From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 118

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

As they walked down the corridor, someone appeared. The priest guiding Arzeletta came to a stop. It seemed his name was Carmen.

“Del Rose’s ritual was interrupted.”

The voice was tense, as if something serious had happened. Upon hearing the news, Arzeletta gasped softly under her veil.

The man who had spoken urgently addressed Carmen again.

“What happened?”

“There’s no need for concern.”

“This has never happened before.”

“The lord himself is offering the Sanctum Prayer in Del Rose’s stead.”

“The Sanctum Prayer! We must awaken Del Rose’s sacred power as soon as possible—”

“There’s no need to doubt the lord’s decision.”

The man fell silent at Carmen’s firm reply, which was as sharp as the look in his eyes. His face still showed traces of unease, but Carmen was right. The will of the lord was absolute.

Arzeletta felt her breath quicken slightly at this new piece of information.

…Theogrim had escaped that horrific ritual.

The man said no more and bowed his head toward Carmen.

Though his retreating figure still radiated unresolved anxiety, Carmen, who resumed walking, showed no sign of hesitation.

“Go in.”

He was not suffering. At least not today—and tomorrow as well.

Arzeletta bit her inner lip. What she felt in that moment was relief.

Maybe that was why.

The moment she stepped into Ragnar’s room, the moment she removed her veil in his completely dark room—tears helplessly streamed down from Arzeletta’s green eyes.

“…You.”

It was Ragnar who was taken aback.

She was always the maid who caught him off guard, but it felt like there hadn’t been a single moment—from beginning to end—when her presence didn’t somehow unsettle him.

But for her to start crying the moment she entered…

“What in the world…”

Ragnar gently set Arzeletta’s veil down on the table.

His large hand cupped the maid’s face. Since she was still holding the tray, Arzeletta couldn’t do anything but allow Ragnar’s hand to take hold of her face.

Arzeletta’s tear-streaked face was clear. Even in the center of his room, where the black tiles and crimson stained glass gave off a slightly eerie atmosphere, she looked as pale and translucent as she did under the moonlight. Whether it was among wildflowers or in the forest where the small spring lay, she always had this same face.

Ragnar took the tray from her and personally set it on the table.

Then, embracing Arzeletta’s small body, he lowered himself. His lips touched Arzeletta’s.

He swore to God—this had never been his intention from the start.

He could swear it on the honor of a Holy Knight. As he felt the maid’s hands cautiously winding around his back, Ragnar thought it over again and again.

“Haa.”

The maid’s quickly quickened breath tickled the man’s tongue. His arms wrapped more tightly around her slender body.

Arzeletta’s eyelashes brushed against the man’s face. The trembling sensation was unbearably vivid.

The soft flesh that accepted his tongue, slightly parted in submission, and the tongue that responded with a gentle lick—everything was breaking down this steadfast man in an instant.

…Truly, this had never been his intention from the beginning.

“Why are you crying?”

He asked as their lips parted slightly. His voice came out rough, as though scratched, as if it had grown hoarse. Arzeletta quietly blinked her tear-drenched eyelids.

“Arzeletta.”

“……”

“Was it… frightening, coming to me?”

“No, it’s not.”

The moment she saw the guilt cloud his face, Arzeletta shook her head. At her small but clear answer, Ragnar’s hard expression relaxed ever so slightly.

The lord’s large, firm fingertips wiped away the maid’s tears.

Of everything his hands had ever touched in his life, this was the most fragile, the warmest, the most delicate feeling. Never before had he touched something so lowly, so weak, so fleeting.

She was like a spring petal—scattering in a light breeze, wounded by the gentlest brush against anything.

“What… is the Sanctum Prayer?”

Arzeletta asked carefully. The hand that had been wiping her tears paused.

“How do you know about that?”

“…I’m sorry. I overheard the priests talking.”

“That’s not something a maid like you should know.”

There was a quiet sigh mixed in, but it wasn’t scolding. If anything, it was closer to concern.

Arzeletta lifted her tear-filled eyes.

“Is it… something very painful?”

Like what Theogrim had endured.

She wondered if the suffering her beloved offered with his body every day equated to the pain of the Sanctum Prayer. Arzeletta thought about it.

Arzeletta knew of the cruelty of Impellias’s god. He demanded endless suffering from His followers. If someone’s pain disappeared, then someone else would be paying the price in equal measure.