Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel! Chapter 47: Mint Condition

Riven struggled against the ropes, his muscles straining as he fought for freedom. His ears twitched at every sound, his heightened senses picking up the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestone, the creak of the carriage wheels, and the murmur of voices outside.

The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and hay, and he could still sll the remnants of the tavern—cheap alcohol, sweat, and perfu clinging to his skin.

His heart pounded against his ribs. He had been in bad situations before, but this? This was a whole new level of disaster.

Riven gritted his teeth. He hated this. The helplessness, the uncertainty—it made his fur stand on end. He was not so defenseless, fragile oga who needed saving, damn it! Well, he was... At least right now.

He twisted his wrists, testing the knots. Tight. Whoever tied him up knew what they were doing.

"Stop struggling," ca a voice from the front. Riven frowned, his voice did not sound hot, he did not want to be forced to do it with a guy who was not hot.

Fine. If they thought he was going to sit quietly and accept whatever fate they had in store for him, they were dead wrong.

Riven’s ears flicked, listening carefully. There were at least two n—one speaking, and another one handling the reins. Maybe more. He needed to get them off guard.

Taking a slow breath, he slumped forward, letting his body go limp.

Silence.

"...Oi."

Riven didn’t move.

A slight shuffle, then a sharp poke to his ribs.

No reaction.

"Shit," the man muttered. "Did we tie him too tight?"

The carriage slowed slightly, and then warm hands grabbed his arm, shaking him. "Oi, oga. You dead?"

That was his chance.

Riven lunged, slamming his forehead into the man’s nose with all the force he could muster.

"Fuck!" The man reeled back, cursing.

Riven didn’t waste a second. He twisted his body, using his legs to kick out blindly. His foot collided with sothing—soone—hard enough that they grunted in pain.

"Son of a—!"

The carriage lurched violently, and before Riven could brace himself, he was thrown forward. His body tilted, his balance gone. He gritted his teeth, prepared to hit the cold hard ground.

Gods of BL, save !

As if he had been answered by the gods of BL, he was caught by a strong pair of hands.

The touch was firm, steady, yet oddly careful, as if handling sothing fragile. Riven froze, breath hitching as he felt himself being righted, held in place until his footing stabilised.

The hands lingered only for a mont, adjusting his bindings with precision—tightening them just enough to prevent escape, but loosening the areas that could bruise.

The realisation made his stomach turn, he was not being rescued...

Whoever had tied him up before did it sloppily, rushed. But this person? They were thodical, practiced. This wasn’t their first ti restraining soone.

Before Riven could voice his fury, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Did I not warn you that I do not like it when my collections get a single dent or scratch on them?"

Riven stilled.

The voice was deep, magnetic, smooth yet laced with sothing sharp. It wasn’t the sa person who had caught him—no, this voice ca from a distance, but its weight carried absolute authority.

Riven’s ears twitched, his gut telling him one thing: This was the boss.

His so-called ’buyer.’

The air in the carriage grew heavy with silence. He could sense his kidnappers’ tension, their fear palpable even without seeing their faces.

"M-Master, we assure you, he is unhard—"

"Mint condition," the voice interrupted, slow and deliberate. "That is what I requested. You failed the terms of the contract."

Riven barely had ti to process what that ant before it happened.

A sickening crunch.

A gurgled scream.

Then—silence.

The scent of blood filled the air, sharp and tallic, seeping into his nose even before his mind caught up with what just occurred.

His captors were dead.

His heartbeat quickened.

The grip on his bindings never wavered, but he felt a shift in the atmosphere. A presence. Sothing cold, calculated, watching him even through the blindfold.

Then—fingers.

A chilling touch trailed along his jaw, firm yet careful, tilting his face upward as though inspecting him.

Riven inhaled sharply, his entire body rigid.

"A very fine species," the voice murmured.

The fingers lingered for a mont before pulling away, leaving behind a ghostly coldness on his skin.

Then, without another word, he was lifted—handled with the sa unnerving gentleness as before—and placed into another carriage. This one felt different. The seat was softer beneath him, the air inside less musty, carrying a faint scent of sothing expensive—polished wood, a hint of spiced cologne.

Whoever this man was, he was wealthy. Powerful. And he had just killed an entire group of people with nothing but a few words.

Riven swallowed hard.

His blindfold remained, but he knew he was being escorted sowhere far beyond the grimy taverns he was used to. The wheels rolled smoothly over the path, not the uneven cobblestone from before, but sothing more refined.

He could not die yet! He did not top anyone yet! He only experienced one man! He does not accept this!

Riven shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his ears flicking as he tried to process his situation. The carriage was surprisingly smooth, the seats plush, the air inside free of the stench of sweat and stale alcohol he had grown accustod to.

If he ignored the fact that he was bound, blindfolded, and essentially kidnapped, he might have called the ride comfortable.

But how comfortable could he be when he knew he was being taken sowhere unknown, with no idea what awaited him?

If the BL gods were really listening to him, they should make sure his buyer was hot... And a man... Because he did not want to get together with a female alpha! He was not gay!

Wait...