Chapter 85
Rustle.
“……!”
At the presence of Arzeletta, the man who had been standing and looking out over the lakeshore also turned around.
The man’s violet eyes slowly widened as he spotted her. Just as surprised as Arzeletta was, his face mirrored the same astonishment.
“You are…”
The man trailed off as he turned his body. Splash. The sound of water echoed. The presence of the man grew closer.
His strides, advancing toward her without hesitation, were firm. It was only then that Arzeletta, startled, tried to turn around—but she was soon caught by him.
It wasn’t Theogrim.
…It wasn’t Theogrim who had summoned her to this night.
“Ah…!”
The hand that gripped Arzeletta’s slender shoulder was large and solid. She drew in a breath.
He was the man she had feared all her life, the one who had always terrified her—yet never once had he ever used physical strength against her like this.
“…How did you know to come here?”
The one who stood before Arzeletta, who had run to the lake, was Ragnar.
Trapped by his gaze, without any path of escape, Arzeletta felt as though she couldn’t breathe.
…The gaze the lord directed at her was more chilling than any she had ever experienced.
“Answer me, maid.”
“I, I…”
“…Did you come here knowing I’d be here?”
“No, no, my lord. Absolutely not…”
Arzeletta shook her head. She had no idea what she could do other than weakly shaking it.
At the same time, she felt herself sink rapidly into despair.
Because it wasn’t Theogrim who had summoned her to this night lake, guided her here with that mysterious, binding force between them.
“Please…”
Because of that, Arzeletta realized a little too late that the lord’s hand gripping her shoulder was wet.
“……!”
The moment she realized it, Arzeletta drew in a breath.
He—Lord Ragnar, who had never once shown a disheveled appearance before anyone—was now completely soaked from head to toe.
As though he had just stepped out from a bath. As though he had submerged himself fully into the lake water.
“…….”
Moonlight streamed down along the water droplets glistening on the wet upper body of the man. Incredibly, he wasn’t wearing any clothes.
Arzeletta reached deep into her memories. He was a man who never revealed his body in front of others. No matter how hot the day, he wouldn’t even roll up his sleeves, always buttoning his uniform to the collar.
If not for the hair as pale as moonlight and those rare violet eyes harder than any other, she would not have thought the man before her was the great Lord Ragnar she knew.
“Ah…”
A painful lump rose in Arzeletta’s throat. Her pale, transparent neck trembled faintly, enough to reveal even the blue of her veins, and the man’s grip on her shoulder tightened again. Arzeletta could barely breathe. She forgot even the pain under the overwhelming fear.
She couldn’t bring herself to turn and look. She didn’t have the courage to face the lord’s body—wet, exposed from the waist up, like a bronze warrior carved from solid metal. His presence, his form, his state.
She had no choice but to take in the suffocating gaze of the lord, unable to avoid it. The man’s eyes blazed.
Why is he… so angry.
Truly, he was someone who had never easily revealed emotion to others. The unshakable, cold mask that always made him appear close to the divine—under this strange moonlight, it had been cast aside.
“Who are you.”
At Ragnar’s words, which slipped through his clenched teeth, Arzeletta flinched.
“Answer me. Who sent you here, maid?”
“L-… Lord, I…”
“Who put you up to this?”
The hand that had been gripping her shoulder suddenly moved to her nape.
“……!”
With her neck seized in his one hand, Arzeletta gasped in shock.
“Was it the heretics of Salmane?”
Wet silver hair fell across the man’s forehead. It was the face of a war god carved from marble.
This expression of emotion felt unfamiliar. It truly wasn’t like him. Arzeletta clung to Ragnar’s hand that was choking her. His arm, like iron, didn’t budge even as she gripped it with both of hers.
“Did they send you? To shake me, corrupt me, and destroy me?”
“My lord… ah, my lord…”
“How did you know I was here?”
Arzeletta’s grip on the man’s hand grew even more desperate.
It was the lord’s hand—always hidden behind gloves. For the first time, she realized what kind of weapon had been concealed beneath that formal attire all this time. It was the hand of a warrior capable of smashing even stone, a hand that had slaughtered countless heretics.
She was out of breath. The hand gripping her neck was as solid as rock. If he applied just a little more pressure, her neck might snap before she even suffocated.
“Answer me.”
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