From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 23

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

“Just go to the city and sell yourself for money. There are plenty of freaks in the big cities with weird tastes.”

Exion’s other hand gripped Arzeletta’s back tightly. His fingers dug into the still-damp wounds, and Arzeletta couldn’t even scream—she only gasped for air.

“With that grotesque back of yours, they’d pay just to get a look.”

Exion spoke through gritted teeth, his words biting as they pierced into the strange scars on Arzeletta’s back. Yet even as he said them, his gaze remained fixed on her beautiful lips and those trembling eyes on the verge of tears.

The hand that had been tracing her back now touched her cheek.

Much of what Exion had just said was sincere.

If this woman ever chose to trade her beauty for money, she could probably amass enough gold to buy the entire territory.

She could bring the world to its knees. Exion genuinely believed that.

The laws in Rosenburg were strict. If one were caught trading s*x, it meant immediate execution. A city with no pleasure, where the only permitted pastime was disgust.

And if that disgust was armed with the laws and morals ordained by the legal code, then it was fully justified.

For that reason, scorning Arzeletta had become a communal pastime in the town.

If she ever dared to demand payment for her body, people would immediately invoke the law and tear her apart. But when she was weak and exposed, mocked by everyone’s hands and desires, they all turned their heads as if by silent agreement—only to look back again and take pleasure in watching.

“…Well, it’s not like you have a way out of here.”

Arzeletta had nothing. Though Rosenburg was prosperous, it was a closed city; the only way out was by crossing the Derden Mountains.

In such a place, Arzeletta was not even a proper maid.

Her severely damaged body had been deemed unholy, and she was denied entry into the temple.

She did the tasks that the manor’s maids avoided, and what little wage she received mostly ended up in the overseer’s pocket. After satisfying her daily hunger, all that remained were a few coins.

For Arzeletta, who didn’t even own a decent set of clothes, to cross the mountains would be no different from getting lost and becoming food for beasts.

“Want some help?”

At the unexpected words, Arzeletta lifted her trembling eyelids.

“If you ever want to leave.”

“…….”

“If you manage to please me, maybe my men can take you with them when they go.”

Arzeletta blankly stared at Exion’s strangely flushed face. She couldn’t tell whether he was testing her or not.

“You’ll still get used like you do here. But at least you won’t have to scrub that damned laundry again. You’ll just lie back on a silk bed and take c***s. Moaning for those rich lords. No one will insult you. They’ll praise you as a goddess and worship you.”

“…….”

“So, what do you think?”

Arzeletta immediately shook her head. It was the answer Exion had expected, but the speed of the refusal was even faster than he’d anticipated, and it left him oddly displeased.

In this wretchedly noble land, did she truly mean to go on living like this?

“Why not?”

“…….”

“You’re fine with being treated like this forever?”

“Si, Sir Theogrim….”

At the foolishly honest response, Exion’s hand, which had been tracing Arzeletta’s cheek, stopped.

For a moment his face went expressionless, then he twisted his lips into a harsh sneer.

“Ah. That’s right. You liked Theogrim, didn’t you.”

“…….”

“So that’s why you’re sticking around, putting up with this treatment, crawling through the dirt at the bottom of the territory just to stay near him.”

Exion lifted his head, his interest gone. Theogrim. The great Theogrim.

It was already the second time his mood had been ruined by that damnably sacred name entangled with this woman.

The burn on Theogrim’s face was a symbol of holiness, while the burn on this woman’s back was a symbol of sin. Though both wounds had come from the same fire on the same day, their meanings were entirely different depending on status.

Because the holy skin of the chosen one had been scarred in order to save this lowly woman, she had no grounds for complaint when she was condemned again and again. And Exion had no interest in such injustice.

But what he couldn’t deny was the strange sense of incongruity he felt every time he looked at Theogrim’s face, the nauseating discomfort when he saw the scars they had left on each other.

It was like… a brand. As though they were destined to forever be beings of significance to each other.

“…Do you know why Theogrim is the chosen one?”