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From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 21

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  2. From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid
  3. Chapter 21
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This work contains scenes of sadistic coercion and hardcore depictions of BDSM. Reader discretion is advised.

‘The savior chosen by God, my a*s.’

That bastard. Filthy hypocrite.

He was Ragnar’s dog. The only one in this territory who noticed the greedy nature hidden behind Theogrim’s angelic face… was himself.

If people knew what that bastard was doing to seize his current position as successor, no one would revere him…

“…What the hell?”

Exion, lost in his own thoughts, turned his head—only to realize the air in the bunker had already shifted.

The woman who hesitantly opened the bunker door and stepped inside was Arzeletta.

The lowest woman in the village. The cursed woman. The most beautiful, and yet the most wretched. The sinner who had etched a scar on the face of the savior chosen by God.

In the thick, stale air, Exion’s men stared fixedly at Arzeletta.

No one said a word. A tension, cold or perhaps scalding, pulled tight in the bunker reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

Arzeletta hunched her shoulders. Despite trembling with fear, she walked in step by step, as if crawling. The bunker was filled with rough, vicious men, but to Arzeletta, this fear was nothing new—it was her everyday.

Her black hair fluttered as it fell loosely. Her pale skin looked impossibly smooth, unreal. Long, delicate lashes trembled over her light green eyes.

“…Ah!”

Creeping cautiously with her body drawn in, Arzeletta was suddenly yanked by someone.

A burly soldier wrapped a thick arm around her waist and lower belly, pulling her close.

“A cute little cat walked right in on her own. Were you hungry?”

“Let… let me go.”

Arzeletta struggled, but it did nothing to protect her.

“Coming here on your own, huh? Got bored of watching all those weaklings back in the infirmary?”

“No, that’s not it, it’s not like that…”

Tossed around like a doll by the man’s strength, Arzeletta flailed. The other men whistled crudely as they watched her struggle, treating it like a show.

“Phew, look at her shaking her a*s. She must be enjoying it?”

“They say when you touch them anywhere, they wag their tails in delight. Should we find out?”

“Looks like she’s been begging for a touch, poking around everywhere. Coming here at this hour.”

“What good is it if she pokes others? She can’t even poke herself.”

Arzeletta’s face flushed red at the obscene insults. The jeering wasn’t funny in the least, but the men roared with laughter anyway.

“Seriously… is it really not allowed?”

One of the soldiers, dagger at his belt, fondled himself over his pants as he spoke. As if his now-hard p***s had become an inconvenience.

“If you’re that curious, then shove it in first. Even if your hide ends up like his, no one’s going to take responsibility.”

“Ah, that’s too much. I couldn’t live as a monster like that.”

The insults and harassment were all one-sided and completely unrestrained. Arzeletta silently endured the contempt and groping pouring down on her, regardless of her own will. All she could do was wait for this moment to pass.

“Then using her mouth should be fine, right?”

It wasn’t just a joke. Whether genuinely aroused or not, the soldier with the dagger reached out and grabbed Arzeletta’s face.

He paused for a moment, caught off guard by the beautiful face that fit perfectly in one hand. It was the first time he had seen Arzeletta up close like this. The glimmer in her clear, light green eyes seemed to pierce straight into his heart.

It felt like dreaming for a second. The man, dazed without realizing it, suddenly snapped back to reality. He glanced around quickly, as if to check if anyone had noticed. He couldn’t let them see that he’d been captivated by her—if only for a moment.

‘Is she really casting some sort of bewitching spell?’

He couldn’t believe how quickly he had become intoxicated. It felt like he’d fallen in love in an instant.

That realization made him burn with shame, and the anger that followed was directed at the woman in front of him. The fact that he had felt something like love for this lowly maid—and had even gotten hard because of it—was too humiliating to tolerate. This wasn’t his will. It had to be the curse she carried.

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    From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid

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