NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 92

Chapter 92: The Divine Liquid Gold!

“Come on in, don’t be shy.”

The door slid open slowly, and in shuffled Lui, looking like absolute shit-on-a-stick.

The man was hunched over like he was auditioning for a role as a goblin in a third-rate play, wrapped in a blanket that screamed, I’ve given up on life.

He looked…worse than yesterday, if that was even possible. Somehow, the fucker had gained weight, his belly now peeking out beneath the blanket like it was trying to escape the shame.

Most people in fear drop a few pounds, but not Lui. Oh no. Apparently, he’d gone full gremlin, stress-eating his way through everything Juliana had probably cooked.

Juliana, kneeling on the floor beside Artis, gasped at the sight of her husband—her actual husband—but quickly composed herself.

Her shoulders relaxed when she realized the dumbass wasn’t even looking at her. No, his red, bloodshot eyes were locked on the bottle and glasses on the table like a starving man staring at a steak dinner.

Lui stopped mid-shuffle and sniffed the air like a goddamn bloodhound. His nostrils flared as the fruity scent of the alcohol hit him. His whole body shuddered as if he’d just been kissed by the booze gods themselves.

A low, guttural groan escaped his throat before he suddenly threw his head back and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“My preeecious…”

He croaked, sounding like a mix between a desperate drunk and a deranged goblin. He lunged forward, arms outstretched, stumbling like a toddler learning to walk.

But in his booze-starved madness, he miraculously stopped just short of the table and flopped face-first onto the floor behind it.

His precious—his life-giving elixir—was safe. Destroying the table and its sacred cargo was not an option, even for this mess of a man.

Juliana recoiled at the sight of her husband groveling like a junkie denied his fix. With a quiet sigh of disgust, she scooted closer to Artis, who slung a confident arm around her shoulder.

Their eyes met, hers questioning, his calm and reassuring.

“Nothing to worry about, babe.”

Artis murmured, his voice a low purr. Meanwhile, his hand—like a thief in the night—slipped under her robe and found her breast, his fingers teasing her nipple in slow, lazy circles.

“Mommy, baby, would you do me a little favor?”

Juliana, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks and elsewhere, smiled coyly.

“Anything for you…”

“Good girl.” His grin widened. “Go fetch me an empty bottle. I’ve got… plans.”

She didn’t ask what he meant. Why bother? Trusting him was second nature now.

She just rose to her feet with a grace that made the robe barely cling to her curves.

Her eyes flitted briefly to her pathetic husband—half-slumped on the table like a drunk praying at an altar, his eyes glued to the bottle as if it were the Holy Grail.

Her pity lasted all of half a second before Artis’s hand gave her ass a firm slap, followed by a possessive grab that made her arch an eyebrow and smirk.

With a sultry smile, she swayed her hips just enough to remind him what he had as she headed toward the kitchen.

As the door swung shut behind her, Artis turned his attention back to the wreck of a man clawing at the table like a feral cat.

“The most expensive alcohol in this sect…”

Artis drawled, his tone soaked in mockery.

Lui’s head snapped up, eyes wild, mouth half-open like he was about to either beg or scream.

There was a manic frenzy in those bloodshot eyes, the kind of desperation that made you want to lock your doors and hide your wallet.

‘Man, this guy looks like he’s one bad day away from wearing his underwear as a hat…’

Artis thought, smirking at the sight.

And it was true—Lui didn’t just look like he’d fallen off the wagon; he looked like the wagon had run him over, backed up, and left him twitching in the dirt.

If there was a spectrum of normalcy, Lui was so deep in the negative zone he was practically pioneering a new dimension of fucked-up.

But Artis wasn’t a monster. No, he had a plan. A divine intervention, if you will. And the name of that intervention? The universal cure for all of life’s tragedies: alcohol.

“I-it’s truly divine…”

Lui’s eyes practically sparkled like a broke kid staring at the world’s biggest candy bar. The golden hue of the alcohol on the glass was nothing short of liquid ambrosia in his mind.

He had only ever heard whispers about this kind of booze, the kind that rich bastards drank while laughing their asses off at people like him.

The taste, the texture—it had all been described to him in flowery terms that made his cheap, piss-water moonshine seem like gutter runoff.

For decades, all Lui had ever done was dream about sipping this liquid gold. And now? Now, that dream was right there, glistening in front of him like a lover’s kiss.

