From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 19
Theogrim furrowed his brow, recalling Exion’s name.
The cursed scoundrel.
A red-haired brat who, despite inheriting the blood of Impellias the Holy Knight, only caused trouble based on his whims.
Theogrim massaged his neck, stiff with a sudden feeling of displeasure.
The fact that Arzeletta had been remarkably unmentioned earlier amplified his uneasy suspicions.
But he couldn’t ask Exion, of all people.
The cloak he had given to Arzeletta had a spell on it.
It was a curse spell that brought death upon anyone who threatened Arzeletta’s body.
That was a heretical magic strictly forbidden in Impellias.
According to the spell placed on the cloak, the man had died, and the curse had vanished. No evidence would have remained on the cloak.
But now, all the circumstances vividly drawn before him enraged Theogrim.
What the ill-behaved low-ranking soldier had tried to do to Arzeletta, and how that curse had been fulfilled through Exion’s hand.
“……”
And why Exion hadn’t said a single word about Arzeletta.
Why that scoundrel was displaying an unfitting sense of chivalry. All of it.
Theogrim turned his body. No suspicion had been properly resolved. As Theogrim walked away from the messy prayer room, the sound of bells echoed behind him. It was the bell signaling the start of evening.
The heretical spell must have been enacted by the hand of the cursed red-head, Theogrim thought to himself.
…At least Arzeletta was safe.
She was still, from head to toe, entirely his own.
“Del Rose.”
Someone followed Theogrim as he walked down the corridor. Theogrim stopped.
“The Lord is waiting. It is almost time for purification…”
The priest looked up at Theogrim with a obsequious smile. Had it already gotten so late? Looking out the window, indeed, a blood-red sunset was slowly spreading.
“Is the Lord ready?”
“He has finished preparations.”
Theogrim nodded. Understanding his meaning, the priest immediately walked ahead, and Theogrim’s footsteps echoed down the long corridor as he followed.
The icy eyes from the prayer room, the anger and confusion, were nowhere to be seen.
The red evening sunset fell like blood upon Del Rose’s face as he walked towards his duty without any wavering.
Arzeletta watched the square, hidden behind a wall.
The dead man’s body and head hung separately on a rotting wooden frame.
Next to it, Del Rose’s terribly soiled cloak and a picket detailing the dead man’s crimes were stuck into the ground.
The central avenue, usually bustling with people, was even more crowded. Passersby threw stones at the executed corpse, shouting fierce curses.
“Filthy bastard!”
“How dare he steal Del Rose’s belongings?”
“He clearly took gold from the devil and tried to sell it!”
“He always had terrible conduct! He sold his soul to Satan!”
Arzeletta watched them silently. Despite the harsh curses and stern anger, they seemed delighted.
Arzeletta was familiar with those expressions. They were the expressions they wore when they grabbed her hair and plunged her into the water while she was doing laundry with her head bowed, or when they tripped her on the street, making all her laundry spill onto the ground.
Under the great honor of Lord Ragnar von Rosenburg, the Rosenburg domain was controlled by strict laws. It was excessively ascetic and isolated.
Clowns and theater troupes could not easily stay in this city. Popular storybooks, luxuries for pleasure, and excessive food were all forbidden.
At night, in this place where the starlight in the sky was the only joy, the execution of a prisoner was the most delightful entertainment.
Despising and ridiculing the dead was also exhilarating. What’s more, if the person was a sinner, it even added to one’s own moral superiority in mocking them.
“How did that scoundrel Exion manage to do something right for once?”
Arzeletta, hearing the chuckling man’s words as he passed by, shook her head inwardly.
Exion the scoundrel hadn’t done anything right this time either. The dead man hadn’t stolen Del Rose’s cloak. He was wrongly killed for a crime he didn’t commit, and Exion the scoundrel murdered him without hesitation, even knowing the truth.
And she…
“……”
Arzeletta, clutching a pebble that lay at her feet, surveyed her surroundings again.
Slowly, hiding the pebble in her clothes, she wove her way through the crowd. The area around the executed prisoner was already littered with stones and filth.
Approaching the dead man, Arzeletta sharply raised her head.
Thwack!
She threw the pebble in her hand with all her might. The pebble Arzeletta threw hit the dead man’s head, making a dull sound, and fell to the ground.
Haa.
Arzeletta gasped for breath.
