Trampled and Broken (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 12
He himself thought it was a big deal.
He should have laid out his thoughts point by point, explained everything thoroughly, and made him understand—but even that wouldn’t have been enough….
Because he was in such a hurry, he kept omitting explanations.
“Duke, I mean… what I’m trying to say is…”
Hestia swallowed hard as she stared at Aslan’s back.
His neck was even tenser and stiffer than before.
A rough grinding sound kept coming from his gauntleted hand, sending involuntary chills down her spine.
“Really….”
At the end of the silence, a beast-like growl escaped from Aslan.
Then, suddenly, all the tension drained from his body. Aslan let out a bitter laugh.
“What a pointless conversation.”
Aslan slowly turned around again.
For some reason, his face as he looked at Hestia seemed utterly drained of strength.
Cracks began to appear on his face, which had been filled with contempt.
Through those cracks, Hestia caught a glimpse of a wounded man—and froze for a moment.
“An utter waste of time.”
Leaving only those barely audible words behind, Aslan turned and strode out of the audience chamber.
This time, unlike before, he moved so quickly that Hestia couldn’t possibly call him back.
Left alone in the empty room, Hestia unconsciously relaxed her lips, which she hadn’t even realized she’d been biting tightly.
‘I acted too emotionally.’
She reproached herself.
‘No. If things go on like this, I’ll end up engaged to Sir Stephan again, pushed into it without even realizing.’
Aslan Kalati was a card she absolutely could not afford to lose.
He was the only man in this country whom both King Yorgos and the Temple watched carefully.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have treated Aslan like that.”
She berated herself—she should never have done it.
She knew it was belated regret, yet she couldn’t help herself.
Strangely, it was far harder to stay calm around Aslan than it was with anyone else.
Though it was true, as Aslan had said, that she had been the one avoiding him all this time, she still couldn’t bear being ignored by him.
〈Thank you for letting me live in that illusion all this while.〉
Perhaps it wasn’t he who’d been mistaken—but her.
Even now, as cold as he seemed, she’d believed that if she ever reached out to him sincerely again, he would take her hand.
“I must be out of my mind.”
She was so confused she couldn’t sort out her emotions at all.
The gap between his voice from the final moment of her past life—calling out to her with aching tenderness—and his current voice, brimming with hostility, was so vast… it made her heart ache.
“Will he even attend the welcome banquet?”
Though King Yorgos had asked her to ensure his presence, and she couldn’t outright ignore that request, Aslan notoriously disliked such gatherings—making his attendance seem highly unlikely.
A weary sigh slipped from between her lips.
“I need… I need to think.”
She had to figure out her next move to see him again.
But as always, pushing Aslan’s overwhelming presence out of her mind was far from easy.
[This is the timeline separator]Aslan entered his townhouse with a hardened expression.
Every servant who met his gaze—so fierce it seemed he might slaughter someone on the spot—flinched and trembled.
Outwardly composed, only three remained unfazed: his steward Robert, and Dean and Martin, the two lieutenants of the Black Lion Guard who had served closest to him.
The three men swiftly followed behind Aslan.
“Your Grace, what happened? You’re not even at the palace—please just tell us plainly what’s wrong!”
“Did the Temple or the royal court drag out the Saintess again to spout some absurd nonsense?”
The lieutenants already looked furious, as if they themselves had been personally insulted.
“Enough. It’s noisy.”
Aslan lightly waved a hand to dismiss those trailing behind him.
Understanding he wished to be alone, the lieutenants stopped without another word and ceased following him.
But one man—Robert, steward of the Kalati townhouse—stubbornly persisted until he finally entered Aslan’s room.
“Your Grace, shall I prepare your meal, then?”
“I’m not hungry. If I want anything, I’ll call for it myself.”
“Yes, understood. Then please rest comfortably.”
Though Aslan wasn’t looking, the steward bowed deeply toward him and quietly retreated from the room.
Only when the door clicked shut behind him did Aslan finally hurl the helmet he’d been holding carelessly onto the floor.
It was the moment the last thread of his restraint snapped.
The sound of the helmet clattering across the floor echoed, and Aslan’s lips twisted bitterly.
“What? Marriage?”
His agitation simply wouldn’t subside.
His broad chest rose and fell in rough, irregular breaths.
“How dare you… say such a thing to me.”
Aslan tightly shut his eyes, trying to calm his fury.
As his anger gradually ebbed, Hestia’s face immediately surfaced in his mind—as it always did.
This time, however, it was unusually vivid—because he’d just seen her face up close moments ago.
Hestia, no longer the girl he remembered but a full-grown woman.
Aslan could trace every line of her beautiful face in his mind as precisely as a painter.
He imagined those delicate, almost fragile lines, then painted them with her colors—and felt a quiet heat gather within him.
“…Damn that woman.”
A hot breath escaped his lips along with a rough curse.
Once again, he would suffer through another endless, agonizingly long night.
To Aslan, Hestia was neither a princess nor a saintess.
She was simply a woman who could hold no official meaning—and thus held the greatest meaning of all. That was all there was to it.
Feeling stifled, he removed his heavy armor and poured himself whiskey before collapsing onto the sofa.
