Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Elf Who Wants to Be Insulted
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“Let's get started.”
I picked up the quill and quickly scrawled words across the elf's stomach. I'd condensed the sentence I'd originally planned as much as possible, and once I dotted the final period (gently, just in case), I lifted the quill.
[Bulge your eyes wide and etch these words into your mind. As long as I live, there will be no romance in your life from now on. Your harsh fate is to live as my diligent sex toy, awakened to lust, like a whore in a brothel. Don't deny it. Even the God of Light cannot illuminate the darkness cast over your life.]
It was scribbled in a rush, but it made for a pretty convincing insult. I let out a secret sigh of relief and set the quill down on the desk.
“You can breathe now.”
At my permission, the elf—who had been holding her breath—finally inhaled. Heave, gasp. Sticking her tongue out like a dog as she gulped down air was enough to make me frown.
Crude, that's the word. Even though I'd ordered it, it wasn't a pretty sight. I cleared my throat once to give her a hint, then picked up the melting spoon.
The sealing wax had been sitting over the candle flame for so long that it had fully melted, steaming with heat.
“Now that the letter's done, I'll seal it with the family crest.”
The elf's eyes went wide.
“N-No, Master... That's too hot; my body will melt away...”
“What do you expect me to do about it? It's your body, not mine.”
“Master...”
She grabbed my wrist and looked up pleadingly, but I had no intention of stopping. That was basically a signal begging for more, after all.
“Let go.”
I shook off her hand and tilted the melting spoon. I couldn't let the wax cover the writing on her stomach, so I aimed lower, at her lower abdomen.
The wax, thicker now than before, poured onto her lower belly and flowed downward. The heat spread evenly, wisps of faint smoke rising.
“Hyaah—!”
Unable to endure the burn, she let out a scream-like moan and raked her nails across the desk. Seeing her in agony unsettled me more than it should.
In the meantime, the wax trickling along the curves of her lower abdomen reached her crotch.
Before the sealing wax could fully cool and harden, I pressed the family crest stamp firmly against her lower belly.
“Hngh!”
Her body twitched, then she let out a calm breath. The pain must have faded as the wax cooled completely.
It still didn't make sense. Why on earth did she like this stuff? Nursing my unresolved doubts, I peeled the stamp away from her stomach.
There, within the circular seal, was the Deharem family emblem: a scarlet-crested bird with its head held stiffly high. First time trying it on skin, and surprisingly, it came out pretty well.
Anyway, that was it.
“All done.”
I gave her plump ass a light smack to signal the end of today's sexual torment.
“That should be punishment enough. No more business here—crawl back to your shabby room and read the letter I so kindly wrote for you.”
“Y-Yes...”
She seemed satisfied too, rising from the desk without protest and heading for the door.
Meanwhile, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my hands with the utmost sternness, as if touching a filthy slave disgusted me.
I kept up the act right until the end, just in case she glanced back.
Only after her chubby rear vanished through the door and her footsteps faded completely did I slump into the chair like a man on his last legs.
“I'm gonna die...”
Playing the psychopath wasn't sustainable day after day. Forcing myself to perform sexual torment while wearing clothes that didn't fit—who wouldn't suffer mental fatigue?
One slip, and that crazy elf bitch would have my head. And it wasn't just my life at stake—if word of this shameful act got out, the family prestige and my reputation would burrow straight through bedrock.
So many things to worry about. My sighs just kept coming.
‘The elf slave I imagined wasn't like this...’
When I first bought the elf slave, I'd pictured something much gentler.
If I invited her to dine across from me at the table, she'd make a touched face and say something like, "Is that really okay?"
If I dressed her nicely and gave her a proper room, she'd tear up and thank me, saying, "Master is too kind."
Or one day, she'd approach quietly, place a handmade flower crown on my head, and beam...
That was what I wanted: a naive, adorable slave who'd melt into flower-like smiles at my smallest gestures, one who made me happy just looking at her.
But what was this elf?
On her first day in the mansion, she smashed an expensive vase without hesitation and insisted on punishment—now she craved sexual torment at every turn, gnawing away at my sanity in real time.
‘Why me, of all people...’
Why had I, of all nobles, ended up buying this elf? Regret washed over me, but dwelling on past mistakes now was pointless.
‘This isn't the time.’
Snapping out of it, I tapped the ring on my index finger.
Surveillance Object activated, showing the elf's room. She entered at a leisurely pace, closed the door, and stroked her chin.
—Troublesome. Hmm.
Troublesome how? I watched quietly as she shrugged and walked to the mirror in the room.
Her breasts and lower abdomen were starkly exposed under the sealing wax. She leaned closer to the mirror and read the words on her stomach.
—Pfft.
She covered her mouth and let out a small laugh—not the fake smile she'd shown me, but a genuine one from the heart.
An already beautiful elf smiling under the moonlight by the window was unavoidably pretty.
—Well, not bad.
Snap! She flicked her fingers, and that familiar wind swirled around, cleaning her body spotless. The burned skin healed too.
