The Night of the Monsters - Chapter 11

She had already hurt them by trying to send them away without so much as consulting them, even after they had endured abuse and abandonment by their parents. Then she had vanished without a word, compounding the pain she had caused. It was, without question, her fault.

Now, Giselle began to understand why Hugo had come to wake her, clung to her, and refused to leave her side.

“…I’m sorry, Hugo. Last night, I—”

Her voice faltered as she recalled the shame and humiliation that had driven her to flee. Even upon waking, Hugo had teased her, asking why she seemed so pleased, saying such strange things.

Her memories of the lake were foggy, leaving her uncertain about what had happened. But she was confident that neither Hugo nor Ian could know the exact nature of her dream. Still, if she wanted to explain why her body had been feverish, why she had wet the chair, and why she had run off, she would need to confront the truth of her dream.

Her ears, cheeks, and neck flushed as her gaze flicked nervously between the two brothers. Chewing anxiously on her lip, she finally managed to force out a trembling voice.

“A… a dream. It was a… bad dream…”

“Bad dream?” Hugo’s voice was calm, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “If that’s the case, Master, why did you keep saying how good it felt?”

Hugo already knew her memory was fragmented—he had figured that out as they descended the stairs earlier. Ian remained silent, merely watching Giselle carefully as her shoulders trembled.

Even recalling the dream filled her with mortification, but she couldn’t leave the brothers in the dark. She owed them the truth, no matter how humiliating it was for her. Gathering every ounce of courage she possessed, Giselle took a deep breath and forced herself to speak.

“I… I dreamed about… b-being intimate with you two,” she confessed in a strained voice.

It was a monumental effort to admit such a thing, and as soon as the words left her lips, she lowered her head in shame, unable to meet their eyes. For someone like Giselle—who had always avoided discussing such matters as if it were an unspoken rule—the confession was an extraordinary act.

Hugo chuckled softly, his amusement clear as he gazed down at her trembling figure. Ian, on the other hand, widened his eyes in disbelief. Today, Hugo seemed especially intent on testing Ian’s patience. He hadn’t expected Hugo to manipulate the situation to make Giselle admit such a thing herself.

Leaning forward, Hugo rested his forehead lightly against the crown of her head and spoke in a low voice.

“That’s nothing new. We do that all the time. What’s there to be embarrassed about?”

“No, no… it was… it was different,” Giselle stammered, her voice trembling as she tried to explain.

“Different how? Did you do something in the dream that you think you shouldn’t have?” Hugo’s voice was teasing, but his words cut straight to the heart of her turmoil.

Giselle’s discomfort in fully divulging the details of her dream was evident, but Hugo relentlessly pressed her for answers, unwilling to let the subject drop.

Ian, watching the exchange, furrowed his brow in thought. He had intended to approach Giselle more gradually, to apply careful pressure over time to avoid pushing her away. Despite Hugo’s overt displays of possessiveness, Ian understood that he, too, was just as anxious about Giselle leaving them. The difference lay in how openly each of them expressed their feelings.

Ian glanced down at their intertwined hands and smiled faintly.

“Giselle, you said it involved ‘both of us,’ right? That’s what’s different about it,” Ian said, stepping in to guide the conversation.

“…Yes,” Giselle admitted in a barely audible whisper. Her trembling body conveyed her unease.

“Was it really such a bad dream, Master?” Hugo asked after a brief silence, lifting his head from where he had rested it against hers. Though he’d gotten his answer, he wasn’t pleased with her labeling it a “bad dream.”

“…Honestly, it might as well have been a nightmare. You know why, Hugo,” Giselle said, forcing herself to meet his gaze, though her voice wavered.

Of course, Hugo knew. For someone already on edge, dreaming about such an intimate act with her disciples must have been horrifying for her. Still, it irked him that she dismissed it so completely after reacting so vividly during the dream itself.

“What exactly did Ian and I do to make it a bad dream?” Hugo asked bluntly.

“W-what do you mean, what did you do…?” Giselle stammered, taken aback.

“Tell me. Did we do something awful?”

She had expected him to keep pressing, but the directness of his question caught her off guard, making her reflexively recall fragments of the dream. Shaking her head instinctively, she hesitated before mumbling, “…You did, but…”

Both brothers blinked at her response, momentarily surprised. It wasn’t like her to admit to something so directly—especially not this. If anything, the usual Giselle would have lied or deflected to avoid further embarrassment. Perhaps the lingering effects of the sedative had loosened her inhibitions.

For her part, Giselle seemed unaware of her own uncharacteristic behavior, focusing instead on her growing discomfort.

From Giselle’s perspective, the dream versions of Hugo and Ian had been utterly shameless. They had ignored her protests, pushed her relentlessly, and said things so raw and vulgar that just remembering them made her ears burn. Yet, if she were to be honest, a part of her had wanted it, leading to her eventual surrender in the dream.

Her memories were muddled, and the more she thought about it, the more tangled her thoughts became. Frowning, Giselle finally shook her head in frustration.

