From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 5
“Neither virtue nor dignity, nor intellect—and even his conduct is violent.”
“Enough about that one.”
It wasn’t that he was particularly angry. Just thinking about that pathetic burden was enough to make him feel disgusted.
The priest who knew him responded with a chuckle.
“My apologies. Still, he is nominally your godson. It’s just fascinating that someone bearing the blood of an Impellias Holy Knight could be so disgraceful.”
“He’s not truly my son anyway. Just the bastard of Sir Kren, who martyred himself in my stead.
A holy knight, and yet somehow he ended up with a bastard from a heathen woman…”
“And he even carries that red hair so brazenly. As if he’s proud of his filthy birth.”
Exion was Ragnar’s godson.
The knight whom Ragnar trusted and followed more than anyone had, absurdly, fallen in love with a heathen woman and ended up producing a bastard child.
Holy Knight Kren took up a deathly battle in Ragnar’s place in order to atone for his sin. In the end, he paid the price through martyrdom.
Ragnar could not refuse the desperate final request of a martyred comrade.
To a Holy Knight, the last will of a fellow knight was as powerful as the sacred law.
And so Ragnar took in the heathen bastard left behind by Kren as his godson.
It was the most reluctant decision of his life.
The god of Impellias leaves the mark of red hair upon filthy blood that denies the law.
From the moment Exion was born into the world, having just passed through the birth canal, his hair was red.
Even after the bloodied infant covered in amniotic fluid was washed, the mark of that red hair could not be cleansed.
Until the moment he manifested divine power and was ordained as a Holy Knight—a development no one had expected—his red hair showed no sign of fading.
Even now, having reached adulthood, Exion walked with his head held high, as if proudly bearing his filthy birth.
Ragnar’s violet eyes darkened.
The silver-white hair of Impellias’ purity was on Theogrim, who bore not a single drop of Ragnar’s blood.
And Exion, his godson who had even manifested divine power—yet carried the unclean red hair.
“……”
Ragnar pressed his crumpled brow and soon shook his head.
Ragnar was only thirty-four years old.
He was young and healthier than ever.
There was still ample time to train Theogrim as his successor.
“I will purify Del Rose completely. To the last drop of blood.”
“Yes.”
“As a true son of Impellias…”
Ragnar’s brow furrowed as he looked out the window.
Among the laundry looking even paler in the moonlight, a slender silhouette was swaying.
A delicate nape and waist. Rolled-up sleeves and slender fingers hanging heavy laundry.
Bare white feet rising slightly onto tiptoes were momentarily lit by moonlight.
Ragnar stepped closer to the window.
As he pressed his eyes against the shattered stained glass, the moonlit scene was cast in a transparent violet hue.
***
“Sigh.”
Arzeletta let out a long breath and tilted her neck back after hanging the last piece of laundry.
Because she had been driven away from the laundry area, she had to carry the heavy load all the way to the lake outside the castle. Her body felt like it was breaking apart, but at least she had finished what she needed to do.
That fact alone made Arzeletta feel relieved.
No matter how excessive the work given to her was, she had to get it done. Even if it was through tasks as unjust as these, Arzeletta had to prove her worth.
For Theogrim, who had come through the flames to save her and was left with a scar on his beautiful face that would never fade.
If she, who had survived because of him, couldn’t even accomplish something like this, people would mock, scorn, and pity Theogrim’s sacrifice.
“……”
Arzeletta’s gaze sank heavily.
Her clean, pale green eyes reflected the fluttering white laundry and the dusk seeping in behind it.
She raised her hand and pressed down over her heart.
Her heart ached terribly at the thought of Theo. It hurt so much, as if struck directly in the chest, that breathing felt difficult.
People dressed in the cleanest clothes they owned, out for a stroll through the square. Among them, standing tall with an unwrinkled, radiant smile, was Theogrim.
He truly looked like a prince from a picture book.
If God had personally crafted an angel by hand, it would undoubtedly look like Theogrim.
His silver-white hair, the mark of a ‘chosen one’ as told in the laws of Impellias, was sacred even from a distance.
It was clear that no filth would ever dare come near him.
Everything surrounding him was bright, clear, white, warm, and gentle.
Everything—except the hideous scar she had left behind.
“……”
Arzeletta’s back throbbed as she recalled the burn scar left near Theogrim’s left eye.
