From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 145

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

‘Theo.’

Arzeletta trembled in fear. If her identity were discovered, it wouldn’t be her alone who was affected. On the day her back was covered in scars, Theogrim had also sacrificed his face.

No one in this domain was unaware that Saint Theogrim had saved Arzeletta from the fire.

If it were discovered now that she, a fairy, had been hidden in this holy domain all this time, not only she but Theogrim would also be in danger.

Arzeletta’s body shook violently. The man’s hands traced her back systematically, as if he did not know her.

The man’s persistent gaze meticulously examined Arzeletta’s back.

There were strange-looking scars on her back, but that was all. He simply understood them as badly melted scars and traced the wound.

Just as he had, up until now, observed, kissed, and traced every corner of Arzeletta’s beautiful body.

Ragnar now made no attempt to hide his desire for this lowly maid’s scars.

“……!”

Ragnar’s lips touched the most gruesome scar, the very place where her wings had been cut off. Arzeletta’s shoulders trembled, but Ragnar did not stop.

As if releasing a breath he had held for a long time, Ragnar licked her wounds and buried his nose in the end of them. He even pressed down on Arzeletta’s body with his hands to stop her from flinching, and explored her old wounds. Thoroughly, to his satisfaction.

Ragnar’s hand glided along the border between the dark burn area and her pearlescent skin. Arzeletta weakly fluttered, burying her face in the sheets.

This scar was Arzeletta’s existence, her original sin.

Because in this world, being born a fairy was a sin itself.

And Arzeletta now felt the most sublime person in this room placing his lips on the most ugly and impure thing, as if in adoration.

It was a moment that brought back the time when this high and mighty person had once come to the dirty slaughterhouse for her. The violet eyes that had silently watched her amidst the blood, stench, filth, and smell of garbage.

This kind of thing, this kind of place, did not suit him.

The place beside God suited him. He was a person who should be enveloped in the most precious and noble scents. He was a great Lord and a Holy Knight, and he was not a person who should be kissing such a dirty scar.

…Above all, this scar was the proof that she had pledged her existence to another man.

It was the very essence of obedience and subordination that would not end except through death, the proof that she had followed Theogrim by holding his hand into this world.

Arzeletta’s scar was a mockery of Ragnar’s will, the will that had made this domain a holy land of Impellias.

In this sacred land that Ragnar held as his faith, she, a heretic, was hiding herself with her scars and deceiving this man.

So, this person alone…

“Ah, My Lord, Lord…”

“Shh. You are very pretty, Arzeletta.”

“Ah, stop, please…”

He should not be kissing this scar so gently.

“…Beautiful.”

“……”

Arzeletta buried her face in her hair from Ragnar’s kisses and touches that poured down onto her horribly disgusting back.

Lying facedown, she hid her face with both hands. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

Ragnar kissed and caressed Arzeletta’s scars for a long time. His lips, licking the wounds as if they were a particularly sensitive erogenous zone, were clandestine, and his touch was as careful as if he were handling a noble lady.

It’s strange. Arzeletta thought, even as she sobbed with anxiety and sorrow.

It was more passionate than any caress she had ever received. It was different from the usual him, who had always been a man who desired her intensely, but whose demeanor was always composed.

Today, he was hasty, hot… and to be more precise, he was honest.