Shotaro Mugyiwara took a step back, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and admired his latest creation—the first automatic pad-making machine in Drakastradorn.
"Hmm… and we're done," he muttered, crossing his arms.
The hum of the machine filled the air, gears turning as it began to mass-produce history.
Shotaro sighed, sitting down beside it. He leaned back against the cool metal, staring up at the sky as his thoughts drifted.
Four years of high school.
Four years of peaking academically.
Four years of studying math, science, and engineering.
And this is where all of it led?
"...I used all my knowledge… to make this?" He murmured to himself.
He wasn't complaining, per se. It was just—this wasn't exactly what he thought he'd be inventing when he was younger.
"When I was a kid," Shotaro mumbled, "I had a red lightsaber that I loved. I adored it. But then some dumbass kid told me red lightsabers were for the bad guys."
He exhaled, shaking his head. "I didn't care. It was cool."
Kum Slet, who had been watching all of this with a bemused expression, finally spoke up.
"You know," she said, "your idea of hiring female employees to sell and advertise this stuff is pretty smart. It would be weird seeing a man selling these".
Shotaro blinked. "Yeah. Women selling women's products. Revolutionary."
"Hey," Kum Slet shrugged. "This is Drakastradorn. It kinda is."
Shotaro just sighed, rubbing his temples. "Woman employment goes Brrrrrr."
He looks back at Valkhara, the iron breast. The Zorkhani fought naked & beat the shit out of a day prior.
Valkhara was massive—easily over two meters tall, her frame built like a siege weapon sculpted by the gods specifically for violence. Every inch of her body was layered in muscle, hardened by a lifetime of surviving in the unforgiving wilds. Her hair was a golden mane—not just long, but thick and wild, like the untamed fur of a beast that had decided to walk upright one day and never looked back. Stray braids were decorated with bones, iron rings, and what suspiciously looked like a finger from an unlucky opponent. Her piercing yellow eyes glowed with feral intelligence, scanning Shotaro like a wolf considering whether or not the thing in its jaws was worth swallowing whole.
She wore minimal armor, mostly because who the hell would dare stab her? A single pauldron, likely torn from the corpse of a fallen warlord, rested on her left shoulder. A fur cloak, thick and heavy, was thrown over her back—probably the pelt of a beast she had personally strangled into submission. Her torso was wrapped in tight cloth, emphasizing both her absurd physique and the reason behind her Ironbreast title. A thick leather belt with a ridiculous amount of weapons hung around her waist—daggers, axes, and something that looked suspiciously like a human jawbone. Her lower half was covered by a skirt of reinforced leather strips, and her boots… well, if they were boots, they were made out of whatever unfortunate creature she had last hunted.
Shotaro's brow furrowed in exasperation as he faced Valkhara. "Why are you still here?" he asked, his voice tinged with irritation. "I thought Paliv healed your injuries."
Valkhara's expression hardened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her fierce features. "I can't go back," she admitted, her voice steady but low. "Since I lost to you one-on-one, I'm now labeled a 'chinaar' in my clan." She paused, her gaze unwavering. "According to our customs, that makes me your slave."
Shotaro's eyes widened in disbelief. "Well, if you're my slave, then I must be Abraham Lincoln," he retorted, sarcasm dripping from his words. "This isn't some clichéd isekai webnovel where the protagonist justifies slavery with a 'when in Rome, do as the Romans do' mentality. So, go back."
Valkhara shook her head, frustration evident in her stance. "It's complicated," she began, searching for the right words. "Think of it this way: in many societies, if a maiden is raped, she's often ostracized. In Zhorkhani tradition, losing in combat is akin to that violation."
Shotaro ran a hand through his hair, trying to process the weight of her words. "So, because you lost to me, your people see you as... tainted?"
"Yes," Valkhara confirmed, her voice laced with a mix of anger and resignation. "Defeat in our culture isn't just personal failure; it's a stain that affects our standing, our honor. Returning now would mean facing disgrace and rejection."
