Blood Moon Rising Over The Plains - Chapter 2:The Raiders (2)

The man’s persistent lovemaking was relentless, thrusting himself into the deepest parts of me to release his seed.

With one of my legs lifted, I was rocked back and forth by the force of his hips. Despite being on my side with just one leg raised, the alignment of our bodies fit together perfectly, as though our lips were locked in a kiss, twisting and melding seamlessly.

Even with the weight of my limp leg resting entirely in his grasp, the man easily held my ankle with one arm, while his other hand firmly cupped my heaving chest, which bounced with each movement.

“Hnngh…”

The repeatedly bitten and sucked peaks of my chest stung sharply as his hands grazed over them, the redness betraying the abuse they’d endured. My breasts, still marked with the indentations of his teeth, were far from looking untouched, to say the least.

Thanks to the man losing control of his strength during the heat of passion, faint bruises in the shape of handprints had already formed on my pale skin.

For what felt like the countless time, I found myself in his arms again, swept up in his relentless desire. Not a single day passed without this routine.

When entire villages were massacred, he would leave a handful of intact houses to use as lodgings, and it was in one of those houses that he took me. If we ended up sleeping in the open, he would take me by the riverside where we washed.

I had searched for opportunities to escape many times, yet this was already my third failure. Fortunately for me, I hadn’t been caught trying to flee; I’d simply never had the chance to attempt it. Each time, the circumstances had made it impossible, and I failed before I could even begin.

The first time, I had tried to provoke him in the hopes of ending our encounter quickly, only to find myself overwhelmed and defeated instead. The second time, I discovered that his men outside were maintaining such a tight watch that escape was out of the question.

This was the third time, and it was even more hopeless than the last. We were surrounded by a barren rocky mountain with no cover, not even a single bush. The only open space aside from the narrow dirt paths that wound through the area was the small cluster of homes, barely large enough for two or three horses to pass at a time.

In the world I came from, such untouched natural landscapes were rare and would have been considered breathtaking. But for me, this expanse of exposed, desolate land was nothing short of a curse.

The jagged, uneven rock formations stretched across the terrain, with a handful of small houses scattered here and there along the narrow paths. This tiny village consisted of only forty households at most.

Every home but the one he now held me in had been burned to the ground. Unlike other villages, however, the rocky mountain offered little fuel for the flames, so the fires had died out quickly. That, at least, was the only small mercy in this place.

Still, my mind felt parched, as if drained of life.

Outside, the voices of his men were loud and chaotic as they scavenged for supplies amidst the ashes.

After the flames had devoured every home, the barren rocky mountain became an empty shell of itself. Blackened ash and the occasional crackle of dying embers were all that remained.

Even if I managed to escape, there would be no place to hide.

The man, who had once again emptied himself inside me, casually threw on his clothes and stepped outside. My eyes rolled toward his retreating back, watching until the house grew quiet. Only then did I let my body go limp.

For over two months now, this relentless ordeal had continued, leaving me utterly drained. No matter how much I cried, begged, or pleaded, he never stopped. Even when I used my hands, my chest, or my mouth to satisfy him and draw out his release multiple times, it made no difference—my body was equally exhausted each time.

The watch that measured my biorhythms had repeatedly advised me to rest and seek medical attention. Every time I used the mini screen to check my condition, I sighed, but now I had reached a state of resignation.

<Measurement result: Middle Chinese (中古漢語). Unable to connect to 16G network. Attempting manual language patch installation. (Current progress: 31%)>

<Note: During manual language patching, the device will recognize and download surrounding languages, which may take some time. A network connection is recommended.>

To avoid anyone overhearing, I muted the device. The floating mini-screen blinked softly. Nearly two months had passed, yet the progress was stuck at a mere 31%.

It’s taking way too long…

I couldn’t help but think about the wisdom of using up-to-date devices. People always say it’s better to have the latest technology, and now I understood why. My watch was a six-year-old model, outdated but serviceable. I’d figured as long as the internet worked, it’d be fine. Who would’ve thought this would come back to bite me?

Sighing, I folded the mini screen back down.

The bad habit of biting my lips had left them raw, and now they were painfully swollen after being bitten, pulled, and bruised by him. Just the act of sighing brought sharp pain to my brow as the sting in my lips deepened.

It seemed that this village wasn’t a suitable place for a long rest, as the man had finished his business with me quicker than usual. Not that it made any difference—I was exhausted all the same. The only variation was whether I passed out immediately after or simply fell into a restless sleep.

Tap, tap.

The sound of footsteps outside was followed by the rustling of the bamboo screen at the entrance, which briefly swung open before falling back into place with a soft thud.

The man reentered, his presence now familiar, and effortlessly lifted my limp body from where I lay sprawled on the fur. Supporting my back, he raised a canteen to my lips.

