Inside the tent, the female cultivator knelt on the ground, shivering, her face a tangled mess of tears and blood, yet her lovely features were still discernible.
At this moment, she was being whipped. There was no one else inside the tent, and with every lash, the woman's flesh was torn and bloodied.
"My lord, spare me, your servant knows her mistake!"
The female cultivator cried and begged for mercy, but what she received was nothing but a cold sneer.
"You know your mistake, but the cup is already broken. Is realizing your error now of any use?"
"Killing you today hardly soothes the hatred in my heart. Bring forth that woman, and let her serve the pleasure of the soldiers in the camp, young and old alike!"
"Do with her what you will; it doesn't matter if she dies. Go ahead!"
The young man's gaze was dark, a flicker of mockery flashing in his eyes as he spoke to those outside the tent.
"Thank you, my lord!"