NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain-Chapter 82: A Deal With the Devil

"So, how about it, Matriarch? Want me to massage you?"

Artis asked with a cocky grin, trying to sound confident while silently praying she didn’t slap him into next week.

The Matriarch was still mid-laugh when his words registered, and her laughter slowly died down. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared at him, her lips curling into a sly smile.

"Have you tried it on someone before?"

She straightened her back, and Artis nearly whimpered as the heavenly view of her cleavage disappeared behind the cursed fabric of her robe. It was like watching the sun set—beautiful but also tragic.

"Uh, yeah," he said, trying to recover. "I practiced on my mom and sister, and they really loved it."

Her eyebrows raised, and for a second, he swore she was holding back another laugh.

"Well, I suppose I could give it a shot," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Since nothing else has worked. But…"

She leaned forward just slightly, her gaze locking onto his.

"What if you fail to cure me, huh? Then what? What will I get?"

"Huh…"

Artis scratched his head, the question catching him off guard. Fail? Him? What could she possibly want from him? It wasn’t like he had legendary treasures—or, you know, a fucking clue what he was doing.

"Whatever you want."

He said finally, shrugging. It sounded cool in his head, though the moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

The Matriarch’s smile widened, and there was a dangerous glint in her eyes that made his stomach do a nervous flip.

"Oh, I do have something in mind," she said, her voice dripping with mischief. "But… not now. I’ll ask for it when you fai—’if’ you fail."

Artis felt his blood run cold.

’What the fuck did I just agree to?’

He thought, panic creeping in. The way she said it, the if was clearly just for show.

She was already planning to collect her mysterious prize, and judging by the look in her eyes, it wasn’t going to be something as innocent as a fucking cookie.

’What the fuck does she even want from me? Fuck! I don’t even know her goddamn angle. What’s her play here?’

Artis was spiraling, his thoughts running wild as he tried to piece together the Matriarch’s motives.

Was she fucking with him for fun? Was this some weird-ass power move? Or worse… was she testing him?

He hated it. Absolutely hated it. But at the same time… he got to touch her. Touch her. And if he played his cards right, maybe he could do more than just cure her—maybe he could corrupt her. Turn the untouchable Matriarch into just another pawn in his inevitable harem. Your journey continues with novelbuddy

’Worth the risk.’

But then, another horrifying thought hit him like a kick to the balls.

’Shit! What if I fail? What if she asks me to leave the sect? My fucking harem dream! I’ve worked too hard for this! Fuck!’

He was sweating bullets now, his eyes darting to her like she was a damn predator circling her prey.

But then again… if she really wanted him gone, she could’ve snapped her fingers and had him tossed out ages ago. Hell, no one would’ve dared question her.

And yet, here she was, entertaining his nonsense. Teasing him, laughing with him. Women don’t just act like this unless they like you… or they’re plotting something devious.

’What’s your fucking angle, Matriarch? Whatever it is… I’ll win this game.’

His lips curled into a small, cocky smirk. Sure, she had the power to squash him like a bug, but Artis wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

If the stakes were high, then so was the reward. And right now, that reward looked like the sexiest, most unattainable MILF he’d ever laid eyes on.

’Let’s fucking do this.’

Then suddenly, an idea hit Artis like a lightning bolt from the heavens—or more accurately, like a risky gamble from the devil himself. His lips curled into a sly grin.

"What if I win? What if I relieve you of your pain? What will you give me?"

He asked, his voice laced with playful defiance.

The Matriarch raised an elegant brow, momentarily caught off guard.

"Are you seriously proposing a bet? Against me, the Matriarch of this sect?"

"Yes."

Artis said with a shrug, as if challenging one of the most powerful people in the sect was an everyday occurrence.

"It’s only fair, right? I mean, you don’t strike me as someone who shies away from a little competition. Or… are you?"

The Matriarch’s lips quirked into a smile, equal parts amusement and intrigue.

