From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 109

This work contains scenes of sadistic coercion and hardcore depictions of BDSM. Reader discretion is advised.

The light that Ragnar had imbued into his dagger yesterday was the same. The divine power he manifested was a pure, cold light that resembled Ragnar himself.

It felt as if touching it would cause one to freeze, and yet, it also seemed like it would lay bare even the deepest shame within a person’s heart.

“…Come here.”

After finishing everything, Ragnar lifted Arzeletta into his arms once again. Without a word, Arzeletta reached out and nestled into the arm extended to her.

“You weren’t even scared.”

Arzeletta, clinging to Ragnar’s firm neck, raised her gaze. At that look, Ragnar’s throat bobbed hard again.

But his voice remained strict and composed. There was not the slightest trace of intoxication in his tone.

“Even after going through something like that yesterday, to come to a place like this.”

What was this man telling her to fear right now? Was it the dead? Or…

“If you recklessly come outside the fortress again, I may not be able to protect you a second time.”

…Or was it the other possibility?

Arzeletta carefully looked up at the man’s towering, steadfast profile.

No matter how many times she looked, he was like a god of war sculpted from bronze. He appeared so strong that Arzeletta could not believe he was made of the same flesh and blood as her.

No sword or arrow could bring this man down. Just as none of the battle-hardened heretics ever had before.

Arzeletta slowly repeated his words in her mind.

…It seemed that what this man feared at this moment was failing to protect a mere maid like her.

What was he trying to protect her from?

The answer came easily.

This great holy knight surely did not fear the existence of the dead.

What he feared—was only himself. A path where he might betray his own will and turn away from God.

Arzeletta quietly opened her mouth.

To Ragnar, the sensation of Arzeletta in his arms at that moment—her black hair fluttering in the moonlight, her lips trembling as though hesitating to speak—was vividly clear.

“Then what… should I do?”

“……”

“If you call me, I can’t help but come. I crossed bridges and stony paths. Even if there were fire, I might have crossed it too. I, I…”

“……”

“I have to come to where you are.”

“…Please, let me stay by Your Lordship’s side.”

Again, the voice from that day overlapped with now. The moment he encountered her here, when such an impossible thing happened twice—it might have already been decided then.

“Ah…!”

The maid’s small body collapsed into Ragnar’s arms without resistance. With her ankle still unsteady, Arzeletta fell all the more easily into his embrace as he lifted her chin.

Through slightly parted lips, the man’s firm tongue pressed in. Arzeletta closed her eyes. The heat, burning from her heart, once again bloomed within her.

“Hoooh…!”

In the darkness, Arzeletta’s white body twitched.

Each moment the man’s touch brushed her skin, Arzeletta writhed her waist and trembled her shoulders, as if unbearable, as if startled.

The night air in the mountains was as cold as yesterday. Arzeletta gasped faintly, her body as transparent as pearls fully exposed before Ragnar’s eyes. She seemed to have forgotten even the cold.

Heat rose where they met. It was so wherever Ragnar’s fingertips, lips, and gaze touched.

With trembling fingertips, she gripped the shoulders of the man who held her.

Arzeletta easily dissolved while trapped in his firm arms. The conviction that she was safe within his arms, even if she scattered fragile like a petal, was conquering Arzeletta more easily.

The place where she lay her body was a small spring. A spot where the earth was somewhat soft, where the small sound of water veiled their heated moans thinly.

Daring to lie upon the Lord’s cloak spread on the ground, the utterly lowly maid gasped beneath the fingertips of the master who owned this entire domain. In an incomparably lovely manner.

“Hmph…”