Lackey's Seducing Survival Odyssey

Chapter 1366: Am I… truly the one you need?

Thalia Crimsonclaw’s POV

I watched calmly, wrapping the handkerchief around my knuckles. He looked at me, lips quirking in a relaxed smile, and said, “You good to go?”

… He fucking said that?

The fuck?

Veins bulged on my forehead. I stared at him, this infuriating man, who didn’t even show a flicker of worry or fear, not a shadow of concern in his eyes, not for me, not for the pain thudding in my hands.

A-Am I not special to him?

I shook my head, shoving the thought aside, and forced myself to focus on the punching bag. I started punching. As my fists struck, I caught him out of the corner of my eye—still watching me with that maddening, calm expression.

… Why am I so pissed off now?

I didn’t get it. But my anger kept growing, coiling inside me, fed by the way he just stood there, so calm, so detached, as if nothing at all had happened.

Man, I just got hurt, and you just stand there staring at me? Do you really care so little? Or am I just another stray soul in your world of secrets?

“Sigh.” I let out a long, weary breath, tired and annoyed, as my fist thudded into the bag again.

This motherfucker—didn’t even budge! The bag just hung there, heavy as ever.

“Say, if you have any other better things to do, you can go, you know?” I said, letting my voice sharpen, “I’m sure you have your own quests. Don’t let me keep you.” Honestly, I half-hoped he’d just leave.

He’d been so calm, right? Like nothing ever mattered when it came to me, like I was just a shadow in his world.

However, he shrugged, unbothered. “Nah, I am fine,” he replied.

“Is that so?” I muttered before starting to punch again, letting my knuckles crack against the worn leather… Still, he just stood there, eyes fixed on me with that same, infuriatingly calm look.

… I was starting to get annoyed at this point. My patience was running thin. I stopped mid-swing, spun around, and said directly to his face,

“It feels… awkward if you just stand there and stare at me. Are you going to stare at me all night?” I could hear the irritation in my voice; I couldn’t help it.

“Oh? Right.” He blinked, as if suddenly recalling how to be a normal person, then strode closer, closing the space between us. “Then should we do it together?”

I looked at him, utterly baffled for a second. “Like what? Sparring, or you just mean hitting this thing until our hands bleed?” I raised a brow, meeting his gaze.

“Well, I don’t mind sparring, but I don’t think it’s going to end well… so let’s stick with hitting this thing,” I said, turning back to the bag.

What did he mean it wasn’t going to end well?

Huh? Are you saying you defeat me?

FUCK YOU!!

I started to punch again, no longer caring about his presence, letting my irritation and confusion pour into each strike. At least he wasn’t going to just stand there and stare at me like I was some kind of spectacle—

THUCK!

The bag moved!

“…” I blankly stared at the bag, heart suddenly pounding for a different reason. What… happened now?

That bag that hadn’t moved an inch since I started punching… but now it swayed.

Not just an inch—it actually swayed from his punch.

What the actual fuck?

Oh! Right!

But then I realised, yeah, he had those energies inside his body, right? Storing them… so it made sense that it swayed from his punch.

I joked at him, “It only moved because of your powers. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to move an inch of this thing,” I commented, before continuing to punch with even more force.

But then, suddenly, he said,

“No, I didn’t use my powers.”

“… What?”

Impossible!

My eyes widened in surprise. “No, you’re bluffing! It’s impossible to make it move without Arcane energy! You’re definitely using the remaining energy inside you!”

He looked at me as if… I was the idiot here.

“What are you talking about?” Aether said with an utterly confused expression as he pulled a metallic gun from his pocket, saying, “I can’t use my energy if I have these kinds of things, right?”

Well… It’s true. He couldn’t use or even touch those things if he was using his internal energy.

Wait… does that mean he… did he?

My eyes widened in utter shock. “Does that mean you really punched it with just your bare hands?”

Aether nodded with a small shrug, as if it meant nothing to him. What the fuck!

I looked at my own hand… What the fuck was wrong with me?

Am I that weak?

