Acidity of Regret Ch 8
- Dec 15, 2025
- 8 min read
Updated: Dec 16, 2025
Vanessa had spent the last few days surviving on meager sips of water and crusts of bread so dry they crumbled to dust, all while gauging the atmosphere of her prison.
This place felt like the antechamber to hell itself.
From what she had gleaned through eavesdropping, this was a clandestine slave auction hidden within Ingzella's capital, and the people here were merchandise waiting to be sold.
She was merely one among them. The cold iron shackles chafing her ankles, identical to those worn by the others, served as undeniable proof.
On her first day here, lost in grief, Vanessa had nearly gone into convulsions at the sight of the staff approaching with those shackles. She had instinctively known, even before a word was spoken, that the metal cuffs were intended for her.
She had fought wildly to avoid them, reaching out to the nearby slaves for help.
An elderly man, captivated by her beauty, had stepped forward to intervene—only to meet a gruesome end. The guard had driven a dagger into the old man’s chest with practiced, ruthless efficiency.
Blood from the dying man had splattered across her cheek and neck. The memory of that hot, viscous sensation still made her skin crawl.
'Tsk. What a nuisance.'
The guard had muttered as he flicked the blood from his blade. He spoke as if he had merely crushed a filthy insect.
His utter lack of remorse, the inhuman nonchalance with which he took a life, made him appear less like a man and more like a monster.
Witnessing a murder right before her eyes for the second time, Vanessa couldn't even scream.
She wished someone would strike her head and knock her unconscious. The nightmare was dragging on far too long.
While she was paralyzed by shock—clack—the cold, heavy shackles were locked around her ankles.
With even her physical freedom stripped away, she gradually learned the bitter taste of resignation. It seemed no one was coming to save her from this godforsaken pit.
For a fleeting moment, thoughts of Grand Duke Vinkart—and the heated hours they had shared—surfaced.
But he was no lover of hers, nor was he even in the capital at the moment. The chances of him coming to her rescue were microscopic.
...No, to be precise, theirs was not a relationship that warranted saving in the first place. As long as the definition of their bond remained blank, expecting his help was nothing but a delusion.
The resignation she slowly absorbed left no room for hope, robbing every ounce of her will. Her mind settled into a dark sediment, as if stained entirely by black ink.
Two more days bled away.
She was curled up tightly in the corner, looking as though she had been beaten into submission, when heavy footsteps thundered outside. Someone was making a boisterous entrance.
A man with a protruding paunch, stroking his long mustache, strode in. It was the Auction Master.
He swept his gaze over the room where the slaves were detained before zeroing in on Vanessa, who was discarded in the corner like a pile of dust.
[Master] "To think the Angel of Ingzella would end up in my auction house."
The Master grinned.
Sensing danger in that smile, Vanessa instinctively scrambled up to flee. However, the shackles limited her range of motion. Realizing her escape route was blocked, the color drained from her face.
In that moment, he stood before her.
[Master] "The rumors didn't lie; that face is truly exquisite. Heh. I can't just list a premium commodity like this for the general public."
Premium commodity.
It was a vulgar designation that viewed her as nothing more or less than an object.
Bile rose in her throat, salty and sickening, as if she had swallowed a mouthful of seawater.
The Master signaled to the staff behind him. They approached swiftly, unlocking the shackles binding her ankles. She was dragged out of the communal holding cell.
[Master] "Who was the VIP visiting today? Marquis Hastevan?"
[Staff] "Yes, sir."
[Master] "Make the exchange quietly. We don't want the other guests catching wind of it."
[Staff] "You aren't putting her up for auction?"
[Master] "Forget the auction. This is a chance to extract a far greater sum without the hassle!"
The Master’s eyes glistened with greed.
The rough hands dragging her along didn't let go until they reached a pitch-black room.
Vanessa stumbled to her feet and looked around.
Unlike the previous cell, which she had shared with others, this space was so dark she couldn't see an inch in front of her face.
The only illumination came from the fan-shaped wedge of dim light spilling through the open door. Once that door closed, she knew total darkness would swallow her whole.
She didn't know what these men intended to do, but a hunch instinct warned her that being trapped here would not end well.
At least the other cell had the warmth of other human beings; here, there was truly nothing.
If anything awaited her, it was likely her own death. As the thought struck her, a chill raced up her spine.
Summoning her strength, Vanessa stood on trembling legs and threw herself into the narrowing gap of the closed door.
The sharp edge of the doorframe scraped her calf, tearing skin and sending a stinging pain shooting through her leg. Before she could take another step, she collapsed, her body giving out.
[Master] "Tsk, you’re making this difficult."
The Master looked down at her with zero warmth, as if watching a small animal thrashing in its death throes. There was neither heat nor cold in his gaze—only annoyance at a bothersome pest.
He tried to haul her up and shove her back into the room. Terrified that she would never leave if she were caught again, she sank her teeth into his forearm. It was an act of pure desperation.
[Master] "Argh!"
