Chapter 119
“The Lord is offering the Sanctum Prayer in place of Del Rose.”
“The Sanctum Prayer?! We must awaken Del Rose’s sacred power without delay—”
Arzeletta recalled the conversation between the priest named Carmen and the unfamiliar man. The voices had been hushed and urgent, clearly laced with a sense of crisis. She was certain now. The man standing before her was enduring some kind of torment in Theogrim’s place.
She cried, relieved that the one she had given her love to was safe. And then she cried again, this time in fear of her own selfishness. The thought that someone else could suffer in his stead—that it was enough as long as her beloved remained unharmed.
The emotion trying to soothe and convince her that such reasoning was acceptable was, of all things, love. That noble and beautiful thing called love was terrifying and sorrowful.
Ragnar’s violet eyes widened slightly. It was a question he hadn’t expected in the slightest.
“Were you worried?”
About me? The one everyone fears, yet to whom everyone entrusts their burdens?
He couldn’t bring himself to answer. He simply watched the young maid nod once more and then fell silent. The tears that dampened his fingers stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. It was a kind of concern and comfort he had never experienced from anyone who shared in his strength and power. And yet, it came from a woman of such lowly status.
“This is something I have to bear,” he finally said.
She didn’t answer.
“It’s not a sin that he should have to repay.”
The last words were soft, almost a whisper, but firm. He seemed to be speaking to himself. His voice carried a trace of a sigh, foreign even to him, but there was no hesitation in it.
The sigh brushed against Arzeletta’s lips, carrying the refined scent she had recognized before from his cloak. A sigh from someone she thought incapable of fear or anguish—it collapsed something inside her. Just as her tender fragility slowly chipped away at Ragnar’s armor.
She clung to the hem of his sleeve, and Ragnar watched. He saw her eyelashes tremble in response to his breath, saw her tears fall, saw her lips part softly as if to let out a sigh. His gaze, obsessive to the point of near possession, held her fast—not because he willed it, but because he simply could not look away.
He watched her tears silently dampen his fingers and then spoke again.
“What on earth are you…”
She didn’t answer.
“…Why are you doing this to me?”
At his words, her lips parted once more. His violet eyes darkened with weight, and he gently pressed his thumb—wet with her tears—against her petal-like lips. The sensation that struck him felt like being pierced deep in his core.
He hadn’t meant to look at her like this. He swore it.
He simply couldn’t leave this reckless maid to wander outside the castle in the middle of the night.
But from the beginning…
“Ah…”
From the very beginning.
Before Ragnar’s thoughts could even finish, Arzeletta’s legs gave out.
Like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut, Arzeletta’s body collapsed, and Ragnar’s hands caught her firmly.
“What the…”
Arzeletta’s eyes widened. At the same time, her breathing grew rapid. Completely reliant on his arms, she blinked her green eyes and looked up at him—as if searching for an answer.
Her gaze, confused and locked on him, was clear. As always, it held no suspicion. The sound of Arzeletta’s small heart pounding reached Ragnar’s ears. The breath she now exhaled through the lips that had just been under his touch quickly turned hot.
Ragnar wanted to bite his tongue. In that instant, he realized he had missed something.
“…I’m sorry.”
It had become so familiar that he had forgotten to remove the incense in his room.
The scent of red lilies—a sweet and dangerous fragrance said to be capable of driving even the coldest assassin to madness with just one breath.
“Wait here a moment.”
“What… is this…”
“…It was careless of me. I’ve never had anyone in my room. I forgot.”
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