Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 317: Dragged

Chapter 317: Dragged
(TW: violence? Torture?)
Soren stormed through Nicholas’s house like a thunderclap, and the staff scattered in all directions. No one tried to stop him. No one asked questions. The moment they saw who it was, they pointed toward the study with shaking hands and eyes lowered, like showing him the way might save them from his wrath.
Nicholas was slumped in a chair, bottle still in hand, his shirt wrinkled and half unbuttoned. His eyes were bloodshot from the hangover, his mouth twisted in a scowl.
"What the hell—" he started to growl, but Soren didn’t give him the chance to finish.
He grabbed Nicholas by the collar and yanked him up like he weighed nothing. Nicholas tried to punch him—tried to fight back—but Soren’s movements were too quick, too smooth. He barely blinked as he dragged the man out of the house, past the silent servants and guards who all watched with empty eyes and sealed lips. Not a single one moved to stop him.
Outside, the sun was high, and there were guards rushing to the scene, ready to protect their employer... Until they saw Nicholas being dragged by
him.
A hush fell over them.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, but no one got closer. No one spoke. No one asked what was happening. They knew. Soren didn’t need guards, didn’t need laws. His word
was
law here.
He alone was able to drag Nicholas out, and was met with zero pushback. Everyone pretended like what just happened did not happen. They turned around, ready to flee the scene, but they did not, not yet at least. They would not move until Soren allowed them to leave.
Nicholas landed hard on the ground with a loud thud, dust rising around him. He lay there for a moment, stunned, staring at the sky in disbelief. He’d been humiliated—dragged from his own home like a dog. People were watching. He could feel their eyes.
He pushed himself up, coughing, shame burning in his chest—but then Soren’s boot came down, straight onto his neck, pinning him to the ground.
Nicholas choked, both hands grabbing at Soren’s ankle, but it was useless. He couldn’t breathe. His legs kicked weakly in the dirt.
Soren stared down at him, face like stone.
"How does it feel?" he asked calmly, like he wasn’t choking the life out of a man in broad daylight.
Nicholas couldn’t answer. He could only wheeze and claw at the foot, crushing his throat.
Soren leaned in slightly, pressing harder. "You think you can hurt him and walk away?"
People in the crowd turned away, pretending not to see. He was dead. There was no point in seeing if the tides could shift. He was a dead man.
Everyone knew—once Soren set his eyes on someone, they were finished. There was no saving them. Not even wealth or name could protect you.
Nicholas had once held power here.
Now, no one even looked at him.
Soren’s voice dropped, cold and steady. "This is nothing compared to what Riven went through. But don’t worry. I’m not done."
Soren’s icy gaze bore into Nicholas, who struggled futilely beneath the weight of his foot. The pressure against his throat was relentless, Nicholas’ face turned a deathly shade of blue, his eyes wide with terror. Just as he felt the darkness creeping in, the crushing weight lifted. Gasping for air, he coughed violently, each ragged breath a desperate plea for survival.
But Soren was far from done.
With a cruel grin, he dragged Nicholas toward the carriage like a hunter with his prey. The collar was biting into Nicholas’s skin as Soren attached it to the back of the carriage to the protruding emblem that now acted like a hook.
The moment the carriage jolted forward, Nicholas felt a sickening lurch. His body was yanked along the ground, every rough stone and jagged edge tearing into his bare feet. Skin ripped away in strips, the blood flowed freely, leaving a grotesque trail behind him—a vivid testament to Soren’s wrath.
Soren glanced back to witness the sight: the nobleman’s feet, once pampered and pristine, now a gruesome canvas of shredded flesh and crimson.
The ground beneath him was streaked with blood, each agonised scream from Nicholas fueling Soren’s wrath. The sound did not diminish his anger in the slightest.
As the carriage rolled on, the weight of Nicholas’s body bounced against the ground, the force jarring his already damaged skin. Soren leaned out, eyes focused on the moving carriage and changing scenery. Because otherwise, the only thing he could think of was Riven pale, shivering with fear.
He looked like he was close to death. He did not believe in the divinity, but it was a miracle that Riven was alive. In most cases, the person who was drugged by it dies a miserable death.
They go feral and kill others... But at least they would be alive? No, they would attack themself, killing themselves in a gruesome way.
He did not know why Riven was not affected in the way that it was meant to, but he was thankful that Riven did not meet that end.
Each jolt sent pain shooting up Nicholas’s legs, and he gasped, trying to find some form of relief through the haze of agony. However, the carriage’s speed only increased. The nobleman’s cries faded to whimpers as the punishment continued, the landscape blurring around them—a nightmare made real.
The carriage finally lurched to a stop in the heart of the forest, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. The trees loomed overhead, their shadows wrapping around Nicholas like a shroud, swallowing any hope of escape. Soren stepped down. The crunch of leaves with each step he took sent shivers down Nicholas’ spine.
"No one can hear you now," he said, his voice smooth yet laced with an undercurrent of malice. He leaned closer, eyes glinting like polished obsidian as he observed Nicholas, who still hung at the back of the carriage, blood pooling beneath him, a stark contrast against the white snow.