Chapter 55
The burn scars that Theogrim’s followers mourned with pity only made Ianes all the more fiercely loyal. They were the marks left from saving a helpless girl from a fire. If those scars weren’t noble, then what could possibly be?
Theogrim stood up and looked out the window at the vast green land that had once been stained by the sinister power of a faerie. It was land he was meant to purify and rule.
“…The time for purification must be drawing near,” he said, clutching at his robes.
In Ianes’s eyes—eyes filled only with the glory of Del Rose—Theogrim’s fear didn’t show at all.
“Lowly woman.”
Ragnar’s chest tensed. His body wouldn’t move, as if bound by something invisible.
“Cursed being.”
The woman knelt in front of him and lowered her head. Her face, nape, arms, and soft b*****s were so pale and smooth they were almost dazzling. But the moment she bowed her head, her back was revealed—dark and deformed, grotesque like that of a beast. It was twisted and decayed, her shoulder blades oddly protruding here and there.
Ragnar studied her in silence, and suddenly swallowed hard. His entire body was growing cold. It was happening so quietly, so gradually, that he barely noticed it—but it was unmistakably real. Like a chill that creeps in just before dawn, the sensation began from within. From the deepest, most hidden part of his consciousness—the very bottom of a place he hadn’t even known existed.
“Lord.”
Despite the hateful words poured over her, Arzeletta crawled forward on her knees. Her naked body was so beautiful it was frightening. Her bare back and pale, slender calves were seared into Ragnar’s vision.
“You’ve tainted my heir.”
The words came from Ragnar’s lips like a machine. Hearing them, he felt a wave of shame—they sounded so pitiful, even to him.
“You’re cursed. You’re filthy. You will never enter heaven.”
“Lord.”
“You must live with your head buried in a place where no light shines. Among the vermin.”
“To be close to you, my lord.”
Ragnar stopped moving, as if frozen in place.
“That’s why I came here.”
“……”
“To the slaughterhouse ruled by Yoseph.”
Her green eyes were moist, but they didn’t look like they were filled with tears. There was no sadness in them. Only unwavering obedience.
The look in her eyes was the same one Ragnar had carried all his life, chasing after a god. That woman from his hallucination—she was now looking at him with that same gaze.
“To the point of giving herself to Yoseph.”
“…Enough.”
Ragnar shook his head roughly. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he was wavering.
To admit it would be the same as collapsing. He had firmly believed—no, he had been certain—that he had transcended pain, fear, desire, everything.
And yet, not to anyone else, but to Arzeletta—a woman regarded as the communal trash heap of the village—he was faltering, crumbling, and even worse… his body had reacted. The realization made Ragnar want to bite through his tongue.
“To meet you, my lord.”
“……”
“I came here to be close to you.”
But Ragnar couldn’t forget Arzeletta in that moment.
Until now, he had never once been shaken by any temptation. So why, why now—why was he having this dream about a woman covered in filthy, unsightly wounds?
“My lord…”
Arzeletta, having crawled on her knees, finally placed her hand on Ragnar’s lap. Feeling her touch through the uniform, Ragnar bit his lip, as if something had stabbed him in the gut.
Her eyes, looking up at him, were unbearably sweet and beautiful.
“Please bless me… even someone like me…”
Her slender fingers slipped beneath Ragnar’s uniform. Like a man from the old myths who had gazed upon Medusa’s head, Ragnar remained frozen as he watched her hand crawl across his thigh.
The sensation of her touch was vivid to the point of pain—cold like ice, hot like fire.
‘……!’
Her hand reached the very depth of him, tracing over his hard, firm thigh until it brushed against his p***s. At that instant, Ragnar pushed her away with all his strength.
Even after being shoved, she looked up at him without the slightest resentment. No matter how much she was trampled on, humiliated, or assaulted, her gaze toward him never wavered.
Here it was—the virtue he had preached countless times. The very words he had cried out to ignorant masses who didn’t know God, as if spitting blood.
To believe in the power of the absolute. To obey unconditionally. To never bend, no matter the humiliation.
The obedience and submission he had failed to earn even while wearing robes of nobility—this woman was giving them freely.
And then—
Discussion
0 CommentsNo comments yet.