“How does it feel, Lui? Seeing what you’ve wanted your entire, sad little life sitting right in front of you?”

“M-magical…like the Golden Ginseng!”

Lui stammered, his trembling hands itching to grab the glass.

Artis nodded solemnly, like some kind of liquor messiah.

“Go on… drown all three glasses. It’s yours, all of it.”

“M-me? I-I can have it?”

Lui’s excitement was a palpable, almost physical thing.

The poor man was practically salivating at the thought of tasting alcohol after a week of hellish sobriety.

And not just any alcohol—this wasn’t the cheap swill he was used to guzzling like a dehydrated camel.

No, this was the good shit, the kind of drink reserved for sect elders and assholes who thought golden robes made them gods.

Lui’s face contorted into an expression that was equal parts joy and disbelief, like someone had handed him the keys to a harem and told him it came with unlimited snacks.

His trembling fingers hovered over the glass, and as the aroma of the alcohol wafted up to his nose, he let out a low groan that could only be described as borderline erotic.

If heaven existed, it wasn’t some pearly gate nonsense—it was right here, in this fucking glass.

‘Impossible!’

Lui’s mind did a double take so hard it nearly gave him whiplash.

Three glasses of this liquid gold could buy him a small house. A fucking house! And now Artis was just handing it to him like it was tap water?

But as the golden alcohol shimmered seductively in the light, the dark corners of Lui’s brain whispered reminders of his last drunken escapade.

A week ago, everything had gone to hell in a flaming, piss-soaked handbasket—all because of booze.

He remembered it vividly: desperate, broke, and horny enough to beg a knight for a drink. That single act of desperation had spiraled into a shitstorm of epic proportions.

His daughter and wife had almost been molested, he’d nearly gotten himself skewered, and, oh yeah—he’d stabbed a dude and was now waiting for the knight’s buddies to find the body, drag him out by his greasy hair, and turn him into minced meat.

‘No, no, no. Not like a street dog.’

His paranoid mind corrected him.

‘They won’t just kill me. They’ll torture me. They’ll hang me upside down and twist my nuts like doorknobs…’

His breathing turned shallow, erratic, his chest heaving as though he’d run a marathon of terror.

His gaze darted back to the golden liquid in the glass, which now looked less like divine nectar and more like the devil’s piss, tempting him toward ruin.

His body quivered, caught in the crossfire between desire and fear.

And then, cutting through his spiraling thoughts, came a calm, familiar voice.

“Who saved you from the knight, Lui? Who saved you?”

Lui’s eyes snapped upward, locking onto the handsome man, who lounged arrogantly on the other side of the table like some kind of smug god of chaos.

There was a man here?

Lui blinked, his frazzled brain struggling to comprehend the situation. Had Artis always been sitting there, or had the bastard just materialized out of thin air like some smug-ass demon?

He was confused as the only thing he had seen was the alcohol.

‘A-Artis…’

His thoughts betrayed him, dredging up images of a scrawny seven-year-old boy he’d plucked off the streets 12 years ago. But no, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t the truth at all. The truth was—

“I asked you a question, Lui. Who saved you?”

Artis’s voice cut through Lui’s internal chaos like a knife through cheap fabric.

“…Y-you saved me…”

Lui croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Artis nodded, slow and deliberate, like a king acknowledging a particularly groveling peasant.

“Yes, I saved you. And who saved your wife? Who saved your daughter? Who was the man who risked everything to keep the people you love safe?”

Lui’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. The words clung to his throat, but there was no escape.

“…Y-you… you saved them…”

He mumbled, voice cracking.

Artis leaned back, his devilish grin spreading wider. His muscular frame gleamed like he’d been personally oiled by the gods, his crimson eyes boring into Lui with playful dominance.

“Who gave you the money when you had fuck-all? Who made sure no harm came to them, even when you were too piss-drunk to stand?”

“…You…”

Lui’s voice grew stronger, more certain. The man’s presence was like a tidal wave washing over him, dragging him under.

“Yes, it was me. I did all that. Do you trust me, Lui?”

Lui’s gaze locked onto those haunting crimson eyes.

They weren’t just looking at him—they were fucking him over, undressing his soul, peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. Playful, yes, but dangerously commanding.

And in that moment, surrounded by the man’s suffocating aura, Lui didn’t know whether to bow, cry, or kiss his feet.