Shotaro sighed deeply, the gravity of their strange, tangled situation weighing on him like an ancient curse. "Alright," he said after a long pause, his tone softened by reluctant sincerity. "We'll figure this out. But let me be clear—you're not my slave. You can be my companion, something like that."
Valkhara's fierce eyes flickered with a trace of gratitude before she masked it quickly behind her customary stoicism. "Thank you," she muttered, her voice rough and barely audible—a word that seemed both foreign and precious on her tongue.
For a long moment, they stood together in silence, the air heavy with the collision of cultural traditions and personal convictions. It was a moment that underscored the complexities of their worlds, where honor, defeat, and desire all tangled together like a ball of unruly thread.
Then, as if the tension could no longer be contained, Valkhara's tone shifted abruptly. "I am ready to be your—your cock toy," she declared with an unexpected frankness that caught Shotaro off guard. Her eyes sparkled with a wild, defiant humor as she continued, "I haven't done anything yet, but my… lions are in top condition." Her phrasing was as crude as it was proud—a bold declaration that defied every expectation of a warrior of her stature.
Shotaro's expression contorted into a mix of incredulity and exasperation. "Or you can use me as a concubine if you want; I can sire a brood of strong offspring from these hips," he retorted with a biting edge, half mocking, half daring her to take him seriously.
Shotaro stared at her, his face completely blank. Then, rubbing his temples, he sighed. "You're making this a damn hentai," he muttered.
Valkhara blinked. "A what?"
"A hentai," Shotaro repeated, waving his hand dismissively. "A perverted fantasy. And I'm not going to be the dumbass main character who just rolls with it."
She scoffed. "I don't see the problem."
"The problem," Shotaro said, "is that I don't want to risk catching HIV—or whatever the fantasy-world equivalent of an STD is—by having sex with you."
Valkhara frowned. "What the fuck is HIV?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Come on," she insisted, grinning. "At least have some use for me."
Shotaro exhaled through his nose, tilting his head as he considered her. "Alright, fine. You can be the brawn of the group."
Valkhara narrowed her eyes. "I thought you were the brawn."
He smirked. "I'm the brains who happen to have brawn. You? You're just brawn."
Valkhara crossed her arms, cracking her neck with an audible pop. Her towering frame loomed over him, her golden eyes narrowing. "Are you calling me dumb?" Her voice carried that dangerous edge, the kind that usually preceded someone getting their jaw realigned with a warhammer.
Shotaro barely reacted. He didn't flinch, didn't step back—he just exhaled through his nose, tired but amused, and slowly rose to his full height. At 7'11, he cast his own damn shadow. He wasn't just tall—he was built, dense with a ridiculous mix of power and presence that made people rethink their life choices. Valkhara was huge, but he was bigger.
His crimson eyes met hers without hesitation. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between unimpressed and faintly entertained. Then, in the most casual, matter-of-fact tone possible, he said:
"Do I look like I need to puzzle it up before calling you dumb?"
Silence.
Valkhara blinked.
The air between them tensed, thick with an unspoken challenge. Shotaro didn't move. He didn't need to. The sheer audacity of his words hung in the space between them like an axe teetering on the edge of a chopping block.
For a moment, it seemed like she might swing at him. Her fingers twitched, her jaw clenched—but then, after a beat, she let out a sharp exhale through her nose, somewhere between a snort and a laugh. Her lips curled into a grin, sharp and wild.
"You've got some balls, Mugyiwara," she muttered.
Shotaro smirked. "Didn't I beat your ass, too?"
Valkhara shook her head, stepping back just slightly, her shoulders relaxing. "Fine," she said. "You win this round."
Shotaro leaned slightly, his voice dropping into a mock whisper. "Oh? So there's going to be another round?"
Valkhara scoffed. "Don't get cocky, pretty boy."
Shotaro grinned. "Too late."
Valkhara narrowed her eyes, studying him like one might observe a particularly arrogant predator that had never once questioned its place in the food chain. Her expression teetered between amused and vaguely exasperated as she exhaled through her nose.
