Chapter 57: The Boundary of Devotion

And so, even though it was food that Bel had taken only a single bite of before losing interest, food that even the ascetic ex-paladin Lema had never once indulged in his life, he could not bring himself to simply throw away what Bel had left behind.

In the end, Lema trailed after Bel and ate the same things himself.

Bel, despite saying it wasn’t tasty just moments ago, showed curiosity again at another food stall.

“Are you sure it wasn’t tasty?”

In truth, Lema had eaten the piece Bel handed over and thought it wasn’t all that bad.

“…It tastes good. It’s just not fit to be an offering.”

“Ah. So it’s useless, but still tasty. That’s what you mean?”

“Mm.”

“Things that are useless and unhealthy are usually the most enjoyable. That means, master, you’re actually enjoying yourself right now.”

“…Really?”

“Yes.”

Why else would people eat junk food?

Normally, as a holy knight, Lema would never encourage such things. But since Bel was the evil god herself… Perhaps a little indulgence was acceptable? Especially when she looked so pleased.

The reaction was much the same at other stalls. Street food was about the same quality everywhere, so it wasn’t surprising. Still, Lema didn’t stop—he paid for whatever caught Bel’s eye.

After wandering for a while, they found at least one thing that Bel seemed to truly enjoy: cotton candy.

It wasn’t so much the taste, but the spectacle. The vendor spun the sugar with exaggerated movements, almost like a dance, and it amused Bel.

The cotton candy was also quite pretty, larger than Lema’s own face. Unlike the other foods, Bel ate it all.

“Let’s go, Lema.”

Lema studied his master’s expression. His pale cheeks looked faintly flushed with pink. Maybe it was just the sunset making him think so… or maybe not. He hoped not.

Because of the unplanned detour at the food stalls, night had already fallen. Still, Lema didn’t regret it.

The late hour wasn’t the problem—the inn was.

Tourists filled the city, and all inns near the arena were already booked. Lema tried even offering extra money, but no luck.

Sleeping outside would’ve been fine for him, but Bel needed the best room possible.

Thankfully, within the hour, he found a decent room—not near the arena, but still acceptable. He had to pay extra, but at least it was secured. Lema wiped his cold sweat, relieved.

“Good thing we had spare funds. This is the best available right now, and with more people coming, we should stay here until the festival ends.”

He handed the key to Bel, then turned to leave.

“Lema. And you?”

Bel’s voice stopped him. He turned back.

He really had intended to leave. If Bel hadn’t called him, he wouldn’t have stopped.

Their gazes met. Lema’s face wore the same smile as always, like a doll’s fixed expression. But this time, unlike before, he didn’t avert his eyes.

Bel realized something she hadn’t noticed until now. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Lema’s pale green eyes were deepening—turning into a darker teal, like rain soaking into fabric.

And his gaze lingered. Eyes tracing slowly—Bel’s eyes, nose, silver hair across his cheek. Then, lingering far too long on his lips. Down to his neck, his collarbone, barely visible under his clothes.

Everywhere her eyes touched, Bel felt a strange heat—sticky, clinging, like the trail of a snail. As though Lema’s gaze alone was stripping her bare.

Time itself felt slower. Bel’s throat went dry; unconsciously, she licked her lips. She noticed Lema’s gaze fix sharply on the motion. Lema’s lips parted faintly.

“Master, I…”

At last, Lema spoke.

His absinthe-green eyes glowed faintly with madness, yet his voice was calm, polite, as always. But to Bel, it felt like the quiet before a storm, ready to devour everything with the slightest spark.

“I should… find another room. I may need to go to a village farther out.”

“…For what?”

The meaning was clear—why bother with another room?

Lema pressed his lips shut. What excuse could he give? That it would look improper for a man and woman to share? That their “offering” was, in truth, a mingling of bodies anyway, so such assumptions weren’t entirely wrong?

No, it wasn’t that. It was this unsettling restlessness that plagued him whenever he looked at Bel. This feeling that he might cross a line he could never step back from.

“Very well.”

Lema set down his belongings, removed his cloak and gloves. He loosened up his body, then reached for the door again.

“Lema? Where are you going?”

He turned back.

“The inn lets us use the kitchen downstairs. I thought I’d prepare something light for you. I saw a grocer nearby.”

“…An offering, then?”

“Yes.”

Until now, he’d always made do with meager ingredients, relying on devotion alone. But this time, he wanted to prepare something with better ingredients, something that might truly satisfy Bel.

Wasn’t it the servant’s virtue to give such offerings?

But Bel’s next words left him reeling.

“If that’s the case, I’d rather it be you.”

“….”

“You’ve barely let me lately.”

“…Ah.”

Lema swallowed hard.

No. That wasn’t it. In truth, he had been waiting—aching—for these words.

“So you wish for it…”

His voice came out hoarse, cracked—like the growl of a beast waking from slumber. Rough, low, and dangerous.

“You don’t want to?”

Lema shook his head quickly. His throat was dry, words almost failing him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was that he wanted too much—wanted so badly that he felt guilty. An offering wasn’t supposed to gratify the servant more than the god. Yet his heart pounded wildly with anticipation.

“I… I don’t know if I can serve properly right now.”

His heart was already racing, filled with illicit joy.

Red-faced, he stood frozen by the door. But Bel didn’t understand his turmoil.

“What are you saying? Come here.”

“….”

“Lema.”

“…Yes.”

He had no choice but to obey.

But instead of kneeling at Bel’s feet to declare submission, as a true servant should… instead of beginning from the lowest point, from Bel’s very feet—

Lema seized Bel’s shoulders and pressed his lips hungrily against her.