A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Atop the pinnacle of Dispute Fortress stands an opulent citadel, serving as both the residence of Lord Bryce Palmer Leo and the central stronghold of the Whistling Legion.

With Dispute Fortress as its nucleus, the influence of the Whistling Legion radiates throughout the Western Lands and beyond, reaching into other imperial territories. As a formidable fifth-tier warrior under the Duke of Azuregold's command, Bryce Palmer's guild naturally ranks among the most elite Adventure's Guilds. He himself is a deeply seasoned member within the Zero Exploreres.

However, in recent times, Bryce Palmer has been absent from Dispute Fortress. At the behest of the Duke of Azuregold, he has led the majority of Whistling Legion's elite forces into the bloody maelstrom of conflict between the Duke of Firmament and the Duke of Bloodust.

Nevertheless, Dispute Fortress remains impregnable despite Bryce Palmer's temporary absence. Firstly, it lies within the heartland of the Duke of Azuregold's domain; secondly, Bryce Palmer has left behind capable individuals to maintain control.

Thus, in theory, this venerable guild should remain unscathed despite its current state of relative vacancy. In theory… that is.

"Milo!"

A furious cry echoed through the lavish chamber, strewn with… countless bare bodies.

A bronze-skinned woman, not particularly beautiful but exuding a fierce and imposing aura, kicked open the door and roared, "Get up, now!"

"... Oh, boss," the young man languidly rose, extricating himself from the soft, supple bodies surrounding him. He yawned, "Good morning. What brings you here today?"

"It's already one in the bloody afternoon!"

Inothea Vaka, Bryce Palmer's current wife and second-in-command, had not accompanied him to the battlefield but remained to guard Whistling Legion's headquarters at Dispute Fortress.

The youth buried among the women was Milo Leo, Bryce Palmer's younger brother. Though not a member of Whistling Legion, he was the architect of Dispute Fortress' administrative system and its de facto manager.

"Afternoon? Then it's time for lunch," Milo drawled, slowly retrieving and donning his trousers from amidst the tangle of women.

"I'll grab a bite first. We can discuss matters afterward."

"You good-for-nothing..." Inothea's eye twitched. "The selection tournament is about to begin in a few days. Have you taken care of everything?"

"Boss, don't you trust me?"

Milo grinned. "It's all trivial matters. What could possibly go wrong? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to lunch."

The young man, bare-chested, traversed the chaotic room, heedless of what lay beneath his feet. He even trod upon the bodies of slumbering women, utterly indifferent to their anguished cries.

In his youth, Milo Leo often pondered the Empress's purpose in establishing the empire, questioning why an omnipotent divine being would maintain such a fragile construct.

Since assisting his martially-inclined brother with the city's administration, and eventually assuming control of Dispute Fortress' entire political system, Milo had gained profound insight into the Empress's mindset.

The intoxication of dominion... a pleasure surpassing all others, an irresistible addiction.

Once savored, it could never be relinquished.

Seated in the dining hall, Milo leisurely savored his premium fare, disregarding the report proffered by his secretary. He mumbled indistinctly:

"What of our investigation into that so-called Faust?"

"We've... uncovered nothing, I'm afraid, Lord Milo."

"Hmm..." The young man mused, "I wonder if we've stumbled upon the genuine one."

At some point in the recent past, an astonishing rumor began circulating throughout the Western Lands:

The legendary adventurer Faust, who had vanished mysteriously three years ago after leaving countless tales in his wake, was said to be returning.

The Western Lands, renowned for its concentration of adventurers, was no stranger to outlandish gossip. Dozens of equally implausible stories circulated daily, so initially, this particular rumor garnered little attention.

However, as time passed… several individuals emerged, each claiming to be Faust.

Among these self-proclaimed "Fausts," some were mere charlatans with unremarkable abilities. Others possessed genuine talent, causing quite a stir, but were ultimately exposed as frauds once their fame began to grow.

