood."

Regulus opened the door and, without looking back, added, "Behave yourself, maid."

With that, he disappeared through the door, leaving Marilyn in a room heavy with tension.

She clenched her hands, her heart racing faster than usual.

Regulus stood on the edge of a rooftop, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. His gaze swept across the horizon, where the city's buildings, soaked in despair, were swallowed by the night's shadows.

"Well then, time to have some fun," he murmured, as if this were just another mundane task.

His words left his lips effortlessly, as though carrying no weight of the carnage to come. He exhaled slowly.

A seemingly innocuous act, yet as his breath touched the space in front of him, a section of the roof beneath him vanished with perfect precision, revealing a horrifying scene below.

Regulus observed silently. Down in the dimly lit room, nothing had changed. Torture racks, the stench of blood, agonized screams—all were pitiful reminders of human cruelty.

The only difference was the absence of one executioner—the one Regulus had eliminated earlier while rescuing Marilyn. Yet no one seemed to notice.

No investigation. No alarm. The rest continued their work as if nothing had happened.

"Still the same filth," he muttered, shaking his head with weary disdain. "Not that it matters."

He stepped forward and vanished into thin air. A moment later, his feet touched the ground silently inside the room.

Two executioners nearby turned, but before they could comprehend or react, their bodies were split cleanly in half.

It happened so quickly that not even a scream escaped their lips.

The soft thuds of falling body parts seemed deafening in the sudden silence that followed.

Regulus scanned the room with cold, indifferent eyes, his gaze lingering briefly on the instruments of torture.

His face remained calm, almost detached, but his golden eyes burned with a cold fire.

"You're all finished," he said quietly, but his voice carried such authority that those who heard it instantly felt their throats go dry.

At that moment, one of the executioners—a massive, muscular man with wild eyes—charged at him, swinging a heavy axe.

"I'll gut you alive!" the man bellowed, his voice cutting through the air.

The axe was mere inches from Regulus when it—and the executioner's arm—suddenly disappeared.

The man screamed, clutching the bleeding stump where his arm had been.

Regulus turned to him lazily, his expression unchanging.

"You? Gut me?" he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "I think I have the right to go first."

He lifted his foot slightly, nudging a small stone on the ground. The stone vanished, but in the next instant, the executioner's head was gone as well.

The body collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, accompanied by the last faint gurgle of life.

Regulus's eyes shifted to the boiling cauldron in the center of the room, steam rising ominously from its surface.

He narrowed his eyes, a faint, chilling smile spreading across his lips.

"Everything you've done will come back to you. This is justice," he said quietly, his voice echoing off the walls as he began moving toward the center of the room.

Marilyn was breathing heavily, barely able to contain the tremor that had overtaken her body.

Her gaze was fixed on the chair where Regulus had been sitting just moments ago.

His presence still lingered in the room—as if the very air was saturated with his oppressive aura.

"That damned man…" thoughts raced through her mind like a whirlwind. "He's... he's too dangerous. Too unpredictable. And… insane!"

She walked around the chair, her slender fingers brushing over its back as if needing to confirm that he had truly left.

Memories of their recent conversation swirled chaotically in her head.

His calm, commanding voice seemed to resonate in her mind, making her heart pound harder.

Marilyn quickened her pace, desperate to leave the room, but her thoughts wouldn't let her rest.

"Run. I need to get out of here as soon as possible…" her inner panic grew louder with every step.

"He talked about marriage? What was he even thinking? That's… that's ridiculous! We don't even know each other! How can he just declare something like that as if it's a given?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and anger flared in her eyes.

"What a lunatic! First, that strange look of his, like he can see right through me. Then those cryptic words. And now marriage. Pfft, what a nightmare!"

Her thin fingers trembled as they touched the cold metal door handle. She wanted to open it, to run, to escape from his suffocating presence.

But her body refused to obey.

She froze, as if shackled by her own thoughts.

"And then what? I run… and what happens next?" her inner voice was bitter. "Where would I go? I have no money, no support. And after everything he did… after what he caused… I'd probably end up hunted. The Empire won't let this go so easily."

She gripped the handle more tightly, trying to summon the last scraps of resolve. But the cold flow of reason kept her rooted in place.

"Yes, he's insane… that much is true. But he's strong. So strong that at least by his side I wouldn't have to think about how to survive. As crazy as it is, as terrifying as it is… it's still better than being dead."

Marilyn closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Her thoughts whirled chaotically, each one screaming its own argument, until one rose above the rest.

"Better to live with a madman… than not live at all," the bitter irony of her conclusion echoed inside her.

She let go of the door handle and, lowering her head, stepped back.

Her heart raced, but a strange calm settled over her.

The decision was made. Now she had to accept all the consequences of it.

"If I'm going to play his game, I need to play it right," she thought, straightening her shoulders and heading back into the room. "Maybe this is madness. But madness has its own rules. And I'm going to learn them."

Regulus stood at the edge of the massive cauldron, thick steam rising from it, filled with the unbearable stench of human suffering.

Everything around him was enveloped in silence.

All the executioners who had dared to attack him were already dead, leaving behind only bloody traces.

No one else dared approach. No one even dared to breathe too loudly.

"Alright then," he said with a faint smirk, his voice soft but laced with death. "I'll finish all of you quickly."

He leaped down. His feet touched the boiling water, but instead of sinking, he stood on its surface.

He walked across the water like some twisted image of Jesus, bringing not salvation but destruction.

"And now," he said, stepping onto the bridge suspended above the cauldron.

His eyes glowed bright gold.

In the next instant, all the water in the cauldron began to rise, leaving its hellish confines.

A massive sphere of boiling liquid hovered in the air.

"Not bad," Regulus thought, assessing the size of the sphere. Its ripples seemed like the breathing of a living being. "Let's see how this works…"

A barely perceptible motion of his hand—and the giant sphere fragmented into dozens, if not hundreds of thousands, of tiny droplets.

They were so small they seemed invisible, yet each carried enough force to destroy any barrier.

"Consider this the end of your suffering," a grim thought flickered in his mind as his gaze rested on the tortured victims. Those who were still breathing met his eyes, their faces filled with terror and despair.

And then the droplets flew. They surged forward with terrifying speed, transforming into a deadly storm.

Walls, ceilings, even human bodies—everything was pierced by thousands of perfectly round holes.

Metal, wood, flesh—nothing could withstand them.

It was like an apocalypse, guided by a single will.

The building trembled. A second later—it collapsed, crumbling into rubble. Pieces of the roof and walls crashed down with a deafening roar.

Yet, as they neared Regulus, they vanished—just like everything else.

They left no trace—not even a shadow of their existence.

He stood at the center of the chaos, unperturbed, like a god passing judgment.

His eyes coldly surveyed the destruction he had wrought.

"Not bad at all," he thought lazily, glancing around. "But it seems this isn't enough to erase all the filth that happened here."

His figure, glowing faintly, moved through the ruins. Step by step, he left only emptiness behind him.