Trampled and Broken (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 10
That beast seemed to have found its prey—herself—and she kept feeling as if it would pounce on her at any moment.
Hestia’s shoulders instinctively hunched inward.
Yet her gaze never wavered from him.
Honestly, objectively speaking, Aslan’s appearance was exceptionally handsome—simultaneously masculine.
Though he resembled a barbarian more than a gentleman of high society, an innate dignity clung to him, overwhelming others with sheer presence alone.
The closer he came, the harder it became for Hestia to breathe.
“…Ugh.”
Unable to endure it any longer, she let out a soft, pained sound, prompting Angela, who had been following closely behind, to support her and ask worriedly,
“Your Highness, are you all right?”
As if he had heard that quiet voice, Aslan paused briefly.
And just like that, his imposing aura vanished.
Finally able to breathe freely again, Hestia instinctively released the breath she’d been holding and let her body relax slightly.
“I’m… all right now.”
Aslan’s eyes flickered toward her for just a moment before looking away. Then, almost immediately, he clenched his jaw tightly.
“How unusual.”
At that instant, Hestia, wondering if she’d misheard, lifted her head once more.
But he had already passed her by.
‘Of course.’
This was the occasion for Duke Kalati to pay his respects to the king.
Naturally, there was no reason for him to stop before her.
‘Then why do I feel… as though that man lingered before me far longer than he actually did?’
It was as if time itself had frozen in that moment.
Hestia turned her head, following Aslan’s retreating back—but quickly lowered her gaze again, unable to keep watching.
Breathing had become difficult for an entirely different reason.
While she stood there staring at her own toes, Aslan and his men had already reached King Yorgos, seated upon the throne.
As he knelt and bowed deeply before Yorgos, a cold, crisp sound echoed in her ears.
But even more chilling was his voice—something she hadn’t heard in so very long.
“I pay my respects to Your Majesty, King Yorgos, the Sun of Elsword.”
Contrary to his fiery presence, his voice was utterly calm, creating a stark and jarring contrast.
“Welcome, Duke Kalati. You’ve taken great pains to come all the way to the capital. How fares the military situation?”
Formal pleasantries and reports followed.
“I commend your efforts.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Good. How long do you intend to stay this time?”
“I’m thinking about a month.”
“Hmm, that’s quite a long stay.”
“There’s quite a backlog of matters I need to settle in the capital, so I’ve taken this rare opportunity.”
Yorgos, who had been tapping the armrest of his throne with his fingertips, soon stroked his chin and said,
“Then I’ll have gifts prepared and sent to you before your departure.”
“Thank you.”
“This time, I’ll also send some fine fabrics—have yourself some proper clothes made.”
Aslan gritted his teeth, then swiftly composed himself.
“It’s unnecessary. I’m comfortable as I am.”
“That’s what makes me uncomfortable.”
Despite Yorgos’s grumbling, Aslan didn’t even blink.
“As always, I’d prefer grain instead.”
At the blunt reply, Yorgos clicked his tongue in clear displeasure.
“Young man, so stubborn. Tsk. Do as you please.”
At that moment, Hestia thought she heard a faint grinding of teeth from Aslan’s direction.
Startled, she glanced down slightly and saw his fist clenched tightly, as if holding back something.
‘His Majesty did speak rather thoughtlessly.’
Inwardly, Hestia sided with Aslan.
Though she knew little of politics, even she understood this much:
Aslan, perpetually walking the line, came to the capital every year precisely because of those royal gifts.
Each year, in exchange for defending the North against winter’s onslaught, he received provisions from the royal court.
For over a decade, the North’s endless winter had stripped away normal life. With even basic supplies and food scarce, Aslan only ever requested grain and dried meat.
Fine garments, worn in the capital merely as a matter of etiquette, had long since become luxuries in the North—useless as anything but kindling to people fighting daily just to survive.
“You may now withdraw and rest. Be sure to attend the welcome banquet—for my sake.”
“…I shall.”
The audience ended swiftly.
Yorgos departed the chamber first, accompanied by the Crown Prince.
Only then did Aslan slowly rise from his kneeling position and turn to his men.
“Let’s go back, then.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Unlike when he’d entered, Aslan gave no glance toward Hestia this time.
But since most of his oppressive aura had subsided, Hestia found it much easier to breathe.
She kept swallowing nervously, measuring the distance between herself and Aslan.
Just a little closer, just a little more.
Thus, the gap between them narrowed.
And in that instant…
He brushed past her.
Hestia frowned—she’d expected mockery, not to be so utterly ignored.
‘I can’t let him get away.’
Driven by urgency, Hestia summoned her courage and called out to him.
“It’s been a while, Duke Kalati.”
She tacked on the title like a sigh. Calling him by name felt like something from a very distant past.
At least she’d succeeded in stopping him.
His steps came to an abrupt halt.
He could have pretended not to hear and simply walked on—but he hadn’t. To Hestia, that meant the start wasn’t so bad.
Slowly, Aslan’s large frame turned toward her.
Hiding her nervousness, Hestia gracefully extended her right hand toward him in the customary Elsword greeting—the very gesture she’d always received.
Among Elsword’s noble lords, kissing the back of Hestia’s hand was considered a lifelong honor.
But apparently not for Aslan.
He did not take her outstretched hand.
He merely stared silently at it with haughty eyes.
Hestia bit her lip.
He wasn’t harming her in any way—so why did her heart flutter so wildly?
‘He really is a difficult man.’
She looked at her own arm, extended toward him. The trembling was growing stronger.
With a quiet breath, Hestia slowly curled her fingers inward from the tips, clenching her hand.