"You have a real bad habit of pissing people off for fun," she finally said, her voice carrying that rough, knowing edge.
Shotaro shrugged, completely unbothered. "Fun? No, no, no—this is a social experiment."
Valkhara's brow twitched. "Social experiment?"
"Yeah," Shotaro said, tilting his head slightly, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "People either love me or want to kill me. No in-between."
Valkhara scoffed, crossing her arms. "That just means you're a sadist."
"I prefer 'diplomat,'" he corrected, completely unfazed. "When you piss someone off, you get to see their real face. All the politeness, all the rehearsed bullshit? It disappears. And what's left? The truth."
Valkhara let out a sharp laugh—harsh and guttural, like a battle cry that got caught in her throat. "So that's what you think diplomacy is?" She stepped forward, rolling her shoulders, the muscles in her arms flexing as she loomed over him. "Where I come from, 'diplomat' is just another word for 'coward.' A man who fears the battlefield, so he hides behind words. A man too weak to swing a blade, so he sharpens his tongue instead."
Shotaro arched an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Oh? So what do Zorkhani do when there's a disagreement? Stab first, talk never?"
"Close," she said. "We don't talk at all. We fight. The loser was wrong. The winner was right. Simple."
Shotaro let out a low whistle. "Wow. And here I thought I was being a menace."
Valkhara shrugged. "Words are a waste of time. A man who needs words is a man too afraid to let his strength decide things for him."
"Sounds like a great way to end up with a nation run by the biggest idiot who can throw a punch," Shotaro quipped.
Valkhara's eye twitched. "Or a nation where people don't waste time pretending to be something they're not."
Shotaro chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, no. That's not how it works."
"Explain," she challenged, arms still crossed.
"Diplomacy isn't about being weak. It's about knowing when to fight and when to talk," he said, his tone as casual as if he were explaining why fire was hot. "If you fight over every little thing, you're just an animal. If you talk over everything, you're a coward. The trick is knowing which one to do at the right time."
Valkhara gave him a skeptical glare. "And you think you know when to do which?"
"I dunno," Shotaro admitted, shrugging. "But so far, I'm still standing, so I must be doing something right."
She eyed him for a long moment, then let out a short, amused huff. "You're still an idiot."
"And you're still talking to me," Shotaro pointed out with a grin.
Valkhara shook her head, muttering something in Zorkhani under her breath. He didn't need to know the language to guess it wasn't a compliment.
Valkhara exhaled through her nose, shaking her head as if genuinely baffled by his refusal to just accept things as they were. "I could have accepted being used as a pet wife," she said, as casually as if she were discussing the weather.
Shotaro blinked. "What the fuck is a pet wife?"
She tilted her head slightly, confused by his confusion. "A child-bearing sex slave."
Silence.
Shotaro stared at her. She stared back, completely unbothered, as if she had just described a standard job title. The sheer weight of the cultural mismatch hit him like a damn freight train.
"…Do you hear yourself when you talk?" he finally asked, running a hand down his face.
Valkhara narrowed her eyes, folding her arms. "What? It is what it is."
"No, it's not what it is!" he snapped, throwing his arms up. "That's the most fucked-up thing I've heard today, and I've had some really weird conversations!"
She scoffed, like he was the one being unreasonable. "This is the way of my people. If a warrior loses in single combat, they are shamed. If a woman loses, she is better off belonging to the man who bested her. It is an honor to serve the strong."
"Honor?!" Shotaro's eye twitched so hard it felt like it might detach from his skull. "No, that's just branding slavery with a fancy-ass word!"
Valkhara squared her shoulders, towering over him, her golden eyes gleaming with challenge. "You think you know better than generations of warriors who shaped these traditions?"
"Yes!" Shotaro barked without hesitation. "Because that tradition is ass!"
She scoffed. "It's the same for Zhorikhani men. If a warrior loses, he belongs to the winner—body and soul. He serves, obeys, and, if needed, warms the bed of his new master."
