The journey through the heart of the city went on, monotonous and cruel, paced by the steady steps of the beast dragging me forward. The rope creaked with every movement, rubbing against my raw waist, and the polished ground kept tearing off strips of skin with each jolt. And yet, I think I was starting to get used to it. The body always adapts, even to pain, when the mind has nothing left to cling to. So I let my thoughts drift—like a castaway telling himself stories just to stay afloat.
Seventh Demon King.