I managed to swallow a few gulps of the cool water. As it slid down my parched throat, rough and raw as though I’d swallowed sand, I exhaled a shaky, relieved sigh.

His sharp gaze landed on my face. Once, I might have flinched and grown nervous under that stare, but now I didn’t bother. I no longer had the strength to care. Guarding myself required energy I no longer possessed.

Gulp, gulp.

The water tasted impossibly sweet—though it was likely just river water. I had heard that water used to be clean even without purification methods, and this must have been one of those rare, pristine sources. It had been ages since I’d seen fish swimming in a river. Such sights were nearly impossible to come by unless one visited a national park.

After quenching my thirst, I shakily raised my trembling hand to push the canteen away, but the man removed it first, sparing me the effort.

Perhaps I had grown somewhat accustomed to this relentless routine over the past two months, as I found myself able to move a little today. Determined to clean myself, I poured a small amount of the remaining water onto the edge of the thin cloth draped over me, dampening it.

At some point, the man seemed to have developed a habit of spilling himself across my body, as though finding amusement in the act. True to form, he had left me covered in his seed yet again and cleaning up the mess was entirely up to me.

I’d tried wiping myself down before, but there was no way a dry scrap of cloth could truly clean my body of such a sticky mess.

At first, I hadn’t even been able to move, let alone clean myself properly. My only chance to wash had come when we camped by a river, where I could finally rinse off in the water.

Even then, the icy waters of a winter river made it impossible to relax or enjoy the moment. Missing such an opportunity, however, would mean enduring days on end in filth—so I hadn’t really had a choice. I could only wish for a modern “cleansing shower” to magically rid me of the grime in an instant.

Separate from washing, drinking water was a necessity for survival, and I had initially accepted it from his hands reluctantly. In those early days, when my body was just as weak as it is now, I dropped the canteen a few times due to a lack of strength.

Back then, I’d assumed he would withhold water from me after those mishaps. To my surprise, however, he had simply fetched a new canteen each time. He might have been masking his annoyance, but I chose to think positively.

Looking back, his repeated gestures of bringing me water—even feeding me directly—seemed to support that interpretation. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely indifferent.

Now that I had a bit more energy, I resolved to take advantage of the remaining water in the canteen. I was determined to clean myself today, even if just a little.

A full shower was out of the question in this place, but I at least wanted to wipe away the dried remnants of sweat and the traces of his lust from between my legs, my chest, and my face. The initial fishy scent, sharp like the bloom of night flowers, no longer even registered to my dulled senses.

The cloth covering me was likely taken from one of the victims of this invasion. I didn’t have the luxury to care.

Dampening the cloth again with the last of the water, I began wiping my body, my trembling arms making the task laborious. Throughout it all, I could feel his sharp gaze fixed on me, following my every movement.

His constant observation no longer fazed me; I had grown used to being under his scrutiny several times a day. Ignoring him, I focused on cleaning myself.

Ever since I began losing strength to our frequent encounters, my body had felt foreign to me—like it was no longer my own. Still, this persistent lack of strength felt especially cruel.

Several times, the cloth slipped from my weak grip. Each time, I sighed deeply, picked it back up, and continued, dragging it across my face and limbs.

Thud.

“Hah…”

I let out a long, weary sigh.

Three failed escape attempts, and now even my body refused to cooperate. Nothing seemed to go right.

Should I just endure this discomfort? I wondered briefly. But the sticky sensation clinging to my skin was unbearable. I couldn’t stand it.

After watching me repeat the same clumsy motions several times, the man finally moved. Before I could reach for the fallen cloth again, his hand snatched it away.

“…?”

I stared at him in confusion, unable to form words before he acted. Without a word, he used the dampened cloth to wipe the parts of my face I hadn’t managed to clean.

The unexpected gesture of kindness made my body stiffen involuntarily.

The man, however, didn’t seem to care how I reacted. He continued his task in silence, methodically and without hesitation. It was strange—this act of care wasn’t something I’d have associated with him, given everything else he’d done.

Unlike the intimacy he forced during his other interactions with me, there was a surprising lack of ulterior motives in his actions now. He finished cleaning me without lingering and then pulled back his hands, leaving me relieved but also bewildered.

Afterward, the man scanned the small house, his heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden floor as he moved. He began rummaging through various storage boxes scattered around the room, pulling out and tossing aside fabric after fabric. Children’s clothes, men’s clothes—he dug through everything in search of something specific.

I sat there, attempting to detangle the clumps of dried mess in my hair, wincing each time I pulled at a stubborn strand. I couldn’t help but wish he’d clean my hair too—what little luxury that would be. Why am I even thinking that?

Finally, the man seemed to find what he was looking for. Draped over his muscular forearm were several layers of bright, flowing fabrics. With long strides, he approached me and held them out, the vivid colors catching my eye.