She refused to appear pitiful before this man any longer.
At that, Aslan—who had been silently watching her hand—finally broke his long silence and slowly lifted his gaze.
His thick brows furrowed deeply, as if displeased by something once again.
His golden eyes ensnared Hestia like a noose, binding her tightly so she couldn’t escape.
Unconsciously, Hestia swallowed hard.
Because the cold, unyielding line of his mouth—which she’d never seen bend before—was now twisting into a one-sided smirk.
“What’s this about?”
At the sound of his voice, Hestia froze momentarily.
It felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over her head.
But she had no time to remain flustered—if she didn’t answer immediately, he would surely turn and walk away without hesitation.
She didn’t want to lose this man before her eyes.
So she forced her trembling heart to settle, squared her jaw as if nothing were wrong, and asked coolly,
“Were you talking to yourself, or were you speaking to me?”
“If it reached your ears, it was meant for you to hear.”
Stung by Aslan’s mockery, Hestia tightly clasped both her hands together.
Her body felt icy cold, as if all her blood had drained away.
She knew he wasn’t warm—but it was also true he treated her with particular harshness. Deep inside, something hot surged up within her.
‘Why only me…?’
Hestia nearly choked up but quickly regained control.
‘Don’t lose your temper.’
Composed once more, she replied calmly,
“You’re as insolent as ever, Duke.”
At that, Aslan merely shrugged his shoulders and let out a hollow, breathy laugh.
“No one ever holds me accountable for it anyway.”
“That’s an arrogant thing to say.”
“But what can I do? Tell me—who else would face the endless tide of monsters pouring out of the vast North, if not me?”
“…For that, I am deeply grateful.”
Sensing the conversation might drag on, Aslan crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly.
“I truly don’t understand your reason. This is the first time.”
His golden eyes, fixed on Hestia, burned like molten metal in a furnace.
“What sudden whim is this? Weren’t you always the one who hurriedly avoided me whenever we crossed paths?”
Hestia’s lips pressed shut again.
She hadn’t expected Aslan to strike so directly at the truth.
She wasn’t shameless enough to deny it outright—because, as he said, she had always been the one to flee the moment they met.
It was Angela, her maid, who had been standing behind Hestia with a perpetually disgruntled expression, who stepped forward on her behalf.
“Duke Kalati! Watch your words! How dare you refer to Lady Hestia—both a saint and Princess of Elsword—as ‘that woman’!”
She raised her voice indignantly, as if she herself had been insulted.
But it didn’t faze Aslan in the slightest.
His icy gaze shifted from Hestia to Angela.
“So, is she a man, then?”
Aslan scoffed derisively, his cold voice dripping with scorn.
Ex-husband Wants Reconciliation
One-line summary: Chasing the wife to the crematorium (making an effort to attract someone who has become indifferent), the female lead doesn’t look back, the second male lead takes the position.
Intro:
To repay the kindness of the older generation, Su Mu crossed into a female-dominated world and became a live-in daughter-in-law of the Yan family, single-handedly saving the Yan family from fire and water.
But her husband, Yan Jiyue, the eldest son of the Yan family, treated her with sarcasm and never showed her a good face.
It wasn’t until after Su Mu’s death that this pampered and arrogant young master shed a few fake tears and pretended to want to die for love.
This life’s kindness was enough. If there was a next life, she would definitely kick Yan Jiyue away.
Who knew that the heavens would be so kind as to allow her to be reborn, returning to the time when she had just married into the Yan family.
Su Mu glanced at the Yan eldest son, who still spoke coldly to her, and threw a divorce letter in front of him.
“Let’s divorce!”
***
Yan Jiyue never imagined that he would be reborn. He happily went to find Su Mu, wanting to make up for the mistakes he had made in his ignorant youth.
Wasn’t the reason the heavens allowed him to be reborn to let him reconcile with Su Mu?
But when he pushed open the door to Su Mu’s room, the person lying on the bed was another man.
Su Mu’s personal attendant, Xie Yi.
Yan Jiyue hated him so much that his teeth itched. In front of Su Mu, Xie Yi was a gentle and considerate whisperer of sweet nothings, but in reality, he was vicious-hearted and deliberately sabotaged their husband and wife relationship.
In the previous life, it was he who secretly hid in Su Mu’s coffin and committed suicide, stealing a step ahead of him to be buried with Su Mu.
Yan Jiyue’s eyes were filled with hatred as he cursed, “What kind of thing are you? Your background is lowly, what right do you have to occupy Su Mu?”
Xie Yi looked at the sleeping Su Mu and no longer pretended to be a whisperer of sweet nothings.
He proudly stuck out his belly, “I have the right because my belly is capable of giving the Wife-master a daughter.”
***
Yan Jiyue was consumed with jealousy. He spread rumors that Xie Yi had once been branded with the mark of a “harlot” on his chest.
But on the night Xie Yi cut off the flesh bearing that mark, Su Mu suddenly realized something was amiss.
“How did you know the exact moment I was poisoned? And why did you show up a month early?”
Xie Yi remained silent, blood from his wound soaking through his robes. His sapphire eyes brimmed with anguish – or was it just a flawless act?
Between a once-arrogant husband now seeking redemption, and a gentle soul willing to die for her – who truly held the darkest secrets? And could it be that Su Mu and Yan Jiyue weren’t the only ones given a second chance at life…?
[Reading Guide]
1. True divorce, chasing the wife to the crematorium, the female lead doesn’t look back, the male lead is Xie Yi.
2. The ex-husband did not cheat, he just realized too late and didn’t realize that he liked the female lead.
_____
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