Chapter 197 - 198: Don’t Kill Him

Words : 1037 Updated : Oct 6th, 2025

Chapter 197: Chapter 198: Don’t Kill Him "Getting soap in your mouth can cause intense burning, nausea, and vomiting," Isabella explained, her voice steady. "It irritates your throat and stomach lining. And if it goes into your nose..." She paused, letting the tension build. Gerwin’s already miserable expression twisted further at the thought. "It burns the delicate membranes inside, causing sharp pain, sneezing fits, and even nosebleeds. It makes it hard to breathe properly." The women gasped quietly, eyes wide. The consequences sounded severe enough to scare anyone into caution. Isabella looked back at the small bowl, then at Luca. "Now, Luca," she said sweetly, "would you help me place the soap in his mouth and nose? I wouldn’t want to touch those parts myself." There was a collective gasp from the women—not because they pitied Gerwin, but because they couldn’t believe someone as small and gentle-looking as Isabella could be so ruthlessly brutal. Luca nodded respectfully and stepped closer to the man, holding the bowl steadily. Gerwin’s remaining vision was blurred, and his panic rising as he whispered, "Please no..." His voice was cracked, barely audible over his ragged breaths and the pounding of his heart. Inside, he swore silently that he would make Isabella pay for this humiliation—if not today, then someday. Somehow. Luca didn’t flinch. Without hesitation, he dipped his long fingers into the thick, sudsy liquid in the clay bowl, lifting a slimy scoop. The soap clung between his fingers in thick strands, catching the sunlight in a shimmer. He approached Gerwin with measured steps, his expression unreadable. The man’s muffled cries turned into full-blown shrieks the moment he realized what was coming. "No! No—don’t put that there! Please! I was wrong! I didn’t mean anything—!" Too late. With a flick of his wrist, Luca expertly smeared the soap across Gerwin’s cracked lips, and then—swiftly, precisely—he pushed the suds into both nostrils. The thick soap foamed and frothed as it entered, instantly triggering a violent reaction. Gerwin screamed. Not a regular scream. It was a primal, guttural, unhinged kind of noise. His legs kicked out violently, his upper body jerking in Cyrus’s unrelenting grip. The tail wound around his torso held strong, like a coil of iron. The muscles of the beastman’s tail tensed visibly, tightening every time Gerwin thrashed. Foam bubbled from the man’s nose. He snorted and gasped and screamed, spittle flying as he thrashed, head tossing from side to side. His eyes—already red and watery from the earlier assault—streamed tears down his cheeks in rivers. "His body’s fighting to breathe," Isabella said cheerfully, stepping aside to avoid getting splashed. "That’s what happens when soap gets into your lungs and sinuses." Her voice was calm, light, as though she were teaching children how to harvest berries instead of demonstrating chemical torture. "Now, when it gets in your nose," she continued, turning to face the group of wide-eyed women, "it will burn. Like hot fire climbing through your skull. You’ll sneeze, choke, maybe even feel dizzy. But don’t panic—it’s temporary. Although very unpleasant." No one looked away. Not even the children. Even the birds nearby had gone silent, as though nature itself had paused to listen. "His mouth," she added, waving toward Gerwin’s frothing lips, "is already tingling like it’s been stung by a thousand ants. He’ll feel nauseous. Maybe throw up. His tongue will burn and he won’t be able to taste food for a while. But, he’ll survive." Gerwin screamed again, his body convulsing, veins bulging on his neck. His eyes were squeezed shut, his nostrils flaring, every muscle in his face twisted with agony. And still—Cyrus didn’t let go. The tension in the beastman’s tail was increasing with every passing second, his sharp red eyes fixed on the writhing man. His jaw clenched, muscles flexing across his bare torso. Anger simmered beneath his stillness, a quiet, dangerous sort of rage that made the air feel tighter. Then came the words. "I swear," Gerwin hissed, choking on his own spit, his voice hoarse and cracked, "once I’m out of here... I’ll get you back. I’ll make you pay—" He didn’t finish. Cyrus’ tail tightened so suddenly, so violently, that Gerwin let out a choked wheeze, his face purpling as the pressure compressed his ribs. Isabella turned sharply. Her heart didn’t race. Her lips didn’t twitch with fear. She wasn’t worried—not in the slightest. She knew exactly what she’d done, and more importantly, she knew what Cyrus was. What all Beastmen were. Dangerous. Fast. Powerful. But not impulsive. At least, not when she gave them a reason to hold back. She’d confirmed it earlier—soap in the eyes wouldn’t blind him permanently. It would sting like hell, and his vision would be blurred for a couple of days at most. His nose and lungs? They’d burn, yes. Breathing would be uncomfortable, but not fatal. In a week, maybe less, he’d be back to normal. Unfortunately for him, his ego wouldn’t recover so easily. She stepped closer to Cyrus, standing beneath the towering figure, and looked up until their eyes met. Her gaze softened just slightly, and then, without moving her lips too much, she mouthed, Don’t kill him. No one saw it. No one heard it. But Cyrus did. And he understood immediately. It wasn’t just a plea for mercy. It was layered—strategic. A command, a reminder, a warning. Her words had weight—unspoken meaning Cyrus understood instantly. She didn’t want blood on her hands. Most of all, she didn’t want to stain his name any further. People already feared Cyrus, whispered about him like he was some mindless beast. If he killed the man now, it wouldn’t make her look powerful—it would make her look like she couldn’t handle things without hiding behind a monster. And it would rob the women of the lesson she was trying to teach: that dignity wasn’t reclaimed through blood alone, but through cleverness, control. Cyrus’ tail slackened slightly, loosening around the man’s crushed torso just enough to let him suck in a greedy, gasping breath. Gerwin coughed violently, spit and foam dripping from his chin as he gulped for air like a fish on land. And just like that, Isabella turned back to the women.

Chapter 197 - 198: Don’t Kill Him

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