Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master

"Tell me, my lady," he said. "Are you married?"

"Yes, I'm." She said. "Why?" She intoned in the same tone as him.

"Just asking," he said with a hint of a chuckle. "Haven't seen your husband anywhere."

"Oh, he might be pumping a whore from the party," she said. "Removing her noble attire and thrusting his little cock. Do you think the ladies would've agreed to him if they were to know he has a small penis? very small that I feel more from my own fingers than that little man child's cock." she wiggled her fingers. "This small. And he dared to fuck others who will shower him with praise and fake orgasms, why? Why young master?"

A pungent stench of alcohol emanated from her as she spoke.

"Because he is your husband," he said. "Because he has money and power."

"Yes! Yes, young master, you're right," she said, bobbing her head in agreement. "Money and power. Yes, and one more thing, wit. He has my father under his fingers, holding him like a puppet. This...duchy is destined to fall into his hands. He'll destroy everything we built, everything my father built, his forefather built. He will see this house to ruins."

Though she was drunk, her sound felt sad and depressed.

"Your father is a good man." He said.

"Yes, a good man," she snorted. "But weak and stupid. If only he gave me the reins I could've done...much more." She sighed, resigning to herself. "What am I doing complaining to you? You're not even from this kingdom. I don't even know you?" She took a long sip of her wine.

"seems like your husband is shit." He said.

She choked on her wine and spat it out on the ground. "Oh wow, nobody has dared to speak about my husband like that." She was amused by his bravery or stupidity. "If anyone from this duchy heard about this, they're going to prosecute you. Like my father, he had them leashed around his finger."

"Well, my lady. You're in luck, for you, I have got an amazing offer," he said with his usual charming smile.

"An offer?"

"yes, an offer that you can't refuse."

"Alright, spill it out." She said.

"Not now. Not like this," he said. "When you're all sobered in the morning, you find me. Then I know you're serious about what you wanted to do."

"But..." she protested, but he held a finger at her lips.

"No buts, this is important and I need to know you're reliable. So I won't ask you again, find me tomorrow." He put his hand away.

"Fine!" She nodded. "...see you later!"

Damien watched as she left from behind.

'Was the husband the fall of the Farel duchy? Is that why they weren't mentioned in the novel?'

Damien was not going to help her because of pity or compassion. It was purely for profit. It was for power.

By having her under his palms, he can have an anchor in this kingdom. Though an unfavoured duchy, it was still a place of power. He knows he needs more time to get powerful to walk on his own and he feared he might be even dead before that, so the thing he can do is manipulate. Manipulate and exploit the weak and gave up humans, ignite a spark that can turn into a fire capable of consuming a kingdom.

'Let's see what she's made of, that is if she even remembers.'

He chuckled and walked off.

...

Damien woke up with a splitting headache, his head pounding like a drum. He tried to stand, but his legs were wobbling, and he almost collapsed in the middle of the bed. "What the hell happened?" he yelled, his voice echoing in the empty room.

"Where am I?"

He rubbed his forehead in frustration, feeling sick and tired. He had a craving for food and coffee, but he didn't even want to think about getting out of bed. He couldn't remember anything from the previous night, except that he had been drinking until he couldn't speak coherently.

After lying in bed for what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to stand up, but the world around him was still spinning. He stumbled out of his room and into the hallway, his eyes barely able to focus on anything.

As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but notice the mess made from last night. Empty bottles, glasses, and plates were scattered everywhere. He opened the door to the courtyard and was hit with the smell of stale alcohol and cigarettes.

The sun was already high up in the sky, which meant that he had slept through most of the morning. The castle was still in a drunken chaos, with some people fighting while others passed out and puked on the floor.

He decided to return to his room, hoping to find some relief from the chaos outside. As he lay back down on the bed, he couldn't help but wonder how he had ended up in such a state. He vowed to himself that he would never drink again, at least not to the point of losing control.

The hours passed by, and Damien lay in bed, trying to remember the events of the previous night. But the more he tried to pull them out of his mind, the more they seemed to disappear from him.

Eventually, he forced himself to get up and face the day. He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face, hoping it would help clear his mind. But it only worsened the headache and made him feel dizzy.

He heard a rhythmic knock on the door, slowly and melodiously.

He clutched his head and opened the door as fast as his head allowed.

"..."

"..."

"Don't tell me you don't remember me." She was standing there, folding her hands with a pout. "Here." She handed him a cup of hot, steaming coffee. Her elegant dress and little touch-up made her more beautiful than yesterday.

Was she this beautiful yesterday?

"Oh? Thank you very much," he said. "This is exactly what I wanted now. Come on in." He gestured her to the inside.

She hesitated for a moment and quickly scanned the area before hastily entering the room, and closing the door.

"So...um..." she trailed off, suspecting if he does even remember her.

Damien could feel her intense gaze on him.

"Don't worry, I remember our little chat from last night," he said, sipping the hot coffee, savoring it like it was something special and luxurious. "I'll help you, whether you want to kill him or just dethrone him, your choice?" he shrugged.

"Kill him...? Are you out of your mind?" She shouted at him. "You haven't fully sobered, have you?"

"I know what I meant, my lady." He grunted. "It was just an option, relax. If you want to just defame and humiliate him, it is also an option." He studied her, the same as she did with him.

Their eyes locked as an intense glaring competition started.

"Ha," she sighed. "What am I doing, complaining to a stranger and now disappointed that he is a crack? Fool." She turned to leave the room.

"Well, if that is the extent of commitment you've to save your duchy, I guess it is better to be in your trash husband's arms, so that, at least he got to enjoy it before destroying it completely."

There wasn't a moment of silence nor any hesitation, she pounced on him, pinning him to the bed.

The coffee cup fell and shattered into a million pieces, pieces that may not glue together ever again. "You think I don't care about this duchy? How dare you!" Her voice was just barely a whisper, but it was enough to sound out her anger and frustration.

He could feel her hot breath on him, her cold hands tightly wrapped around his neck.

"You..." He grabbed her hands and adjusted them. "You have to work hard if you want to rebuild and reclaim a broken kingdom. You think this duchy will be yours if you don't go out there and grab it yourself, if then, you are a fool."

"I don't ever think it will come to me on a silver platter." Her breathing was ragged and haggard.

"So you've given up before you ever try?" He said. "Tsk, tsk. You're not worthy of being the leader without having a brave heart. Do you really want to lose everything for the sake of your husband's ego?"

"I..." She trailed off, her voice filled with guilt and shame.

He could see tears welling up in her eyes.

Bingo!

"I'll help you." He said. "I'll help you regain your dominance over your husband and this duchy. Killing him might make you the next head, but that isn't clever."

"What're you saying?" She said, composing herself.

??!!

He suddenly grabbed her waist and turned around, pinning her under him, their bodies dangerously touching each other.

They were so close she was sure their noses will touch if he was to move a little.

"What are..." His eyes were so red, the color of blood. She was realizing it now. "Get off me!" she said.

"What is your opinion about making your husband a crack?" He smiled, not the perverse smile of lust but a perverse smile of evil.