He screamed, reeling back and slapping her across the face.
Smack!
The searing sound of flesh on flesh echoed down the corridor.
Her head snapped back helplessly, and the brutal force sent her crumbling against the wall. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
Through her disheveled blonde hair, she looked up at the pitch-black shadow looming over her.
He was huffing in rage, clutching his arm where her teeth marks were clearly visible.
Suddenly, pain flared as if her scalp were being torn apart. He had violently seized her by the hair.
[Master] "Look here, Vanessa Rohawk."
[Vanessa] "..."
[Master] "Do you still think you’re some high-and-mighty noblewoman?"
His mocking voice stabbed into her chest like a dagger.
He was right. Vanessa Rohawk. Rohawk was now nothing more than a surname that had rebelled against the sublime Imperial Family.
Her father had been executed for it, and while she had barely escaped with her life, she had been stripped of everything she was born with. She was no longer a 'high-and-mighty noblewoman.' She was a commoner, dragged into a slave pit.
[Master] "There is no one coming to save you. So abandon your delusions."
His voice was cruel, chewing on every syllable as he delivered his warning.
Her eyelids trembled as if cowed by his words. As they fluttered heavily, a clear stream of tears spilled down her pale cheeks. The unique light in her emerald pupils shattered into tiny, hopeless fragments.
Staring blankly at her face from inches away, the Master audibly gulped. Even in her wretched state, her beauty was undeniable—unwavering proof of her former fame.
An unexpected desire began to crawl up from the pit of his stomach. At that moment—
[Master] "...Urgh!"
The Master, perfectly fine a second ago, suddenly made a choked gasping sound, and his entire body went rigid.
Vanessa, who had been holding her breath in terror, watched in shock as a sword tip pierced through his chest.
Blood dripped down the length of the blade—drip, drip—and landed on the back of her hand.
A stain of red bloomed on the sleeve of her white negligee. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, her mind rejecting the reality before her.
Moments later, a brutal kick sent the heavy body flying. The Master, dead in an instant, collapsed sideways with a heavy thud.
Only then was the obstructed view cleared, revealing the figure standing behind the corpse.
The lantern dangling from the ceiling cast deep shadows. The silhouette, pitch-black like a living shadow, might have been strange to others, but to her, it was painfully familiar.
Declan Vinkart, dark as the midnight sky, slowly bent his knees to crouch before her.
Her eyes followed his movement, her focus hazy. The scene unfolding before her was so devoid of reality.
Declan reached out. As his knobby knuckles grazed her cheek, her eyes fluttered. The warmth of his touch was the only thing grounding her, reminding her this was real.
Her cheek, where his large hand rested, still burned with heat from the slap. His thumb rubbed the skin gently, gauging its temperature.
[Declan] "You’re burning up."
[Vanessa] "..."
[Declan] "And swollen."
His tone was clinical, like a physician performing a diagnosis. But his eyes betrayed his calm. His irises—a blue so saturated they usually felt cold—were blazing like the scorching sun.
Declan inhaled deeply, his massive chest heaving violently with suppressed rage.
[Declan] "Shiron."
The moment he quietly called the name, a presence materialized from behind. A man dressed in a knight’s attire stepped forward and leveled his sword at the Auction Master’s corpse.
Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut. As expected, the gruesome sound of sharp steel tearing through flesh followed immediately.
She only opened her eyes after Declan lifted her hand. The moment he moved, the cruel sounds stopped, as if the task had been completed.
He slowly wiped the splatter of blood from the back of her hand and spoke in that same, even tone.
[Declan] "Vanessa Rohawk."
[Vanessa] "..."
[Declan] "Will you come with me?"
The question flowing from his straight lips was short and simple.
The moment she fully understood his meaning, a strange electric thrill raced through her body. It felt as if she had finally found the exit in a labyrinth with no way out.
The Auction Master had told her to abandon hope, that her status had fallen. Yet here was someone who had come to save her, defying all logic.
It wasn't the Crown Prince, nor anyone else, but Declan Vinkart—the man she had resigned herself to never seeing again.
His offer to leave together was vague enough to warrant suspicion. Yet, to Vanessa in this moment, it was sweeter and more tempting than anything in the world.
As if afraid he might leave her behind if she hesitated even a second, she nodded frantically.
Declan removed his surcoat and draped it over her shoulders.
Perhaps due to the immense difference in their size, she was buried in the fabric, weighed down by it. The dark garment layered over her white negligee created a perfect contrast.
With efficient, decisive movements, Declan lifted her into his arms.
The moment she leaned against his broad chest, she felt she had gained a shield so strong that no one could ever harm her again. A profound sense of relief washed over her.
Her mind, deprived of sleep for days, felt hazy, and her limbs creaked with exhaustion.
The wretched state of her body, combined with the safety she now felt, brought a sudden wave of drowsiness. Seeming to notice this, he pressed her head closer to him.
In his warm embrace, Vanessa gently closed her eyes. Breath finally began to fill her chest, which had been so tightly constricted until now.
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