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Chapter 36

  1. Home
  2. From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid
  3. Chapter 36
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This work contains scenes of sadistic coercion and hardcore depictions of BDSM. Reader discretion is advised.

The merchant’s eyes above the severed neck blinked and rolled toward a certain direction.

There, the eyes of the merchant—or rather, the man who had just been the merchant—saw.

A young man withdrawing a slender wire that had instantly wrapped around his neck and separated his head from his body.

“…….”

The eyelids directed at the young man blinked.

A well-proportioned, neat physique, graceful mannerisms.

Strangely, that figure felt familiar.

Like someone he had seen very often somewhere, somewhere…

Finally, the young man took off the mask he had been wearing on his face.

When the black mask was removed, a dazzlingly beautiful face was revealed.

For a moment, it felt as if all the surrounding light was converging in one place.

It was a face he had seen countless times in every territory where the Impellias temple was built, especially in the Rosenburg territory.

In every kind of shop, in portraits…

‘The Angel of Impellias.’

Behind his head was the halo gilded in gold leaf, an angelic image that stirred faith just by looking at the portraits.

Step, step.

The young man with the angel’s face approached the merchant’s neck. His composed footsteps drew nearer.

At last, the young man bent down and looked down at the merchant’s neck.

“…….”

His gaze, as if checking whether the severed neck was properly dying, held no emotion.

It was merely the attitude of looking at an inanimate object.

More than anything about the young man, the emptiness in that expression was the most chilling.

The merchant thought even in death that it was impossible for a human to erase expression so thoroughly.

It was as if…

‘A demon…’

Some other being had overwritten the skin of an angel.

“…….”

That was as far as his thoughts went.

Before the merchant’s pupils dilated, the last lingering image was the deep violet eyes and piercingly pure white hair that looked down at his dead self without feeling.


“It’s Exion.”

“The wild Exion.”

“Exion the bastard.”

Behind Exion walking on the main road followed all sorts of words.

It was rare for him to show his face in broad daylight.

Moreover, it was a shopping district—a place filled with stores for daily goods and shops that excited young ladies, far removed from the greatsword or combat accessories he usually carried.

“Scared of the red hair.”

A young lady whispered this to her friend while avoiding him, but contrary to their words, both their gazes never left Exion.

“He’s just like the devil Lucifel.”

“Honestly, he’s handsome.”

Another group of young ladies blushed and shook their heads at their friend’s words. Their flushed faces were redder than Exion’s hair.

“That’s Master Exion.”

“Look at that figure. Even the tight uniform looks amazing on him.”

“I heard he swings that big sword with one arm?”

“I wish I could be held on that shoulder just once.”

“Get a grip. He’s the bastard cast out by the lord. He’s cursed.”

“Right. They say a demon inhabits that red hair.”

Curious, admiring, and contemptuous sticky emotions were directed at Exion.

“You can’t follow the wild master’s seduction. He might devour your soul.”

In the end, the girl whose face had turned red nodded with tears in her eyes at her friend’s stern order.

Most ordinary subjects of the territory never left the land they were born in their entire lives.

And this place was the sacred land of Impellias, ruled by Lord Ragnar.

No matter how high the young master was or how strong one’s feelings were, at least within the Rosenburg territory, there was no way to live by following one who was rejected by the law.

“But he’s really cool…”

A young lady who had been staring blankly at the place Exion had just passed murmured as if dreaming.

“How wonderful it would be if only his hair weren’t red.”

Sighs and resignation. And a faint hope that still hadn’t been extinguished lingered familiarly around Exion.

But Exion himself didn’t hear any of the words around him.

He walked the main road with long strides, lost in thought.

Arzeletta had collapsed. And lay sick for several days.

No matter how much he thought about it, it was because of him.

“…….”

Recently, Exion had constantly felt heat rising to the tips of his hair. His red hair was at risk of becoming even redder.

He didn’t know why his mind was twisted like this.

But one thing was certain.

Arzeletta.

From beginning to end, the one who made him angry was Arzeletta.

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    Tags:
    Female Protagonist, Obsessive Love, Past Trauma, Possessiveness, R19, Revenge

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    From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid

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