“I don’t know… I just… I’d rather not talk about it anymore,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation, her expression on the verge of tears.

Ian, who had been preparing to ask another question, decided to stop. Pushing her further now would only distress her more and yield nothing useful. What he needed to consider was how the sedative had affected her. It had been expected that she would chalk up her experiences to a dream, but if it caused her emotions toward them to shift in unpredictable ways… the possibility was something he didn’t even want to entertain.

With a displeased frown, Ian shot Hugo a warning look. But before they could move on, Giselle suddenly flailed, hurriedly shaking their joined hands.

“N-not that you did anything too horrible! It’s just… it was different from usual, and, um, that’s why…”

“How was it different?” Hugo pressed, unwilling to let it drop.

“Brother, enough,” Ian interjected firmly, his voice low but commanding.

“Just curious, that’s all,” Hugo said casually. “What was so different that you’d say something like that, Master?”

Giselle’s face went pale, and Ian quickly intervened, trying to rein Hugo in. But Hugo’s expression remained calm, as if he truly were only asking out of innocent curiosity. Meanwhile, Giselle, clearly rattled, shook her head vigorously, her hands trembling as they clung to her face.

“I-it’s nothing!” she stammered.

“Nothing, you say?”

“Y-yeah. It’s nothing worth worrying about,” she insisted, her voice strained.

“If it’s nothing to worry about, then I suppose it’s fine if we do exactly what you dreamed about, isn’t it?” Hugo said, a wicked smirk curling at his lips.

“W-what?!”

“Why? Is there a problem? I mean, it’s not like it’s any different from what happens most nights,” he added nonchalantly.

Giselle’s already pale complexion turned a deep shade of crimson. Just as Ian sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and prepared to scold his brother, Hugo added another pointed question.

“If you have that kind of dream again, Master, will you run away like you did last night?”

“…”

“Think about it, Master,” Hugo continued. “Even when I had nightmares and wet the bed, or when I set the nearby forest on fire trying to show off my strength, killing off all those monsters and upsetting the ecosystem—you never got mad. You just cleaned up after me every time.”

“Yeah,” Ian chimed in with a bitter laugh. “And I worried every day that Giselle would get sick of us troublemakers and decide she couldn’t live with us anymore.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t join in back then,” Hugo shot back, rolling his eyes.

“Well, when I was younger, I thought everything you did was right,” Ian admitted with a shrug. “But once Giselle told me not to do something, I never did it again. Can’t say the same for you, though.”

Listening to the brothers bicker, Giselle’s once-chaotic and foggy thoughts began to clear. Memories of their earlier days together resurfaced, one after another, filling the empty spaces in her mind. Slowly, a soft smile spread across her face.

“I remember,” she said gently. “When you first learned the basics of magic and managed to create a flame from scratch, I was so surprised. But Ian was even more surprised—he cried and conjured water to put it out…”

“Not water, Master. Oil,” Hugo interjected dryly.

“…”

Ian averted his gaze, clearly embarrassed. Most of the trouble he’d caused as a child could be blamed on simply following Hugo’s lead, but the oil incident was undeniably his own fault.

The nearby hut, protected by spirits, had been spared, but the surrounding area had been reduced to ash. Both brothers had panicked, but Giselle had clapped her hands and praised them instead, as if it had all been a grand achievement.

“And the times you attacked monsters…” Giselle said thoughtfully, “you only went after the ones that targeted me when I was alone.”

“Oh, right,” Ian said quickly, eager to shift the topic. “I remember how shocked I was when you told us those monsters had been targeting you for years.”

As the focus of the conversation shifted, Ian leaned in, his voice laced with genuine interest.

Giselle remained unaware of the true nature of the monsters Hugo had eradicated. They were a peculiar species, producing only males and relying on abducting females of other species for reproduction. Despite their predatory habits, they had dominated the forest’s ecosystem, perched at the top of the food chain due to their sheer numbers.

Though Giselle had endured their constant attacks over the years, she had never been in any real danger. To Hugo and Ian, however, these creatures were nothing more than insolent pests who dared to challenge someone far beyond their station.

The imbalance in the ecosystem that followed their extermination was severe, but Giselle had managed to restore it by scattering the remains of the slain monsters strategically across the forest. This allowed nature to establish a new balance over time.

“And not everyone who wandered into the forest ended up lost forever,” Giselle added softly, trying to redirect the conversation.

She hated unnecessary chaos, so most intruders were simply sent back quietly. However, for those who loudly declared their intention to slay the “witch of the forest” and claim fame, she made sure to demonstrate what true hell looked like. She drove them into pits teeming with venomous insects, guided them to dens of monsters that feasted on living prey, or trapped them in areas filled with hallucinogenic plants, leaving them to tear each other apart.

Survivors—half-mad and broken—were allowed to leave the forest, while the dead were given proper burials. Even then, Giselle had never scolded Hugo for his actions. After all, these people had entered the forest of their own accord. If anything, she had felt a deep gratitude and guilt toward Hugo, who had fiercely protected her, even going so far as to guard her against other humans.

