The women looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Just moments ago, he had told them they were free—yet in the span of only a few breaths, barely more than two dozen remained untied. The rest had been seized again, hands bound cruelly behind their backs, some already being dragged toward nests woven high in the trees, where the guttural laughter of the macaques promised nothing but violation.
A low sob broke from somewhere in the group. Others stared at him in disbelief, their expressions caught between terror, confusion, and betrayal. A few clung to one another, trembling so violently it was a wonder they could stand at all.
Oliver felt the weight of their eyes—accusing, desperate, pleading. His promise of freedom already tasted of ash.
"I think you've been given enough time to think," he said, his tone softer than the brutality unfolding around them. He stepped toward the closest girl, her wrists still swollen from the ropes. She flinched, but he only reached up, brushing the tears from her cheeks.
Tilting her chin, he met her gaze. "Don't think I lied to you about your freedom. You've simply tasted the cruelty of this world again. If you had all run, I would not have stopped you."
Her breath hitched.
"But instead," he continued, voice quiet but unyielding, "you would have met my kin returning from their hunt. Whether any of you escaped would have been pure luck."
"You did lie to us," she whispered, trembling.
"I didn't," Oliver replied. "The moment the vines slipped from your wrists, you were free. From that point on, you had a better chance of escape than you will ever have again."
His eyes swept across the women still huddled together. "But you didn't run. And now more than half of you are caught once more—leaving only those taken by my troop, and those stolen from the Alpha I killed. This is your third taste of cruelty."
Gasps and muffled sobs rippled through the group. A few stared at the dirt; others glared at him with raw hatred, though fear kept them rooted.
"But you are still free," Oliver said, voice dropping lower. "And now you choose your fate. If you run, be prepared to be hunted. From that moment, you will no longer belong to me."
He released her face. Her knees nearly buckled, but she stayed upright, breathing shallowly. Around them, the scale of loss was clear—nearly three-quarters of the women gone, dragged into nests or swallowed by the jungle. The air reeked of fear and hopelessness.
"So," Oliver said, letting silence stretch like a blade, "I ask… what do you choose?"
The clearing fell quiet but for uneven breaths. Some darted glances toward the forest, as though weighing a desperate dash. Others stared at the ground, shoulders trembling under the weight of choice.
The newly freed—twenty-eight in all—shifted uneasily. Their gazes flicked between Oliver and the shadows where muffled cries rose from the nests.
One young woman with tangled black hair stepped forward, her voice breaking. "If… if we stay and work… no one touches us?" Her fingers clenched the torn hem of her dress like a lifeline.
Oliver's gaze was unreadable. "Not a single hand without your consent. My word."
That promise sparked something—fragile but real—in a few faces. Two women exchanged a glance, then edged closer together, as if seizing that hope.
But when Oliver spoke of the second path, his words landed heavy: "give yourselves to our warriors every night until you have birthed the second generation."
A red-haired woman spat at the ground, defiance burning. "You think any of us would choose that?"
"Some will," Oliver said evenly. "Because they know protection has a cost. Strength has a cost. And a blade in your hand is useless if no one stands at your back."
A thin girl stepped forward, wiry and scarred. Her voice trembled, then steadied. "If it means I can stop being weak, if it means fighting back… I'll take the second option."
Gasps rippled. Some recoiled; others stared in disbelief.
Two more stepped forward—faces pale, eyes hardened. "I'll fight," one said quietly. The other nodded. "If it means surviving, I accept."
A heavier woman touched her swollen belly, her voice soft but firm. "I'm already carrying a child. Best I take the second option—when the baby is born, I'll defend myself without being touched again. And it's only once a night, yes?"
Still, most stayed huddled, torn between hope for safety and hunger for revenge. One girl, barely seventeen, wept quietly, paralyzed by the choice.
Oliver waited, gaze sweeping each face, committing every choice to memory.
"Decide quickly," he said at last, low and firm. "The forest won't wait… and neither will my kin."
The silence stretched heavy. Slowly, women shifted, glances hardening.
One by one, fifteen chose the first path—protection, rest, survival without abuse.
Nine others stepped forward, stronger or more desperate, choosing the second—training, blades, and binding their futures to the tribe through blood and sacrifice.
The rest stayed behind, trembling, caught between fear and hope.
Oliver nodded, the weight of their decision settling on him. "Very well. Those who stay will be protected as promised. Those who fight will be trained—and I will count on your strength."
His gaze swept the group. "From this day, your lives belong to the tribe. We fight for survival, and for the future we build together."
The captive girl—his fifth disciple—stood close, her eyes alight with resolve. This man is something else, she thought. He might not save everyone… but he will save those he can.
Heat rose in her body, her thighs pressing together. "It's already dark," she murmured, almost shyly. "So… when do we begin… our services?"
She wasn't alone. Those who had chosen the second path felt it too—their hearts racing, blood heating in their veins. Invisible arrows of Yang energy pierced them, unseen but undeniable.
Oliver smiled darkly. "Listen well. Those who want to mate with our new warrior women, step forward. But know this—if you do, you become part of my troop!" His grin was devilish, his eyes burning as he alone saw the glowing arrows lodged in over a dozen macaques.
For he had unleashed the Eternal Ember of the Crimson Cupid's Arrows.
The air thickened with power. Oliver stepped toward his disciple, brushing a lock of hair from her face before pressing his lips to hers—a kiss both command and promise.
Around them, macaques moved silently, forming a protective circle. Some watched the women, others scanned the forest, ready for danger.
Oliver broke the kiss, meeting her gaze. "Remember—you're my disciple and my greatest project. From this night, you're no longer a public whore. You belong to me… and to something greater."
He turned her toward the others, lips curling. "Now spread your wings. Choose any one of these women as yours tonight, and I'll teach you how power is truly cultivated."
A fierce light sparked in her eyes, shame swallowed by certainty.
Around them, murmurs of readiness rippled through the camp. The night was far from over. The real battle—of body and spirit—had only just begun.