I looked at the bag again before something inside me snapped. I started punching the bag without hesitation, relentlessly. My fists slammed into the thick leather over and over, knuckles splitting open. Blood smeared across the surface, sweat dripping from my chin.

But I didn’t stop. I kept punching… punching and punching!!

Aether looked at me with a confused expression before stepping forward to stop me. “You’re hurting yourself again,” he said, trying to catch my arm.

But I didn’t care. I kept punching the bag.

This motherfucker! Still not moving after all my punches, yet it moved when he punched!

Was I really that weak?

How much had I fallen?

If Dora were to see this, she’d laugh her ass off—seeing me this pathetic, weak as a bug!

“ARHH!” I screamed from the pit of my lungs. But before my fist could land another blow, a firm hand grabbed my shoulder, stopping me mid-swing.

I was furious… too furious. I turned, glaring at Aether behind me.

“Stop hurting yourself,” he said, his tone serious now. His eyes flicked toward the bag—its surface stained with the red imprint of my bloodied knuckles.

“Huh? So you do care, huh?” I muttered with a mused expression… he fucking cares after all?

Hahaha… How laughable!

Aether blinked, “Yes I do—”

When he said those words, something inside me snapped. I moved before thought could stop me, seizing his hand and yanking him down, slamming him onto the hard floor. “You do? So you fucking do after all this time? You mother fucker!” I screamed, driving both palms into his chest with everything I had.

Aether kicked off the ground and slid away from the impact. The blow didn’t even crack the floor the way it used to when I’d been stronger, and that stung more than the strike itself.

“Arrh!” I spat.

It irked me… this constant, gnawing irritation, reminding me how far I’d fallen, how weak I’d become.

My eyes narrowed; I glared at Aether as he rose, dusting his clothes like nothing had happened. “Thalia, I think you need to calm down—” he began.

Before he could finish, I leapt. I hooked my knee up, aiming for his head, and caught him in a crude, desperate attempt to hurt him the way he’d hurt me.

He blocked with his hand, shoved my knee away, and twisted my wrist until I lost balance. With a neat, practised motion, he reversed me and slammed me flat onto the floor.

“I said stop!” He shouted, pinning my hands to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I spat words between clenched teeth, saliva flecking the floor.

“So you know strong? Huh? Are you trying to show off! You fucking asshole! After all this time… you fucker!” I raged, memory after memory clawing at my tongue.

I wrenched until his grip loosened, then seized his leg and rolled, using momentum to flip and land on top of him. Thud!

I straddled his abdomen, sitting heavy, and drove my fist into his face. He kept his hands up, blocking, but I kept hammering as if punching could drive out every month of humiliation.

“Thalia, stop it!” he barked, but I didn’t care. I let the stored hurt pour into those blows—anger, shame, longing all braided together.

This motherfucker deserved every hit. After everything he’d done… I wanted him to feel small, to know what it was like to be broken.

Tears threatened at the edges—emotion cracked me in places I’d kept controlled. ’N-No! Don’t you dare cry, bitch! Especially before this fucker!’ I ordered myself, clamping down on the wetness behind my eyes. I kept punching, even as each blow weakened, even as my strength thinned.

He eased… His blocking slackened as if my strikes were no more than scratches on a statue. He looked at me without rage—only an odd, gentle patience that felt worse than contempt.

My hands trembled. “W-What are you smiling at?” I stammered, lashing out to shatter that softness. I struck at his lips, hard.

He answered simply, quietly and almost gently. “Nothing… Just looking at you trying your best.”

I ground my teeth. “My best? You fucking asshole… do you know what you have been doing to me? What I have been going through—”

“Yes, I do… and I did.” He met me with calm, steady eyes that forced my hands to falter.

So all this time, he knew. He knew, and he had done it on purpose.

Rage flared through every nerve, hot and absolute. Just as I felt myself about to explode, he reached up with one careful hand and touched my cheek.

His voice was soft, almost bewildered.

“And… you… yet to decide.”

“What?” My breath hitched. What was he talking about? I was furious and confused, ready to tear him apart before he could dodge whatever I would do next.

Then he said something that made the space narrow everything down to that one impossible, tiny hinge.

“Am I… truly the one you need?”