…Ah.

Why had she forgotten all of that?

As memories of what Hugo and Ian had done for her resurfaced, so too did the emotions she had felt back then. She blinked, her unfocused gaze gradually sharpening, just as Hugo returned to the topic at hand.

“Master, no matter what trouble we caused, you always smiled and forgave us. But now, you’re saying it was as bad as a nightmare? That we did something so terrible that you won’t even talk about it?”

Hugo’s expression shifted, uncharacteristically vulnerable. Ian, who knew his brother’s true nature, felt a wave of discomfort as he observed the charade. He forced himself to remain composed, watching as Giselle’s softened eyes blinked rapidly, her focus returning. Suddenly, she cried out with urgency.

“No, no! That’s not what I meant! It wasn’t because of you—it was me. I was the problem!”

“What problem?” Hugo asked, his tone sharp but curious.

“Well… it’s just…” Giselle hesitated, fumbling for words, her face turning crimson.

“See? You still can’t tell us. Whatever we did in your dream must’ve been so awful that it scared you enough to run away. Isn’t that right?”

Hugo’s golden eyes, which had been locked solely on Giselle, finally shifted to Ian. His vulnerable façade vanished, replaced with his usual detached and calculating demeanor now that Giselle had looked away.

From the moment she had fled, Ian had known Hugo wasn’t going to let this go easily. Now, as Hugo’s piercing gaze turned to him, Ian let out a quiet sigh, his voice tinged with resignation and bitterness.

“You’re not wrong, but you could try not making it worse, Hugo.”

“Ian,” Giselle began to interrupt, “it’s not like that…”

Ian, however, pressed on, his tone calm but earnest. “Giselle, do you remember how you used to tell me that dreams reflect our subconscious fears? That the more I worried about nightmares, the more likely I was to have them? Could it be that… you’re afraid my brother and I might actually do something like that to you?”

Giselle froze, shaking her head quickly in denial. “No, Ian. That’s not it, it’s just…”

As the brothers had grown, they’d gradually stopped showing their vulnerable sides in front of her. Giselle had been proud to see their maturity, but it had also left her feeling a sense of loss. She had resolved long ago to accept any moments of weakness they might share, to be there for them unconditionally.

But this… facing them now, in such a situation, was unbearable. The shame and self-loathing that had tormented her since the dream were morphing into a heavy guilt that clung to her heart.

Closing her eyes tightly, Giselle finally spoke, her voice trembling with emotion.

“It wasn’t that I thought you would do something like that. It’s just… I felt awful for having a dream like that about you both. And in the dream, you… you demanded those things of me, said things you never normally would, and…”

“…”

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t a normal relationship. I said no, but you didn’t stop. And—and that I… that I enjoyed it made me feel so wretched and pathetic…”

A small sob escaped her, and tears began streaming down her face, her words dissolving into quiet hiccups.

How utterly endearing and irresistible she looked in that moment. Hugo’s lips curved into a slow, radiant smile as a fiery warmth spread through him. Lowering his head to her flushed ear, he whispered softly.

“Then, Master, let’s make sure you don’t have dreams like that again. Let’s do exactly what happened, for real this time.”

“D-do what…?”

“Like in your dream,” he said, his tone thick with temptation. “I’ll pound into you the way you dreamed about. Once you know it’s not something to be afraid of, you won’t have those nightmares anymore. Isn’t that right?”

The seductive lilt of his voice reverberated through her, leaving her breathless. A pang of heat coiled in her abdomen, and before she realized it, her thighs pressed together instinctively.

Before Giselle could form a coherent response, Hugo’s hand firmly grasped her backside.

“Ah! Hugo…!”

“Show me, Master,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Show me how I acted in your dream.”

Hugo’s touch clung to her like molten heat, his hand wandering with an unyielding persistence. The pulsing sensation between her legs grew sharper, more insistent, making her all too aware of the damp ache spreading through her core. As his hand slid from her backside to the sensitive inside of her thigh, Giselle clenched her legs tightly, fearing that if she relaxed even for a moment, something warm and slick would escape.

“Well, from the way you carefully avoided calling it a normal relationship, I can pretty much imagine what happened in your dream,” Hugo said, his tone laced with smug amusement.

“P-please stop. I don’t want this. Don’t…” Giselle’s voice trembled, desperation leaking into her words.

“Don’t want this?” Hugo murmured, his hand pressing more firmly against her trembling thigh. “But, Master, your body is already responding so beautifully.”

“…!”

Giselle gasped sharply, her cheeks flushed with humiliation. Her body’s betrayal sent waves of shame crashing over her, and her hands trembled as she weakly tried to push him away.

“…!”

The legs Giselle had clamped together with all her might were forcibly pried apart, and Hugo’s hand delved between them without hesitation. His fingers pressed firmly against the damp fabric of her underwear, the sensation sending a fiery jolt through her body.