Chapter 30: A Desperate Plea

“Thank goodness.”

“…What is?”

A faint breath brushed against the damp space between her thighs.

“I was worried… that a lowly creature like me wouldn’t be able to satisfy you.”

“Mmm…”

Bel narrowed her eyes and looked down at him steadily.

He was drenched in a nervous cold sweat—so unsteady it was obvious.

In truth, he had been like this all along.

Even before coming here. Even during the meal just moments ago.

Always unstable, always adrift, until finally, unable to bear it, he had come here.

Ever since Bel had said she would take up this “Lema Valkite” and bring him along, she hadn’t been able to pin down exactly what kind of man he was.

At first, he had been someone with nowhere to lean, adrift—but even then, his convictions had seemed clear. Like when he had put himself in danger to help someone pitiful, as though he couldn’t bear to watch them suffer. Or how he had turned pale as corpses piled up—slavers, yes, but still people.

Thanks to that, the auction had been far more entertaining.

Lema Valkite had acted that way because it was in accordance with the doctrine of the god he once served. And partly, because his own convictions matched with it.

Which only made it more painful when he was branded a heretic—when the foundation of his very beliefs was stripped away.

Since Bel had taken him in, he had wandered without clear direction, unable to decide what stance to take.

Belmias, the summoner, placed her own will above all else.

Lema Valkite, however, thought that if Bel was to be revered as a god, then it was only natural that he should devote himself entirely to aiding her in whatever she chose.

In Lucilonia, humans were but servants of the gods. And for a paladin, the god’s will was his own.

So this simple man believed he had to take Bel’s will as his own.

Just as he had done with Luxlon.

But therein lay the problem.

It simply didn’t fit with who Lema Valkite was.

Even when he tried twisting his faith to justify wrongdoing, there were clear limits.

He shied away from death. He argued to save dying captives in the wagon, claimed hostages must be kept alive if they were to fetch a fair price.

Though surely he knew it would be faster—and far more evil—to kill and take, he refused.

Even when Bel had turned her killing intent upon innocent knights, Lema had rushed to negotiate, fearing what might happen if Bel acted.

And during the meal with Mirgas…

He had been tense only because he no longer knew what role to play. Confusion consumed him—especially after being told just before that he had always been destined for heresy.

What he wanted now, desperately, was certainty.

When he demanded to know if it was fate, he was only begging for release from this unstable state.

If he was destined to serve an evil god, then at least he could stop thinking—stop choosing—and simply obey.

But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the kind of will Bel preferred.

So, watching him fidget for her approval, she spoke firmly: “I’m not especially satisfied.”

“Wh—what? But just now, you…” He had felt her climax, so he could hardly believe it. But Bel hadn’t been speaking of physical pleasure.

If Lema kept living like this, he would lose his value as an offering.

In other words, his “flavor” would fade.

“You just need to live as you always have.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Don’t imitate me. Don’t just follow along with whatever I do.”

His green eyes wavered, unstable.

Like a man shoved off a cliff.

Or like an abandoned dog.

“Do you mean… you’re casting me aside? That your heart has changed? That I… failed to please you?”

“No. That’s not it.”

His long lashes cast a shadow, dark as the one in his heart. Despite his strong frame, he looked terribly forlorn.

“…Yes, of course. You never wanted me in that way. And now, even this wasn’t enough. I know well… how lacking I am as the apostle of an evil god.”

Lowering his gaze, lips pressed tight, his strong jaw tensed until veins rose along his neck. Then suddenly, his eyes flashed upward.

…Those green eyes.

Sometimes, even Belmias, who feared nothing in this world, felt a shiver when looking into them.

All the while he spoke, Lema’s hands had been massaging her ankles, easing her fatigue. Now they slid upward—over calves, to thighs—spreading them apart.

“You have every right to think me lacking, my lord.”

“Lema—”

Bel tried to sit up and explain, but when she drew her legs together, he wedged his knee between them. His chest heaved as though he were cornered prey.

“My lord… please. Give me the chance…”

His actions were forceful, but his eyes, his voice—pleading. And so, Bel let him.

Just this once. Then I’ll explain properly.

After all, she hadn’t said he had no flavor left—only that she feared it might fade.

As soon as she relaxed, Lema forced her thighs wider, pinning them with his powerful arms.

He breathed a heavy sigh into the open, glistening cleft. The sharp warmth of it made Bel flinch.

His fingers brushed the swollen bud once, deftly peeling back the hood to reveal the tender jewel beneath. Then he lowered his head.

“…Hoo.”

His fingers circled her clit as he kissed along her thigh, then finally sealed his lips around her peak.

The strength of his tongue was startling. He pressed, kneaded, rolled the swollen bud with practiced lips, sucking hard enough to make wet popping sounds.

Until now, Bel had only sighed, but when he suddenly trapped the pearl between tongue and lips, teasing mercilessly, she couldn’t hold back her voice.

“Haa—mm!”

The veins stood out in his hands gripping her thighs. And the pressure only mounted.

“Ahh! Nngh—!”

Yes… he was sucking hard, deliberately, until she cried out.

Her toes curled—the only part of her body she could still control. She flinched again and again, then pushed at his forehead when his teeth grazed her.

But he didn’t budge—whether because his arms were too strong, or because he was a zealot.

“Ha—Lema… not so fast, slow down…”

His lips, his tongue, burned hotter than his hands on her thighs. She was already soaked, yet every pass of his tongue wrung fresh slickness from her, making obscene squelches.

He lapped it up as though it were holy nectar. His searing tongue pushed between her folds.

“Ahh—nn… ahh.”

If one were to name the strongest muscle in his body, it might be his tongue. Even a single stroke sent shocks of heat through her. And as he thrust it into her slick depths, it felt as though he were f*cking her with his mouth.

His tongue wasn’t longer than a cock, of course—but each firm press into her inner walls gave that illusion.

Then he drew it up, lapping over her folds like a beast.

“Nnnh—!”

Why was he so relentless?

Hadn’t he been a chaste paladin, when he served Luxlon?

Now his deep green eyes fixed on her with fervor, licking without pause. And when their gazes met, he slyly tried again what she had forbidden—his teeth.

She had stopped him before. But now, when they scraped lightly across her clit, he tempered it with soothing strokes of his tongue.

A quick learner. Once taught, he mastered it. Even the things she had said she disliked, he learned to turn into pleasure with uncanny intuition.

“Ahh, ahh—ahh, yes…!”

Until finally he wrenched cries of delight from her lips.

And with his tongue and fingers working together, he dragged her to another peak without letting her slip away.

“Nnnhh—ahh—!”

The veins on his arms stood thick as he pried her thighs open, holding her firm while he sucked down hard.

“Hahhh—!”

Bel threw her head back, shuddering as climax overtook her. Only then did Lema finally release her, lips wet and shining.

“My lord… at last, you are satisfied.”

To him, this was no mere act—it was devotion, a holy war fought with the body the gods had given him.