“Ah, it hurts like hell.”
Her back and buttocks burned with pain, the wooden plank had split her skin open, and blood was gushing out incessantly.
Nearby, a man was relentlessly begging for mercy, his incessant wailing making her head throb as if it might explode.
“Master Damien, please spare me!”
“This servant was really drugged! It’s all that woman’s fault for seducing me. I’m completely unaware of anything that happened!”
The man, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear, knelt on the ground and banged his head against the floor repeatedly. His triangular-shaped eyes were fixed on the unconscious woman lying across the long bench. His finger was pointed straight at her.
“Master Damien, it’s all her fault! She came to seduce me every day. I properly refused her, but who could’ve expected that she’d drug me…”
Lyra Ashwood’s head throbbed unbearably, the man’s loud, coarse voice drowning her in irritation and chaos.
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll kill you myself!”
Suddenly, a gun appeared in her hand, the cold, black muzzle aimed directly at the direction where the noise was coming from.
*Bang…*
Lyra Ashwood toppled off the bench, her mangled, bloodied back pressing hard against the floor. The excruciating pain ripped through her body like knives, leaving her scalp numb.
She spat fiercely to one side. “Pah! Damn Damien Harrington, one day I’ll deal with you properly…”
She didn’t manage to finish her sentence before freezing completely.
Wait a second—her voice—why does it sound… so soft and delicate?
In her second year of the apocalypse, her voice had long since been ruined, sounding worse than a broken gong.
Instinctively, she touched her chest. There was no gaping hole of blood; all the pain came from her back and her backside.
Her eyes snapped open suddenly, sharp and terrifyingly fierce. An icy aura radiated from her entire being, like an unsheathed blade ready to carve someone up at any moment.
Blinding sunlight greeted her face. She raised her hand to block it—and then froze in surprise.
These hands, soft and fair, smooth and tender, were like top-grade jade.
These were not her hands!
Her hands were large and rough, adorned with thick calluses earned from years of battling zombies. Her skin had been shiny black, cracked, and rugged—those fists had once killed a bear with a single blow.
A booming, thunderous curse blasted in her ears.
"Lyra Ashwood, you vile wretch! How dare you seduce my man?! I won’t let you get away with this!"
Seduce someone’s man?
Who had she seduced?
Lyra Ashwood instinctively turned her head, and her whole body froze in place.
In front of her was a scene straight out of ancient times. A gray-clad woman in a rough linen dress was bawling her eyes out and lunging toward her.
Fortunately, the guards nearby reacted quickly, pinning the woman firmly to the ground.
That's when the woman regained her senses, suddenly remembering where she was.
In her eyes flashed a trace of panic, yet she still glared fiercely at **Lyra Ashwood**.
**Lyra Ashwood** curled her lips. The last person to glare at her like that? The grass on their grave was already overgrown.
Without hesitation, she returned the glare.
What? Keep staring? Dare me and I'll shoot you on the spot.
The gun in her hand slowly raised, finger just about to pull the trigger when suddenly—it felt like her head was struck hard by something.
An unfamiliar flood of memories forcibly squeezed into her mind, the pain so sharp it felt like her head was splitting.
The wounds on her back throbbed intensely, causing her whole body to convulse uncontrollably.
She squinted, catching a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of a tall man standing not far away. His figure cast in shadow, the man appeared as cold and aloof as an untouchable deity.
"**Lyra Ashwood**, you’ve been caught in illicit relations with another man. By right, you should've been beaten to death with sticks. Yet, considering how you've served your mother dutifully for years and even sacrificed yourself to save her, I’ll spare your life. But from now on, the Marquis's estate can no longer tolerate your presence..."
The man's voice was captivating—low and deep, with a soothing resonance that seeped into one's soul like a flowing mountain spring.
**Lyra Ashwood**'s lips trembled as she tried to speak, but no words came out. Let alone pulling the trigger.
Damn it!
Before fainting, a piece of paper drifted down with the light to cover her face—
It was a divorce decree.
—
The next day.
She felt as if she had just woken from an incredibly long dream, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Lyra Ashwood, fifteen years old, the most insignificant figure in the Apocalypse Dynasty.
At the age of seven, she was sold to human traffickers by her grandmother. After changing hands several times, she entered the marquis' residence as a lowly servant girl.
Later, by a stroke of luck, she shielded the old madam from an assassin's blade. Only because of this deed was she promoted to become a senior maid.
The girl had her own schemes, hoping to rely on her modest beauty to become a concubine.
However, the young marquis never regarded her seriously. Undeterred, she tried spiking his soup with aphrodisiac.
In the end, though even her clothes were stripped, the young marquis held firm and didn't lay a finger on her.
That incident utterly destroyed her reputation.
Out of gratitude for saving her life, the old madam took it upon herself to raise her to the position of concubine.