From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 37

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

There were countless reasons why Arzeletta got on his nerves.

First of all, Exion hated weakness. He absolutely despised those who got hurt in such a pathetic, clueless way.

And the ones who toyed with and pushed Arzeletta around were, in Exion’s eyes, nothing but trash.

To sum it up, they were the kind who knew how to pick out the weakest and crush them.

Those kinds of people were always the first to fawn over and obey power. Arzeletta, who was constantly swayed by those disgusting types and somehow gave them satisfaction, was like a pebble rolling around beneath Exion’s eyelids—constantly irritating.

That skinny body, as if he hadn’t had a proper meal in ages, was annoying. The clothes, torn and sewn back together again and again until they were ragged and flapping, were pure aggravation.

And yet, the fact that those rags draped over Arzeletta somehow looked like a tunic worn by a nymph from myth—that was what truly confused him.

“Theo…”

The moment that voice came to mind, Exion’s scalp heated up again. It felt like he could hear the lid popping off.

He’d stayed by his side for days, nursing him. And after all that, the first thing he said?

He wiped him, held him, gave him medicine, even fed him water. And just when it seemed like Arzeletta was coming to his senses, the very first name he called was that bastard’s.

After being held like that. After clinging to him like that.

“Over a hundred times… we kissed.”

Exion’s ears turned red. He knew it was wrong to think like that about someone who was sick, but he couldn’t help the way his lower stomach ached every time the memory came back.

Arzeletta, like a young beast, taking water from his mouth—he was unbearably lovable. His feverish, gasping breaths were swallowed whole into Exion’s own inhale.

Soaked in cool water, Arzeletta’s tongue and lips slick like a mermaid’s, that waist rising up and begging for more, the fingers that clung tightly to his neck…

Where had all of that gone?

Why was he always the one who got forgotten first, Arzeletta?

Why did it have to be—of all people—Theo-bastard-grim?

F*****g hell.

The wounds they shared were, out of all the f****d-up things, the most f****d-up.

But above all those f*****g things, the worst of them all was—

“…S**t!”

—himself, for ultimately letting Arzeletta see Theogrim that night.

“To live for you, to breathe for you, and to live for the joy of meeting death for you.”

The meaningless words Arzeletta had whispered before losing consciousness still wouldn’t leave his mind.

It was a world even he couldn’t bear and had run away from.

The fact that Theogrim endured such violence, and that he accepted it as a way to uphold their order—those were the reasons Exion despised and hated Theogrim, and at the same time, what fed into his sense of guilt.

Even so—

“You said you wanted to know what kind of person Theogrim, the one you like, really is?”

…Just because he wanted to hurt him. Because he wanted to shatter the image of the saintly Theogrim that existed in Arzeletta’s fantasy—just for that petty reason, the fact that he revealed the secret and hurt Arzeletta made Exion reproach himself.

The moment Theogrim collapsed, Arzeletta also lost consciousness. That memory remained as a significant wound for Exion as well.

“Damn it, damn it!”

The young ladies passing by flinched at Exion’s rough cursing and hurried their steps.

‘It’s like the two of them really are connected somehow.’

Connected—what a childish thought. Exion shook his head.

The fact that he had intended to hurt Arzeletta… It was indeed a disgraceful act for a knight who had been granted investiture.

It was something he should feel ashamed of. After all, it was a violation of the chivalric vow to respect and protect ladies.

The chivalry oath he had only ever recited with boredom at the investiture ceremony—he had never even thought about it until now, but regardless.

So it wasn’t wrong for it to bother him. With that thought in mind, Exion lifted his head.

“……”

Once he came to his senses, Exion checked the sign of the place where his steps had stopped.

It was the largest and most splendid shop in the Rosenburg territory.

Compared to the shops in the capital, it was modest, but within Rosenburg, where extravagance was forbidden, it was the most admired store among young ladies.