What nonsense, this saintess business.
He knew perfectly well he was taking out his frustration on the wrong target, but if he didn’t vent somehow, he’d never contain the fire burning inside him—so Aslan grumbled to himself.
Yet once Hestia had settled into his thoughts, she refused to leave easily.
Though his reason resisted, his instincts naturally drifted back to memories of her.
“She’s probably forgotten it all by now.”
Those words he’d spoken to her long ago.
And… that confession, which he never imagined he’d regret so deeply for the rest of his life.
The thought that she didn’t even remember it—that all those feelings remained solely his burden—made him clench his teeth even harder.
“A woman who irritates me every time I see her.”
Yet when he didn’t see her, his anger flared even more.
He had no idea what to do with these contradictory emotions.
Aslan wanted to relieve even a fraction of this suffocating frustration.
The only method that came to mind was what he’d done in the North—slaughtering monsters—but that was impossible here in the capital.
In the end, the only option left to him was drinking alone.
Gritting his teeth, Aslan opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of hard liquor.
He downed nearly half the bottle in one go, yet felt no trace of drunkenness.
Realizing his efforts were futile, he slammed the bottle down roughly.
“Better just fall asleep.”
He headed straight for the bed and flopped down carelessly, covering his eyes with his thick arm.
His golden irises disappeared beneath his eyelids, and his gradually deepening breaths carried his consciousness back into the past.
[This is the timeline separator]His memory wandered through the past.
Aslan had first met Hestia nine years ago, in the year 1090.
In December 1088, King Yorgos had abruptly ascended the throne, and the following year took Aslan, the sole son of Duke Kalati, as a hostage.
Suddenly alone, Aslan had been forced to live by himself in an unused palace wing in the capital.
After a year spent entirely alone—with no family, friends, or subordinates—life under the guise of “protection” had become nothing but surveillance for the fifteen-year-old boy. He had neither anyone to stand by him nor anyone willing to make room for him.
Like all Kalatis, Aslan was naturally taciturn by nature.
〈Aslan, trust no one. The royal court—and the new king—are not to be trusted.〉
On the day his father, Wayne Kalati, left him behind in the capital, those were his final words of warning.
Aslan had taken those words as his creed and lived as quietly as possible within the palace.
Yet King Yorgos paid him so little attention that Aslan’s constant vigilance seemed almost pointless.
Aslan trained relentlessly. Without sparring partners or instructors, he often hit limits—but overcame them through sheer diligence.
In the midst of his growth spurt, his body had already matured to rival that of an adult. Yet his inexperience sometimes left him overwhelmed by emotions he couldn’t control alone.
Days like today—when the sounds of a raucous banquet drifted through the halls—were especially difficult.
Feeling strangely stifled inside his room, Aslan had gone for a walk, but at some point found himself clenching his teeth.
Faint strains of music and the laughter and chatter of revelers kept forcing their way into his ears, despite his resistance.
To Aslan, it was an intensely grating noise.
“Damn those bastards.”
Clenching his fists so tightly that the bones on his knuckles turned white, Aslan swallowed his rage.
While they celebrated so carelessly, his father, his men, and his comrades were pouring every ounce of their strength into slaying the beasts that had crossed the mountains with winter.
The image was painfully clear in his mind.
“Everyone’s working so hard, yet they’re…”
And he himself—
The crushing sense of helplessness at being trapped here, unable to do anything, overwhelmed him.
Aslan couldn’t bear the self-loathing any longer.
“I’m doing absolutely nothing.”
Clenching his fists did nothing to calm his restless heart.
For the first time since arriving here, his eyes grew hot.
“Huuu….”
Just as he finally let out the deep sigh he’d always kept locked inside, unable to bear his sorrow any longer—
Rustle.
A faint sound came from behind him.
Male lead fell into her trap — and shattered when she walked away
This is also on my reread list!
This one is a slow burn, but when it burns, it burns hard.
Definitely worth a read, y’all!
The story follows a thousand-year-old seductive spirit who, on a bet, sets out to charm the male lead—a once-promising but unfortunate cultivator.
But just when she succeeds in making him fall for her, she heartlessly leaves, driving him to madness.
Determined to find her at all costs, he captures her, keeping her by his side no matter what, even if she hates him.
I love this kind of trope—I enjoy watching the male lead suffer in agony.
The ending drags a bit with unnecessary filler, but that’s fine.
As long as I enjoy the beginning, I’m good.
Intro
As an enchantress, Su Heng possesses captivating eyes and charming beauty, easily manipulating the joys and sorrows of living beings at her fingertips.
But to enchant a god, making him taste the bitterness of love’s separation, long-lasting resentment, unattainable desires, and inability to let go…
Do you dare?
Su Heng assists a divine lord in his cultivation, aiming to make him experience all the sufferings of love, so that he can attain the Great Dao.
Only after being chased down from the heavens by the divine lord, confined and completely possessed by him, does she realize how successful she has been.
The once gentle and polite youth has transformed into someone she no longer recognizes.
[Touch the gear icon in the bottom right corner of the screen to move to the next chapter if you want.]
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