Shotaro froze mid-rant, his brain short-circuiting for a solid two seconds. "...You're telling me you people have equal opportunity fucked-upness?"
She nodded, dead serious. "Yes."
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Well, at least there's consistency."
"A warrior's pride is their life," she continued. "Losing means submitting. The strong take, the weak give. That is the way of things."
"The way of things sucks!" Shotaro snapped. "You're basically saying, 'Oops, lost a fight—guess I'm a human fleshlight now!' Do you even hear yourselves?!"
Valkhara gave him a long, unreadable stare before, to his absolute horror, nodding. "Yes, that is a fair summary."
Shotaro resisted the urge to bash his head against the nearest wall. "You people need Jesus."
"Who?"
"me."
"What?."
"Don't bother with it."
She looked at him, the man who defeated our, the man who 'raped' her in a sense, she knew she won't be out of his side for a while so she started to open up.
Valkhara let out a slow, measured sigh, crossing her arms as she looked at him. "Hfff… When I was a girl, I wanted to be a Khan."
Shotaro didn't miss a beat. "Salman, Shah Rukh, or Amir?"
Her brows furrowed. "What?"
"You said you wanted to be a Khan, right?"
"Yes. A leader of the Zhorikhani is called a Khan."
"Oh," he said, blinking. "Well, that makes more sense."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, Valkhara watching him as if she were waiting for the punchline to whatever bizarre jest he had just made. Shotaro, meanwhile, was processing the fact that he had, in the span of five seconds, accidentally turned her childhood ambition into a.
"...What the hell were you talking about?" she finally asked, squinting at him like he was a particularly confusing riddle.
"Nothing. Ignore it," he said, waving a hand. "Continue your tragic warrior backstory."
Valkhara let out a long, heavy exhale, her breath filled with the weight of something deeper than mere fatigue. She took a moment to steady herself, her mind clearly debating whether or not to let this subject spill from her mouth. After a long pause, she finally decided it wasn't worth holding back any longer. The words came, slow and deliberate, as if she were testing their resonance in the air before committing to the truth.
"My father," she began, her tone colder than before, "is the current Khan of the Zhorikhani. He's known as Katin Khan."
Her gaze drifted for a moment, as if caught in the long shadow of memory. Her lips twisted into a thin, mirthless line, like she was recalling the taste of something bitter that lingered far too long.
"He ravaged mountains," she continued, her voice almost mechanical now. "Tore through them like they were no more than thin sheets of paper. He took women, sacked villages, and bred with them. When they no longer provided him with what he wanted—whether that be blood, offspring, or obedience—he discarded them like they were nothing more than meat to be thrown aside when the yeild was weak. There was no honor in it, no emotion. Just a harsh, cruel belief that the weak were only good for serving the strong. That's how he saw the world."
Her eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw and untamed crossing her face, but she quickly masked it, continuing with the grim tale.
"But then," she paused, her voice tightening, "he met her. A valkyrie. A woman of iron, a female knight in every sense of the word. A warrior unlike any he had ever faced before."
Her fists clenched involuntarily as she recalled the scene, her body tense as if bracing against the pain of it all.
"They fought for a week straight," she murmured, her gaze turning inward as the image of that brutal battle played out in her mind. "He never met his match like that. She was relentless, powerful. Every strike was like the fall of a mountain, every move was a testament to strength. But in the end… she lost."
She let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the memory heavy in her chest. "And when she lost, there were consequences."
Valkhara looked up then, locking eyes with Shotaro as if daring him to judge her, to comment on her father's actions, knowing full well how it would sound to anyone outside her world. But this was her reality, her inheritance.
"By the end of that week-long fight, she was already pregnant. My father did to her what he always did. But she… she bore him a child."
