Eating Meat, The Feast Ninth Royal Uncle Prepared for Zed

Zed had always believed that he was brought to the county yamen as a victim. Even if no parents came to claim him, he shouldn’t be mistreated. But upon arriving, he realized things were not as he’d imagined.

“Uncle, why did you bring me here?” Zed blinked his large eyes, full of confusion and uncertainty, with a hint of fear he tried hard to hide.

Even if he didn’t know much about the outside world, he understood this was a jail—a place for locking up criminals. Back in the Demon Sect, he was always the one pulling prisoners out of their cells to butcher them however he pleased, and no one cared.

“Orders from above,” the constable replied, a bit reluctant. But they could only follow orders, silently feeling sorry for Zed.

Such a small child… Who knew what his family had done to offend someone so badly, to make them want to destroy him like this?

“Uncle, I don’t get it…” Zed’s face was so lost it was almost painfully adorable—like a clueless kitten. But no matter how cute or pitiful he looked, it wasn’t enough to move these constables.

Sympathy was one thing, but none of them would risk offending their superiors or losing their jobs over a child who had nothing to do with them.

“Enough questions. You’ll see soon enough.” Another constable, face stony, avoided looking at Zed. When Zed hesitated, he gave him a shove.

Zed staggered forward, saying nothing more. Head bowed, no one could see what he was thinking.

Zed was just a kid—still green and naive. He thought his smarts and quick hands would get him out of anything, anywhere. What he didn’t know: there are places in this world where brains don’t count for squat. Ninth Royal Uncle had tossed him right into one, determined to show him what real cruelty looks like.

With those little tricks, Zed was nothing in front of real heavy-duty criminals. Strip away his Young Lord of the Demon Sect title, and he was just another nobody.

The constable marched Zed to the deepest cell. It was cramped, and barely anyone inside. Zed couldn’t help letting out a tiny sigh of relief.

Only six men—two crippled, two so thin they looked like sticks, and the last two huddled in the corners where Zed couldn’t see them.

"Get in." The constable unlocked the cell door. None of the six prisoners even glanced up.

The same constable who’d spoken to Zed earlier couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. As Zed entered, he quickly whispered in his ear, "Kid, be careful in there. These men aren’t—"

“Stupid kid, yelling for help won’t do you any good here. Be a good boy and listen to us, maybe you’ll last a little longer. Give me your hand.” The man was practically drooling, eyeing Zed like he was a gourmet meal served up just for him.

The six men didn’t react at all, keeping their positions. The constable didn’t care, just gave Zed a look that said ‘good luck,’ and left.

Cannibalism—kids called ‘two-legged sheep’—wasn’t just some story. When the Former Dynasty collapsed and the Four Kingdoms first rose, war after war left countless children eaten alive.

Rebels with no food would just grab people and boil them up. And kids? To them, children were the juiciest, most tender ‘two-legged sheep’ around.

“What… What are you doing?” The cold, blood‑scented air made Zed tremble all over. This feeling—fear—was something he’d never experienced before.

“This kid’s skin is so fine and tender. I wonder how he’d taste roasted.” The tall, pale, skinny man licked his lips hungrily.

Another man pinched Zed’s cheek. “Definitely a rich kid—so pink and tender. No need to roast him, just eating him raw would be fresh enough.”

With that, he grabbed Zed with one hand and lifted him up.

“What are you doing? Let me go, let me go!” Zed could sense how dangerous these men were… but the dagger he carried wasn’t enough to kill all four.

“Help! Somebody help!” Zed shouted at the top of his lungs, but not a single response came.

“Stupid boy, calling for help here is useless. If you just listen to us, maybe you’ll live a little longer. Give me your hand.” The man drooled as he spoke, staring at Zed like he was a gourmet feast laid out before him.

To these six men, Zed really was a ‘delicacy.’

How much meat could a six-year-old’s arm even have? Four bites from four men, and Zed’s forearm was just a bloody mess—nothing left but torn flesh.

Some rebels, when they ran out of food, just caught people and cooked them. Children were the most tender ‘two-legged sheep’ in their mouths.

The man holding Zed showed a little patience, but the others didn’t. Seeing Zed could only scream, they let their guard down. One grabbed his hand and, without warning, bit a chunk straight out of Zed’s arm.

“Ah—!” Zed screamed in pain, tears streaming down his face. He turned to look and saw a chunk of flesh bitten out of his small forearm.

The man’s mouth was smeared with blood. He chewed the raw flesh, savoring it with a look of pure enjoyment.

“Truly a top‑grade delicacy—so tender, so much meat. Delicious, delicious.” He still hadn’t had enough; after a few bites, he swallowed the flesh and grabbed Zed’s hand again.

“No—!” Zed screamed in terror. Another man immediately stepped up and slapped the first one’s hand away. “Let go.”

Just as Zed thought he was saved, the second man snatched his hand, picked another spot, and bit down hard—then leisurely licked the blood off Zed’s arm.

This place was hell itself—a nightmare cell that Ninth Royal Uncle picked out just for Zed. Nolan wanted him to taste real savagery, to know firsthand what it means to be powerless and terrified as prey.

Four men, each took a bite—only from Zed’s one hand.

For a six‑year‑old child, how much flesh could one hand have? After four bites, the whole forearm was a bloody ruin, not a patch of good meat left.

With a smack, the man tossed Zed aside, licking his lips in satisfaction. Zed nearly fainted from pain, but vaguely heard someone say, “That’s enough for today. Don’t go overboard—if you finish him in two or three days, there won’t be any more fine goods for you to feast on.”

Shivering, Zed’s face was deathly pale. With his uninjured hand, he reached into his clothes and felt for the little dagger at his chest, already making up his mind.

But before Zed could put his plan into action, the two crippled prisoners crawled over and stripped off his clothes in no time.

Zed tried to fight back, but how could a child’s strength compare to grown men? He did know a little martial arts, but none of these six prisoners were weaklings. Before he could even make a move, one of the lame men slapped him unconscious.

Zed’s head buzzed, his arms and legs useless. All he could do was watch as the two crippled men took his clothes and wrapped a filthy black cloth around his wounded left hand.

“Tie it tight. Don’t let him bleed out—he won’t taste good if he does.”

Furious, Zed wanted to kill them—but he realized that, after the beating, he didn’t even have the strength to move.

This place was hell on earth, a dungeon Prince Nolan had found especially for Zed. Nolan wanted Zed to understand true brutality—and what it meant to be helpless and terrified as the victim.

If, after suffering all this cruelty, Zed could still be that ruthless, then Nolan would give up on him for good…