Headed by a Snake

Some years prior, Tycondrius had transmigrated to his current Realm without memories of his personal history. Using the Oracle powers of his adopted daughter, Sasarame, he was able to review many of his forgotten life events... if as an outside observer.

The woman's name was Atusa... and in theory, she had known him for several decades.

Initially, she acted as his surrogate mother. At the time, Queen Rylania was embroiled in the politics of the Free Nation, establishing dominance amongst the other warbands, and collaborating secretly with agents of the Holy Country.

As Tycon aged, Atusa's role changed to that of his primary instructor, specializing in finer subjects such as etiquette and history.

Each passing year, either her discontent with him grew or he gained more cognizance as to her true nature.

Atusa was a cruel woman.

Though she had no martial training, she used open-palm slaps to punish him as a child. Soon after, she graduated to closed fists.

When Tycon's body and bloodline grew stronger, so too did his ability to endure injury before requiring healing magic.

Atusa beat him with switches until his skin split open. She'd stab him with knives, deep enough to cause pain, but not inflict lasting muscle damage. She even burnt him with an iron rod she kept heated in a brazier.

Other-Tycon was terrified of her.

He was also physically attracted to her, accepting her excessive abuse as... deserved.

Atusa was a shite teacher... for even with her great efforts, the Other-Him was unacceptably weak at the subjects she taught.

The current Tycon had no such weaknesses... nor was he the same submissive weakling of suns long past.

The previous-him carried with him vindictive fantasies of forcing himself upon her. With his current level of strength, it would be effortless.

...It was tempting, as the mature woman's modest curvature well-suited his personal tastes in a sexual partner.

No...

He would not hold Atusa's past sins against her.

She was his subordinate.

He would treat her with respect... unless she chose to act unreasonably.

Tycon inclined his head lightly, "Good morning, Atusa."

The woman's face twisted in disgust, her light-brown bangs writhing menacingly to match, "Nudity is unbecoming for a man of your station."

Not two minutes into the conversation and Atusa had deliberately and unreservedly insulted him.

Tycon scoffed at the thought. If she was to complain about impropriety, then her failure to knock certainly trumped the fact that he was undressed in his private quarters.

"I'm not trying to bed you, Atusa," He rolled his eyes. "Calm yourself, shut the door, and assist me in getting dressed, if you would."

There wasn't an obvious wardrobe or storage chest in his room. It was an annoyance, but Tycon would need at least that much help.

The servant slammed the door behind her, but made no move towards him, "You can't be serious, Tycondrius. I haven't dressed you since you were--"

Tycon inhaled sharply through his nostrils, "*That*... is part of your duties, is it not?"

From her tone, her mien, and the way she had not even once referred to him by his title as Prince, his patience was quickly wearing thin.

"Well, yes," Atusa frowned, placing her hands on her hips, "but I don't see why--"

"⌈Atusa,⌋" Tycon whispered.

The servant's eyes widened and her hair grew still. Slowly... she moved her hands to her throat, grasping, clawing... trying to release the pressure that Tycon had magically applied around her throat.

A glowing sigil shone on Atusa's left breast through the fabric of her clothes. The Slave Brand ensured her loyalty to Tycon and his kin.

A certain faction of Ice Snakes was defeated by Queen Rylania near a century prior. Instead of putting them to the slaughter, their royal family was taken hostage... Princess Atusa, included.

The younger Tycon knew of her lineage but did not realize her position. Underneath a veneer of arrogance, typical of a noblewoman... Atusa was nothing more than a well-dressed slave.

​ Tycon waved his hand, dispelling the magical stranglehold.

The woman bent over, gasping for air, tears brimming from her eyes... "H... how... dare you..."

Atusa had undimmed her vision. If Tycon were human, he'd have been frozen into a block of ice. Regardless of his immunity to her petrifying gaze, it was unpleasant to receive so much disrespect in his own home.

Tycon's request was in no way inappropriate. It was certainly not the first time Atusa had seen him naked.

By Queen Rylania's decree, his servant had one more title: his royal concubine. Atusa was Other-Tycon's first sexual experience, and he was hers. From what Tycon had seen in his memories, it was awkward and forced, at best.

For decades, Other-Tycon allowed Atusa to physically and mentally abuse him, never once speaking up for himself. In exchange, all he received was subpar intercourse at irregular intervals.

Tycon exhaled in frustration. He could not know what his logic was at that time. Ultimately, he was glad he knew better.

He glared down at the teary-eyed woman, crawling on her hands and knees... "Perform your duty... as requested."

"...I hear you," She growled.

Tycon shook his head. It was the correct answer... but delivered incorrectly.

"I changed my mind," He expended a sliver of his mana to draw a few sigils in the air.

The indignation drained out of Atusa's expression, replaced with surprise and confusion, "Is that... a spell formation?"

Tycon didn't have a large functional mana pool, with so much of it going to his System. However, he had the advantage of Atusa's Slave Brand as his magical focus.

He would impose his will upon Atusa, using her own life-essence to make it so.

Upon completing the small spell circle, the woman dropped hard to her blue-scaled knees on a too-thin rug.

"T... Ty... con..." She gasped, short of breath, "What..."

Tycon began to walk around his room, searching for a container that would feasibly hold clothing. He passed by an expensive, full-length mirror, and upon inspecting himself, deemed he was his well-muscled Gold-Rank self... not a recreation of the heavily-pierced past-him.

In the mirror's reflection, Atusa was dragging herself towards him, heaving furiously and drooling at the corners of her mouth.

He continued his search for clothes, speaking his thoughts aloud for his maidservant's benefit, "Atusa, do you know what having your nails ripped out feels like?"