Chapter 5 - Prince Red Riding Hood

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

As I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

"You've got a body like a kid, but you're reacting, aren't you?"

 

Lil couldn't believe what the stubbly man—likely the eldest brother—just said.

 

It had to be a lie meant to hurt him further.

 

Yet when he dared glance down, he saw it—his own genitals, which were dripping with transparent honey.

 

"N-No..."

 

It was undeniably his, and yet different.

 

Bent at such a harsh angle, that part of him—normally hidden—hung in plain sight.

 

He wanted to believe it only looked unfamiliar because his body was twisted and upside-down. But the change was real. Even without his eyes, his body could feel the wrongness.

 

"...Ah, a-ah..."

 

A hot, tingling sensation flared between his legs. A clear, sticky fluid welled up and beaded like dew.

 

The tip—swollen, darker than before—had turned from soft pink to the shade of a pomegranate.

 

The droplet rolled along its curve and fell, striking Lil's chin.

 

It was lukewarm. Sticky.

 

"Hah! A fine little prince, huh? This is rich. Look at him—he can't stop dripping."

 

"Even his chest is all perked up already. You're enjoying this, huh? Been playing with yourself on the regular?"

 

"N-No... that's not...!"

 

"Liar! Just like those cursed eyes. Red—just like a beast in heat, tempting a mate. Your eyes suit your filthy body."

 

"You're no prince. You're no beggar either. A body like yours is made for something else. We'll show you what."

 

"...N-No!"

 

Never before had Lil's red eyes been so scorned. Tears of frustration and despair welled up.

 

Would he be violated, stripped of his dignity, and then killed?

 

Why—why must this happen at the hands of people he had once greeted with a smile?

 

No matter how he tried to reason it through the fog of fear, no answer came.

 

Was it his fault for carrying too much—like the butter and wine stuffed into oversized jars? Or for straying through the flower fields, lured by beauty? Was it wrong to go seek out the head chef instead of waiting the five days for his arrival?

 

Or perhaps... was it none of his actions? Was the true reason something as innate and immutable as the red of his eyes?

 

Or worse—were all those other reasons mere distractions from a far more serious truth he had failed to realize as the prince of this country?

 

If this punishment was tied to some deeper knowledge he had overlooked... then at the very least, he wanted to know before they killed him.

 

To die without understanding—was far too empty an end for a prince.

 

From the lips that had only pleaded "forgive me," another word now slipped out.

 

Instead of forgiveness, he asked, "Why?"

 

Even if he was to die in the end—he had to know. He needed a reason.

 

"──!"

 

The instant Lil called out, "Why are you doing this to me?", a thunderous noise shattered the air within the hut.

 

A shockwave shook the entire structure, booming loud and low like a drumbeat from the underworld.

 

Was it a bear straying beyond the warded barrier? Or worse—a magic-infused giant wolf? The sounds conjured every primal fear Lil had ever known.

 

"W-What the hell!?"

 

But it wasn't only Lil who trembled—the woodcutters were shaken as well.

 

In the blink of an eye, they released Lil and readied their stance, freeing their hands.

 

"The floor's shaking...!"

 

In the next heartbeat, the metal-latched door was kicked clean off its hinges.

 

Blinding light poured in, outlining a tall male figure in stark silhouette.

 

Behind him should have been the forest—the green of leaves, the brown of trunks, the white of melting snow, and the faint pink shimmer of the boundary magic.

 

Yet the sunlight erased it all, cloaking the figure in divine brilliance.

 

Who...? Such a tall, imposing shape...

 

As the dust settled and specks of wood stopped falling from the ceiling, Lil's eyes adjusted.

 

Before he could hear the reason for the woodcutters' cruelty, he saw a fourth man—stepping between them.

 

No. Not a fourth. That was a mistake.

 

The man who had kicked the door down was nothing like the others.

 

A stunning figure stood there, utterly unlike the woodcutters.