To date, no fewer than fifty individuals claiming to be Faust have emerged across the empire. Dispute Fortress alone has witnessed two such impostors — one who swindled a rare alchemical weapon from others, and another whose boastful claims led to his demise in the streets.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Initially, Milo paid little heed to this third Faust. However, after a member of the Whistling Legion fell by his hand, and reports of his performance in the lava enigma surfaced that very day, Milo was compelled to take notice.

The loss of a member was inconsequential; the deceased was notorious for his deplorable character. But power... that demanded careful consideration.

"Has he not accepted our invitation yet?"

Milo set down his cutlery, as a scantily clad woman immediately leaned in to lick the grease from his lips.

His secretary, maintaining a stoic demeanor, replied, "No, Lord Milo."

"Quite the imperious attitude... As if I'm unworthy to play host, fit only to kneel in subservience. That seems to be the implication," Milo mused, surprisingly amused rather than angered.

"Very well, it spares us the trouble. If this purported Faust were to take a disliking to me, it could prove rather... inconvenient."

"Shall we...?"

"Leave him be," Milo waved dismissively. "Let him do as he pleases - plunder, kill, it matters not."

The secretary, startled, instinctively queried, "But won't this affect your..."

"Affect what? My enjoyment of life?"

Milo rose, stretching languidly. "Even if my brother were here, I'd advise against interfering with this enigmatic Faust. The legendary gentleman's journey won't cease, but I have ample time to revel in my domain. Why risk major trouble by clashing with him unnecessarily?"

Of course, all this was predicated on the incoherent accounts of adventurers — some yearning, some terrified, some reverent — describing the spectacle they had witnessed.

A monstrous figure standing atop a sea of magma, sword swinging down to cleave the boiling crimson ocean, raising waves that obscured entire mountains.

Hah, so captivating… my ass.

Milo preferred witnessing the tidal wave of gratitude from the lower city's commoners in response to his meager acts of benevolence.

Occasionally, Milo would envision the Empress seated upon the throne, looking down upon all the world's mighty with disdain. The mere thought would set his heart racing, igniting his desires.

"Come, it's time we attended to our duties, lest our boss succumb to another bout of madness."

Following the midday repast, Milo was poised to commence his administrative tasks. Undoubtedly, his handling of political affairs had never been motivated by a desire to ameliorate the lives of Dispute Fortress's denizens; rather, it served merely to sate his own twisted lust for power.

Nevertheless, one cannot deny Milo's prowess as a statesman. Despite its contentious moniker, Dispute Fortress operated with remarkable order, and Milo's governance was nothing if not meticulous—a fact evidenced by his choice of a male secretary rather than a female one.

His secretary, ever at his heels, swiftly recounted the reports Milo had neglected during his luncheon: "The selection tournament's preparations are nearly complete, with only participant verification and scheduling remaining. The grand duke's office has been fully apprised."

"Yesterday, Rusty Axe, the arena's most celebrated gladiator, inadvertently slew a commoner... While the situation has been addressed, the specifics await your review."

Milo listened as he walked, occasionally acknowledging his secretary's words. Upon reaching his office door, he grasped the handle, but before entering, he inquired:

"What of those self-proclaimed… 'New Era' insurgents? Have we caught wind of their movements?"

"We're close. Our intelligence suggests they intend to interfere with the upcoming selection tournament. Interestingly, they've also committed an act of supreme folly."

"Oh? Do tell."

"They've placed a bounty on your head at the Executioners. It's displayed prominently at the local guild branch."

Milo paused, then erupted into uproarious laughter, clutching his sides in mirth.

"New Era?" The young man pushed open the door, chuckling and shaking his head. "Perhaps 'New Circus' would be a more fitting appellation." Discover hidden tales at empire

"Placing a bounty on my head with the Executioners... They may dare to post it, but who would dare accept? Hmm?"

As his laughter subsided, Milo closed the door, turning to his secretary with an amused expression. "Wouldn't you agree that—"

The smile faded from Milo's face as he observed the look of terror on his secretary's visage. Following his gaze, Milo beheld a dark-haired youth lounging in his chair, feet propped upon the desk, casually perusing the books thereon.

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