"Oh, Junior apprentice, you silver-tongued rogue. You really know how to get under a woman’s skin, don’t you? Fine. The game’s on. But tell me—what exactly do you want if you somehow, by some miracle, cure me?"

Artis held her gaze, his eyes gleaming with a mix of daring and mischief that made her blink in surprise.

Then, with the confidence of a man who had absolutely no business being this confident, he smiled.

"I want to know if my techniques can actually work on someone as powerful as you. Winning this bet will prove they do. But that’s not enough, is it? That doesn’t mean all my tricks and techniques—"

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He put heavy emphasis on the words, his voice filled with innuendo.

"—that I study in the future will work too."

He lifted a finger, his grin widening.

"So my condition is simple. If I win, I get to massage you whenever I want. No questions, no complaints, and no saying no."

The room went silent. For a moment, even the air seemed to freeze as the sheer audacity of his words hung in the space between them.

The Matriarch’s expression shifted, first to shock, then amusement, then something unreadable. Finally, she chuckled—a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Artis’s spine.

"Oh, Junior apprentice," she purred, her voice low and silky, "you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. But you’ve intrigued me. Very well. If you can cure my pain… then my body is yours to experiment on."

...

Step. Step.

Artis’s boots echoed against the polished floor, each sound a little reminder of how deep into this crazy game he’d gotten himself.

The Matriarch had promised she’d summon him soon, and honestly, just hearing her say that had been enough to send a shiver down his spine.

But his mind was spinning.

’She’s fucking with me. I know she’s fucking with me. There’s no way she’s this nice, this... playful, without a reason. What the fuck does she want?’

He clenched his fists, trying to calm the storm raging in his head.

Every damn character in the novel had a motive—whether it was stealing a loaf of bread or saving the world with the power of friendship.

Even the original Artis, a shameless bastard who probably jerked off to his own reflection, had a motive for hanging out with degenerate pricks like Young Master Jin.

And let’s be honest, Artis was a degenerate—naturally, beautifully, unapologetically so. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that every move had a reason behind it.

His motive? Oh, that was crystal fucking clear.

"To become a damn lord..."

He muttered under his breath. His lips curled into a sly grin.

"Or, more accurately, to usurp that old bastard Patriarch’s throne and shove his dusty ass off it. Simple goals."

His steps slowed as he approached the massive double doors in front of him. They loomed tall, dark, and unnecessarily fucking intimidating, as if whoever designed them wanted visitors to shit themselves before entering.

Artis took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and wiped the imaginary sweat from his brow.

’Alright, Junior apprentice. Time to be the bold bastard you are. This is just another step towards greatness… and maybe some tits. Let’s fucking go.’

He raised his hand and knocked firmly. The sound echoed ominously, as if the doors themselves were laughing at his audacity.

A moment later, a familiar voice rang out from behind the imposing doors.

"Come in, brother!"

Jin’s tone was full of its usual bravado, dripping with that carefree arrogance only someone with too much power and not enough responsibility could master.

Artis pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside, greeted by the usual entourage. Jin, lounging like a king on his oversized chair, looked up with a wide grin.

Beside him stood Chen, his ever-loyal shadow, while Jin’s maids fluttered around him like nervous sparrows, their hands busy tending to his every whim.

"Welcome, welcome, brother! It’s been too fucking long. How are we gonna celebrate this?"

Jin boomed, his hands spreading wide as though he were about to give Artis a hug—which, thankfully, he didn’t.

Artis felt a faint smile tug at the corner of his lips. Jin’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if it was wrapped in layers of narcissism.

"Booze, brother..."

Artis said, his voice confident and steady, though his mind was anything but.

"Lots of booze. Let’s hit the tavern and really fucking celebrate."

Outwardly, he matched Jin’s energy, but inside, his thoughts were much darker.

’Yeah, booze. Not for me, though. Oh no, brother… This is for someone else. Someone who’s about to become a full-blown cuck.’