From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 66

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

“Th-there…!”

“What’s going on?”

“Suddenly, what… oh.”

The atmosphere abruptly changed. People one by one turned around. Soon, gasps of strained breath followed.

“Lo-Lord.”

“The Lord is here…!”

What the people discovered was their master, Ragnar, on a tall horse.

The startled villagers released Arzeletta.

“Hmph…!”

As the hands that had forcibly gripped her disappeared, Arzeletta was tossed aside as if discarded. Drops of blood quickly appeared on Arzeletta’s white skin.

“……”

Arzeletta slowly raised her head, supporting her crouched body with scrawny arms.

Through her hair, tangled and messy from being grabbed repeatedly, Arzeletta’s green eyes slowly widened.

In the darkness, a man on a huge horse was approaching.

The villagers, startled, immediately knelt. Clatter, clatter, the torches in their hands were thrown onto the dry stone ground.

Arzeletta blinked her moist eyes.

The Lord, who had appeared so suddenly, was exactly as Arzeletta had imagined him moments before.

Arzeletta was cast down to the lowest depths. Not just her body, but her mind, her emotions, and her very being.

The man she looked up at, barely able to lift her head while her entire self was abandoned on the dirt ground, was as always,

‘Kill him for me.’

He was overwhelmingly large and tall.

‘Take me out of this pain.’

As if he could never be reached. As if everyone’s praise was true, as if he should stand beside God, not mere humans.

Eventually, Ragnar emerged, pushing through the trees and bushes.

His expression was as unyielding as ever. Ragnar’s face rarely showed emotion. He did not commit the folly of betraying his feelings with his expression, and thus their authoritative Lord was a figure more fearsome and great, like a character in a holy painting.

But at this moment, Ragnar’s violet eyes were even more terrifying than usual.

Those who had been so swaggering in front of Arzeletta moments ago instantly fell to their knees at Ragnar’s appearance. Like scarecrows with their bases cut.

Ragnar then, still mounted on his horse, approached closer to the ominous circle formed by the red torchlight.

Those who had been fiercer and more threatening than anyone to Arzeletta were now prostrate, bodies flat against the ground. The person who had grabbed and shaken Arzeletta’s hair, the women who had stripped and dressed her without permission, and even the burly men who had drooled over Arzeletta’s body and presumptuously reached out—all of them.

They lay flat on the ground, glancing nervously at those prostrate beside them.

“It should be forbidden to enter or leave the castle at this hour.”

“My, My Lord.”

“W-well, that is…”

“The discipline of the guard seems to have loosened. The guards will be held strictly accountable.”

The sound of dry swallowing was distinct amidst the terrifying silence. Arzeletta flinched her shoulders, cowering even smaller.

Each syllable Ragnar uttered was as cold as an ice shard. Arzeletta hunched her shoulders, as if the man’s words were rolling down her like cold rain.

Eventually, Ragnar’s gaze turned to the two beasts, discarded like criminals and cowering.

“……”

Arzeletta felt his sharp gaze pierce her skin. She knew without looking.

It was a gaze that had followed her her entire life, from the moment she first entered this domain in Theogrim’s arms.

He was the great ruler of this domain. A man manifested in human form, in place of God.

Ragnar’s gaze, as he looked upon her—a dirty impurity clinging to his heir—determined Arzeletta’s existence in this domain.

He was a god, a being awake both night and day. Arzeletta felt Ragnar’s gaze, scorning and despising her, emanating from everything in the world. Every object, every tree, the flowing clouds, and the wind—all possessed Ragnar’s eyes.