Seeing that much, I deactivated Surveillance Object and leaned back against the chair.
‘Not bad, huh.’
Should I be happy or not? Hard to tell.
Did she hate seeing blood but like the torment itself?
Or...
“...”
Wait. Why was I getting all worked up over the elf's opinion? Whatever that demon thought wasn't my business.
Right. Stay cool-headed. I was her master, plain and simple. Expelling a slave from the mansion was my prerogative, not hers.
Decision made, I opened the desk drawer, pulled out the territory map, and spread it open.
‘There was definitely a relevant shop near my mansion...’
If I couldn't overpower the elf with my own strength, I'd have to find another way.
Something explosively effective, even against an elf who'd reached grand mage status.
‘Ah, there it is.’
Finding the shop's location at last, a satisfied smile crept across my lips.
The next morning.
In the central courtyard, where a cool breeze scattered the dew on the leaves, Head Steward Harbide took position before the previous Family Head's statue, his well-polished shoes leading the way.
“Hmm.”
Standing ramrod straight, Harbide gripped the collar of his tailcoat with both hands, brushed it off sharply, and surveyed the group.
Not even thirty minutes since the assembly order, and all twenty-one mansion servants had gathered—that pleased him, but now wasn't the time to bask in pride over those he'd trained.
With a piercing gaze, Harbide scanned the servants one by one and spoke gravely.
“You've all gathered promptly. This meeting is to find the insolent wretch who disgraced the previous Family Head.”
Disgraced the previous Family Head? The servants exchanged puzzled glances, and Harbide watched the scene briefly before continuing.
“I don't know which vile cur it was... but one of you pissed on the previous Family Head's statue.”
Pissed? Some servants gasped in shock, others looked incredulous. Not everyone was rattled by the bombshell, though.
Maltao, for instance. The young man with dark skin just rubbed his sleepy eyes and yawned.
‘That guy again.’
Harbide had long disliked Maltao's cheeky attitude. For a servant in the prestigious Deharem Viscountcy, he lacked dignity to an extreme.
He didn't expect greatness—just basic decency—and yet this bastard was far too free-spirited.
Time to give him a dressing-down and knock some sense into him. Harbide jerked his chin toward Maltao with clear displeasure.
“You, Maltao.”
Sudden spotlight, Maltao pointed at himself in surprise.
“Me?”
“Is there another servant here named Maltao?”
“Well, no, but... Anyway, what is it, sir?”
“Indeed. Who do you think the culprit is?”
“Out of nowhere, who did it...? ”
Scratching his cheek as he hesitated, Maltao suddenly noticed all eyes on him. Flustered, he waved his hands and backed away.
“It wasn't me! Why would I pee on the previous Family Head's statue? I'm not insane!”
“But don't you occasionally drink even on weekdays, not just weekends? You're the only servant who drinks midweek, Maltao.”
“Come on. You know the Family Head himself permitted a drink after work hours. And even when I drink, I've never gotten so wasted I lose my senses.”
“You sure you remember?”
“Of course! I swear by the God of Light—I'm innocent. Believe me, sir!”
“Hmm.”
Truth be told, he wanted to press harder, but he couldn't grill someone who'd sworn by the God of Light. It risked being seen as blasphemy.
Harbide clicked his tongue and scanned the others.
“If not Maltao, then one of you lot is the culprit. Who is it? Confess now, and I'll leniently settle for chopping off one finger.”
As if anyone would confess to that. With everyone holding their breath and just blinking, veins gridlined Harbide's forehead.
“Fine. It's clear one of you is guilty, but no one's confessing. Can't be helped, then. I'll request a heresy inquisitor from the local parish soon.”
Murmurs rippled at "heresy inquisitor." Was desecrating a statue really that grave to warrant one? Everyone wondered.
“No, sir.”
Maltao felt the same.
“Isn't the local parish the cathedral where the bishop resides? Even you aren't family—how can a mere commoner like you request a heresy inquisitor?”
“Well said, Maltao. What I just said wasn't my will—it's the Family Head's.”
“The Family Head's?”
“Yes. Family Head Theorad granted me some family authority to catch this culprit by any means. The gracious bishop knows the Deharem Viscountcy's standing and will gladly dispatch one.”
No counter to that. As Maltao fell silent, Harbide thrust out his white-gloved hand, burning with resolve.
“Lies are darkness in the heart, a direct denial of the God of Light! So hear this, culprit—if you're here! I'll rip out your twisted thoughts and make you spit the truth!”
Harbide bellowed, and a woman in the center of the formation flinched involuntarily.
Her name was Revera. She was the one who'd witnessed with her own eyes Family Head Theorad making his elf slave crawl in this very courtyard.
‘N-No way... Did the Family Head have the elf slave do it...?’
Just a hunch, but if there was one being who'd pee on the previous Family Head's statue, it was that elf slave.
‘No way. It couldn't be.’
She didn't want to believe it personally, but if a heresy inquisitor grilled her, she'd probably spill what she'd seen out of fear...