Chapter 143
Ragnar did not reply. The loyal knight bowed respectfully.
“Then, I will take my leave.”
“Wolfram.”
The knight turned at the Lord’s call.
His silver-white hair, which always inspired faith, and his violet eyes were nothing but pure.
The Lord, who outwardly seemed no different from usual, was now in turmoil. Feeling a certain sense of pride as his loyal subject, the young knight straightened his posture.
“You have been a loyal knight for a long time.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“If I were to make a decision that disappoints you…”
The knight, Wolfram, raised his chin.
“If such a thing were to happen, then you—”
“Such a thing will not happen.”
Wolfram dared to interrupt the Lord. Facing the noble violet eyes, Wolfram answered with gravity.
“I will not harbor any doubt in Your Lordship’s decision. That is the duty of a loyal knight.”
“……”
Ragnar silently faced the knight who replied without a moment’s hesitation. Wolfram bowed respectfully once more, then turned his back.
Left alone, Ragnar cast his gaze upon his domain, which unfolded outside the window.
His eyes had become more resolute.
He reminded himself once again of the trust of those who followed him and the responsibility placed upon his shoulders.
These were things he had believed he had never forgotten for a single moment.
Ragnar turned from the window and placed the flowers on a tray.
Looking down at the flowers without a word, Ragnar thought.
He could not postpone it any longer.
He had to make a decision.
The maid who arrived with the night knocked on his door.
The hands placing the tray on the long table, and then pulling back the black veil, now felt to him like a natural part of his daily routine.
At the green eyes finally revealed beneath the black veil, Ragnar pressed his lips together.
Like droplets of water on a dry branch in the spring sunlight, a lovely light green. The moment those verdant eyes met his gaze, he once again held his breath.
Soon, Arzeletta approached the table. Carrying the cup of sacrificial blood she had prepared herself today as well.
Ragnar took the cup Arzeletta offered to him.
Until he had drunk all of the sacrifice she offered, Arzeletta did not leave.
From the moment Ragnar took the sacrifice, Arzeletta’s eyes flickered with deep emotions. They were things akin to a certain fear, pity, and sorrow.
In that pity, what Ragnar read was an earnest devoutness.
Because he knew that this humble maid’s extraordinary faith meant that she placed deep meaning in the fact that he, the Lord, would consume the sacrifice she had offered herself.
The blood of the beast was hot, and the sweet something contained within it pulsed against the Holy Knight’s strong heart, but the presence of Arzeletta standing before him clouded his judgment.
In the blood, only blood exists. No impurities were mixed in. That was an undeniable truth.
The unfamiliar intoxication was because of the maid before him.
Thinking back, it was certain that something mystical had occurred between this maid and himself.
Just as she had wandered through the forest in search of him, he, too, had sought out the slaughterhouse, following her presence.
Having confirmed that he had emptied the cup, Arzeletta met Ragnar’s gaze.
Her eyes were so clean that just looking into them made his heart feel sad. Ragnar raised his hand and carefully traced the corner of the woman’s eye. Her long eyelashes trembled like a butterfly at his touch.
“Ah…”
As Ragnar’s hand lifted her chin, Arzeletta’s chest heaved.
Despite his fingertips having touched her hundreds and thousands of times, Arzeletta reacted as if each moment was the first whenever Ragnar’s hand touched her.
As if she had forgotten that just yesterday she had been on his bed, falling without end.
As if the ceaselessly intertwined breaths and the red marks left all over her body were all things that never happened. Arzeletta flinched at his touch, like someone experiencing all of this for the very first time today.
Such carefulness, such a petal-like softness that a small touch could leave a scar, tickled Ragnar’s heart of steel.
He was immune to none of this softness. Ragnar, who had never felt fear in front of all kinds of enemies, was overwhelmed with the urge to kneel at the sensation of a few strands of hair brushing his arm.
It was time to face the test set before him.
Arzeletta’s light green eyes settled obediently. He commanded Arzeletta, who had pressed her cheek against his hand that held her chin as if leaning on it.
“Arzeletta.”
“……”
“Wait for me in bed.”
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