Without thinking, I took them, though I wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Laying them in my lap, I hesitated. Clothes are clothes, right? They’ll all look the same when I wear them.

The first fabric, a striking red cloth, was far too long—much longer than my height. Its smooth, almost weightless texture was baffling, and I couldn’t quite figure out its purpose. Puzzled, I set it aside and moved on to the next piece.

The next was a dark green skirt, with a bodice in a deep red so dark it was nearly black. This one was more straightforward, resembling a long-sleeved shirt in structure. Grateful for something recognizable, I put it on, though the sleeves were far too long, and I had to roll them up several times.

As I continued sorting through the pieces, frustration built. There seemed to be an endless number of layers. A skirt longer than anything practical. Three tunics that resembled dresses. Several long pieces of cloth that might have been belts—or not. I couldn’t tell.

Do I just wear these however I like? It’ll all look the same anyway…

Just as I was groaning in exasperation, the man suddenly moved beside me. Without warning, he slid his arm under my armpit and hoisted me to my feet as though I weighed nothing.

“Wait, what—!”

Ignoring my confusion, he forced my arms out to the sides and began removing the oversized green garment I had haphazardly put on. In a matter of seconds, I was stripped bare again. I blinked in shock, but he paid no attention to my state.

Unfazed, he began wrapping a thin, translucent cloth around my chest. So that’s an undergarment?

His hands moved quickly and with precision. For someone who was undoubtedly handling women’s clothing, his actions showed no hesitation. He sorted through the pieces with practiced ease, knowing exactly which fabric went where.

One by one, he layered the garments on me. First, a thin, sheer robe that barely concealed my skin. Over that, a thicker outer robe, and finally, the long green garment he had initially removed. He tied its collar snugly around my neck, securing the fabric so tightly that the long sleeves fell far past my hands.

Next, he wrapped a skirt-like piece of fabric around my waist, high enough to cover my chest like a wrapped dress. Its soft texture clung to me, flowing down to cover my legs. The pale beige fabric blended seamlessly with accents of peach-colored cloth, creating an elegant, understated beauty. Finally, he tied a deep red sash around my upper waist, cinching the outfit together.

“Wow…”

The sound escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

The first piece of red fabric I had set aside earlier was now draped over my arms, its ends flowing like soft, billowing wings. It rippled gently with my movements, as delicate as something out of a fairy tale. It reminded me of the celestial maidens’ robes I’d once heard about in an old android-read story.

For someone like me, who was accustomed to wearing nothing but rough fur or ragged scraps in these villages, this was the first time I’d ever worn real clothing.

When we first arrived in this place, I hadn’t even been given proper clothes. I was left in my undergarments—the ones I had been wearing before all this began, which were strange and unfamiliar to these people. The only thing I could cover myself with was what they called “bedclothes,” long, thin sheets meant for sleeping.

But now… I looked down at myself, feeling oddly surreal in the elegant garments. The man’s efficiency and lack of hesitation as he dressed me left me bewildered but oddly impressed.

Though I couldn’t tell one piece of clothing apart from another if I were asked to distinguish them, I felt I could at least mimic the process of dressing myself the way he had. His effortless skill was on a completely different level from my earlier fumbling when I first received the garments.

After draping me in the elegant layers, the man bent down to pick up a fur cloak that had been lying on the floor. Without a word, he wrapped it around my shoulders.

His gestures were rough yet strangely methodical—kindness expressed in a blunt, unrefined way. But I couldn’t interpret his actions as kindness; I could only feel fear. My body flinched instinctively, though I was starting to grow accustomed to my own trembling.

Though the acts he forced upon me were grueling, I was aware that my treatment was far better than that of the other women who had been taken during the invasion of the villages. I had seen it with my own eyes, leaving no room for doubt.

The other men sought women out purely to satisfy their carnal desires, but they didn’t seem particularly infatuated with their beauty. To them, the women were objects, nothing more. They raided villages, used the women, and then discarded them without a second thought.

It was a single encounter—an event that could have resulted in pregnancy or a fleeting attachment to one of their captives in a world where arranged and forced marriages were common. But they were meticulous in cleaning up afterward, leaving no lingering ties or evidence of their actions.

Among the chaotic cries, the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, and the guttural moans that echoed through the village, I was the only woman who eventually walked out on her own.

The others were left behind, convulsing, their bodies coated in fluids, bruised red and blue from head to toe. None of them looked remotely intact, their dignity or physical state ravaged beyond recognition. Many were left trembling uncontrollably, unable even to scream before their lives slipped away.

Once again, I was the only one left standing.

Yes, it’s always just me.

The bloodshot, bulging eyes of the dead women seemed to follow me, as if glaring at me from beyond.

Why you?

I turned my gaze away from them again.

I don’t know.

I silently repeated my answer, as if trying to convince myself.

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