Valkhara's voice, which had held a tone of bitterness, now wavered, like a battle-worn warrior struggling to remain standing. She shifted her gaze downward, as though looking for something to anchor herself to, something to steady her in this moment of revelation. Her arms were tightly crossed, her body rigid, but beneath it all, there was a vulnerability that she usually kept hidden behind layers of armor—physical and emotional.
"The child she bore…" she said quietly, her words dragging the weight of the past along with them, "was a twin. Me and my brother, Kafun."
Her eyes darkened as she spoke his name, the ghosts of memories long buried stirring in the depths of her soul. The corners of her mouth tightened as if the mere mention of him was enough to stir up an ache deep within her chest. A name that had been tied to her life in ways she could neither escape nor fully understand.
Her voice faltered again as the next words left her lips, the rawness of the truth a wound she had never fully let heal. "My mother was long dead before both of us even opened our eyes." Valkhara's throat tightened, and for a fleeting moment, it was as though the air had thickened, leaving her to breathe through a fog of regret and sorrow. "She hated us in her belly," she continued, her words coming slower now, "and tried her best to push against us being born. She fought against us every moment, like she wanted us to die before we even had the chance to draw breath."
Valkhara's hands unconsciously curled into fists as she spoke, her body trembling ever so slightly with the tension of the memories. "If we died, she would die too, but not before giving my father one last middle finger," she whispered, her voice edged with dark irony. "But that beast knew that beforehand. He was prepared for it."
She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. The words felt like they had been lodged in her chest for years, and finally, they came rushing out, heavy with the weight of truth. "He brought an axe," she said, the chill in her voice enough to freeze the air around her. "sliced her out of her belly."
The silence that followed felt like it could stretch on forever, suffocating in its heaviness. Valkhara stood there, her gaze distant, as if she were seeing the past play out before her eyes once again. Her shoulders sagged ever so slightly, the ghost of her mother's defiance and her father's cruelty hanging like a dark shroud around her.
I understand! Here's a more toned-down version that keeps the emotional tension while avoiding any explicit content:
She didn't need to say more. The pain in her voice had already told the whole story—one of betrayal, of loss, and of a life shaped by the violence of her origins. It was a story she had never been able to escape, a truth that had lived in her bones for as long as she could remember.
"But now," she said quietly, a small but genuine vulnerability slipping into her words, "I am yours now; you defeated me and won me, not as a slave, but as a companion," she admitted.
Shotaro observed her carefully, sensing something deeper beneath the surface. "Most would be horrified by their fate, but you..." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "You're surprisingly adamant about being with me."
"What do you mean?"
"Spit it out, whatever you're hiding."
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she quickly masked it, her pride fighting back against the emotions that threatened to surface. "I am nothing, pretty boy."
Shotaro didn't let up. "I'm asking you, what are you hiding?"
She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his questioning gaze. In an attempt to shift the focus, she moved closer, pressing her lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn't the fiery kiss of passion, but rather a quiet, desperate attempt to divert his attention, as if the physical connection could momentarily silence the turmoil within her. It was warm, but laced with an undercurrent of unease, a struggle between the desire to be seen and the instinct to hide.
For a moment, Shotaro remained still, caught off guard by the unexpected kiss. It wasn't just the act itself—it was the intent behind it. It wasn't passion. It wasn't love. It was desperation, an attempt to steer him away from whatever truth she was unwilling to face.
But Shotaro wasn't the type to be swayed so easily. When he pulled back, his crimson eyes sharpened, his expression solidifying into something firm and unyielding. "Stop trying to change the subject."
Valkhara clicked her tongue in irritation, her jaw tightening. Then, without hesitation, she drew back her fist and drove it into his gut.
The impact was brutal. A normal man would have folded in half, choking on his own breath. Even Shotaro felt his insides twist, his organs momentarily liquefying under the sheer force. But he didn't stagger. Didn't flinch. His body tensed, absorbing the pain like a hardened war machine. He refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him crumble.
Instead, he retaliated.
Without a moment's pause, he lifted his leg and slammed his foot directly between her legs.