 

Hair like burnished silver, short and sharp like a honed blade. Bronze-toned skin. Piercing turquoise irises rimmed with deep sapphire pupils. He was clearly not of Vallcent.

 

He looked perhaps in his early twenties, though the force of presence he commanded made him seem older—more powerful. Just by standing there, it was clear: this was no ordinary man.

 

"Who are you?!"

 

"What's a foreigner doing way out here?!"

 

The woodsmen shouted, but they voiced the very question that burned within Lil as well.

 

The foreigner cast a cool glance around the hut, his expression unreadable. His eyes landed first on Lil—still sprawled atop the bed, naked but for his red cloak and the sack that had fallen away.

 

He seemed intrigued by the sight, but not surprised. His lips didn't so much as twitch. He said nothing.

 

Then his gaze moved to the woodsmen—not with hatred, not with menace, just a steady, unflinching stare.

 

"My name is Klaus," he said, voice low and even. "A traveler, just passing through."

 

"…"

 

The moment Lil heard that voice—a deep, resonant tone that vibrated with calm authority—he froze, drawn to it.

 

He'd met many beautiful people as a prince, and heard many a fine singer, but never had he encountered someone who so perfectly embodied both beauty and voice. He was utterly spellbound.

 

And more than anything, it was Klaus's skin that captivated him.

 

In Vallcent, paleness was the highest standard of beauty. Yet this man's bronze complexion, so opposite that ideal, struck Lil as breathtakingly beautiful.

 

The same went for his hair. In Vallcent, the blacker the hair, the more prized. But Klaus's shimmering silver-white locks were unlike anything Lil had ever seen. Neither grey nor aged, they sparkled like strands spun from silver or diamond, glowing with a brilliance that no ink-black hair could rival.

 

Though he wore a traveler's cloak trimmed with fur, Klaus did not look weary from the road.

 

He carried little: just a flask, a pouch for food, and the hilt of a knife visible beneath his cloak. Far too lightly dressed for someone who had crossed snowy mountains—but that only made him more mysterious.

 

"The red cloak marks royalty," Klaus said plainly. "That boy is your precious prince, isn't he? And not just any prince—he's your de facto crown prince. So why in hell are the three of you roughing him up like this?"

 

With that, reality snapped back into focus for Lil.

 

He had been dazed—entranced. But this was no time for wonder.

 

He was the prince of Vallcent, sprawled in a crude mountain hut, stripped and humiliated on the day of his sixteenth birthday—half-resigned to dying defiled and alone.

 

And now, this man—Klaus—had appeared like a divine messenger, a sliver of hope where there had been none.

 

I'll be saved.

 

For reasons he could not explain, Lil believed that with all his heart.

 

It was three against one, yet somehow… Lil felt certain Klaus could defeat them all.

 

It wasn't because he had seen Klaus kick down a bolted door, or because his body looked stronger than the three combined.

 

It was something deeper—a strength Lil could sense from the very core of this man.

 

"Please… help me," Lil pleaded.

 

Unlike any man of Vallcent—taller, longer-legged, broader in frame, and far more formidable—Klaus was everything the woodsmen were not. With desperation in his voice, Lil cried out, louder this time: "Please, help me!"

 

Klaus looked directly at him—and for a moment, he didn't move at all.

 

Their eyes met—Lil's vivid red and Klaus's deep blue—locked in a line as straight and taut as a drawn bowstring.

 

It didn't falter. It didn't shift. Neither of them looked away. No one, nothing, could sever it. That gaze, unwavering and eternal, made time itself seem to still.

 

No one has ever held my gaze this long… No one, except Grandmother. Most people try to hide their fear of my eyes. If they look at me at all, they do it carefully—averting their gaze at the slightest chance, or pretending to look while actually focusing on my brow, or my cheek…

 

But Klaus… he was still looking. Calmly. His expression unreadable, neither warm nor cold. And yet, Lil could tell—he wasn't afraid.

 

What Klaus was feeling, Lil couldn't begin to guess.

 

 

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