Valkhara's breath hitched as she fell to her knees, her body momentarily betraying her. A sharp, guttural sound escaped her lips—not quite pain, not quite surprise, but a mix of both.
Shotaro exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the dull ache still lingering in his stomach. "A good kick in the crotch can subdue a man," he said, his tone completely matter-of-fact. Then, as he looked down at her, he added with a small, knowing smirk, "And a strong enough kick can subdue anything—regardless of gender."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, Valkhara let out a dry, breathless laugh, her breath still uneven from the shock of the impact. One hand braced against the ground, fingers curling into the dirt as she glared up at him with narrowed eyes. "Bastard," she muttered, her voice raw but not entirely without amusement.
There was no real hatred in it. If anything, there was something closer to reluctant admiration—the kind one warrior feels for another when they realize they might have finally met their match.
Even as the ache lingered in her core, even as she knelt there recovering, she still had the audacity to lift one hand and flip him off. Her smirk widened, sharp and defiant. "Fuck you."
Shotaro barely blinked. If anything, he seemed almost unimpressed. "Many have," he replied flatly, adjusting his stance, his arms crossing over his chest. His tone was so casual, so effortless in its dismissal, that it made her annoyance spike all over again. Before she could snap back, he took a step closer, his presence looming over her.
"Anyways," he continued, voice dropping slightly as his crimson eyes locked onto hers, "do you want to spill the truth now, or should I rip it out of your ass?"
The way he said it—so casually, yet with such an unshakable certainty—made it clear he wasn't bluffing. He would get his answers, one way or another. Valkhara had seen men posture before, had seen warriors talk big only to waver when it mattered, but there was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. No patience for bullshit.
For the first time, she felt something that wasn't irritation, amusement, or even respect.
She felt cornered.
Her fingers dug into the dirt as she let out a slow breath, her jaw clenching for a moment before she finally spoke. "I was promised to a rival Zorkhan—Khan Ruganda," she admitted, her voice steadier than before, though there was an unmistakable bitterness to it. "He's a bearded, bald brute, but he still fucks. Unfortunately for me, thanks to you," she gestured vaguely at him, "I'm now a chinaar—damaged goods. He'll never marry me after this."
She met his eyes, something sharp flickering in her gaze. "Instead, I'll be sold off as a cheap slut. A gift to some lesser warrior or another Khan's men. Not that I blame you," she added, forcing a half-smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I lost because of my own weakness."
Shotaro frowned, arms still crossed, studying her as if weighing her words. "But your father—despite me wanting to throw him into orbit—is a Khan," he pointed out. "Wouldn't he just ignore that tradition and make an exception?"
Valkhara let out a low, humorless chuckle. "You don't get it," she said. "He's not just a Khan. He's the Khan. And for him, there are no exceptions. Weakness is weakness. If he bent the rules for his own daughter, it would make him a liar. A hypocrite. He'd rather see me thrown to the dogs than have his authority questioned."
Shotaro stayed silent for a beat, crimson eyes locked onto hers. "That's fucked up."
"That's Zorkhani law."
A heavy silence hung between them, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down like the mountain air around them.
Then, Shotaro exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension. "Alright then," he said, voice as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "I guess we'll just have to stop this marriage before the year is over."
Valkhara's brow furrowed. "How exactly do you plan to—"
"I just have to beat every single warrior from your Zorkhan," he continued, tone maddeningly matter-of-fact. "Turn them all into chinaar so they have no choice but to listen to me. Then, I'll make you the Khan."
She blinked. Stared at him. Then scoffed. "You already had this figured out the second you heard my problem, didn't you?"
Shotaro shrugged. "I like solving puzzles."
For a moment, she said nothing, then let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe brains over brawn isn't as useless as I thought."
"But before we do anything," Shotaro said, rolling his wrists, "we need to deal with the Penetrator first."
Valkhara tilted her head. "The who?"
A distant scream cut through the air before he could answer.
"KALKI!!!!"
Shotaro sighed. "Speak of the devil."