The Humiliating Act
Tichite resisted in earnest. "What are you doing? Let go of me!"
But the crowd had already become deeply immersed in the story, and even her rebellious movements seemed like part of the performance.
"Do you remember the beautiful face you once desired? Well, take a look. Go on, look! See how hideously it has changed because of you! Wriggling maggots swarm across it, and pus flows like lava. This is your work, Isanta!"
The man grabbed Tichite's chin and forced her to face him.
The poet's face was not, as his words claimed, crawling with maggots or dripping with pus, but being forced to meet the eyes of a stranger was certainly not a pleasant feeling. They were so close she could feel his breath.
Her expression twisted in disgust. When Tichite tried to turn her head away, the poet seemed to enjoy it all the more.
After all, her struggle looked exactly like the villainess Isanta desperately trying to escape Nyx Farrow's grasp.
The man was determined to make this farce as sensational and provocative as possible to earn applause and payment. The audience, delighted by the sudden appearance of a Tilamin woman, grew even more excited. Even those who had shown no interest in the performance began to pay attention.
It was the perfect scene, the perfect line.
"Did you not weave such vile and twisted schemes just to have me? Very well, you cunning and depraved Tilamin princess! Today I shall grant you what you so fervently desired."
The poet made an exaggerated show of loosening his belt, then seized the fleeing Tichite and groped her body with both hands. He pressed his hips against her struggling form and rocked like a dog in heat, even forcing a kiss onto her cheek. The ridiculous, vulgar scene drew laughter from the crowd. Encouraged by the reaction, the man grew more passionate, and with every movement Tichite's humiliation deepened.
The audience jeered—half disgusted, half thrilled—their voices shrill and piercing.
Through the hail of screams, someone hurled a thick spear shaft like an arrow.
"Fuck. Even sexual harassment has a hundred different styles."
Amid the noisy cheers, that deep, heavy voice stood out unmistakably.
The man appeared behind Tichite. An arm shot out and tore the poet's rude hand away from her waist, then lifted him into the air with enough force to rip him apart at the shoulder blades.
"Aaaagh!"
"Sorry, but your play needs some revision."
A sinister aura loomed over her head. Tichite slowly raised her gaze and looked behind her. A large, menacing man stood there, his face wrapped in bandages and a hooded robe pulled low over his head.
Just as she had at the lakeside, Tichite recognized him at once. This time, however, it was not only his thick, merciless voice but also his familiar build and eye level that confirmed it.
"Nyx Farrow had not the slightest interest in Princess Isanta."
The man put heavy emphasis on "slightest" as he snarled the words. Gripping the poet's wrist, he shook him roughly, as if to make sure he understood, turning the man into a pitiful figure resembling a plucked chicken.
"You know this girl?"
"Huh? Ah, no."
"Then why the fuck did you drag her up here and start this bullshit when you don't even know her?"
The man shook the poet's arm again, hard enough to rattle his bones. He looked ready to drive a stake through the man's palm if necessary.
The poet protested that he had had his own plans.
"I-I was going to split the money with her!"
"Did I ask if you were going to split the money?"
"Pardon?"
"Did you ask for her consent?"
"N-no, I didn't…"
"Then what, you rotten bastard? You think money makes everything okay?"
Irritated, Nyx delivered a light kick. The poet's knees buckled as if broken, but he could neither fall nor retreat because Nyx still held him aloft.
The questions had not been asked out of ignorance. They were a warning meant for everyone who had watched and enjoyed the rude performance.
Indeed, after Nyx's appearance, the tavern fell silent as if cold water had been thrown over it.
Tichite had been staring up at his chin the entire time. Her mouth hung open. Seeing Nyx without his helmet stirred many emotions—gratitude for being saved, awe, wonder, and a strange sense of unfamiliarity. All of them mingled together. In the end, every feeling dissolved into tears.
At that moment, Nyx happened to glance down to check her expression. He was startled to find her looking straight at him, and shocked a second time when he saw tears welling in her dark eyes.
"Y-you…"
"That perverted bastard made the kid cry."
Unable to contain the anger he had been holding back, Nyx planted his foot on the poet's stomach, lifting his knee higher than before. The strength in his thigh was no longer something to be taken lightly.
The man kicked straight out, as if kicking open a closed door. With a clean, powerful thrust, the poet was sent flying across the stage.
Releasing the man, Nyx's hands were finally free. He used them to roughly wipe Tichite's cheeks, as though furious that some stranger had taken a bite of an apple he himself had never even dared to touch.
"Fuck, how dare he…"
He polished her face until it shone, treating her like a bruised, dirt-stained fallen fruit, unsure what to do next.
Nyx's leather gloves were hardly soft to the touch, yet Tichite could not help but feel a lump rise in her throat.
How does he always appear like a savior? Why does he get angry and protect me as if it were his own problem every time?
He was the kind of man who could make you want to pinch his lips in annoyance one moment, then make you rely on him completely the next.
One moment he turned her away at the door; the next, he could not ignore her when she was in trouble.
To Tichite, it seemed only natural that her heart's defenses would crumble so quickly and let him cross the line.
"Commander…"
In that brief moment she had suffered an embarrassing scene she would be ashamed to speak of anywhere. All she wanted was to hide somewhere, anywhere.
Overwhelmed by a storm of indignation, humiliation, and relief, Tichite turned and threw herself into Nyx's arms, sobbing against him. She even forgot that she had been sold to him for debt.
And Nyx Farrow? His heart leapt like a bean whose skin had split on a hot griddle, then rolled away to some unknown place.
"T-Tichi…"
He stiffened like a freshly carved wooden doll. His rigid hand rose to rest on Tichite's shoulder, awkwardly patting her back as she busily wiped her tears on his clothes.
"It's all right. It's all right now… Let's go back to the room, hm?"
Without realizing it, he spoke to the crying woman in the same tone he might use with a young foal.
At the mention of returning to the room, she released the embrace and nodded repeatedly, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.
The sight made him want to keep stroking her.
Nyx wrapped an arm around Tichite's shoulders and rubbed her arm up and down, then quickly pulled his hand away as if burned.
Feelings themselves might not be a sin, but actions born of those feelings could become one.
Just then, Nyx spotted Milvian and Zama. The two men, who had apparently been hiding somewhere, stared at him with pale faces.
Those negligent bastards.
A song insulting their superior had been playing, and they had just stood there watching?
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
"Hey, take her upstairs."
Nyx pushed Tichite toward Milvian.
Then, still seething as though he had more anger left to vent, he turned back to the poet, who had yet to get up.
"I committed rape?"
He could overlook everything else, but that part needed correcting.
"Fuck, I've never even kissed anyone, let alone had sex."
Nyx planted his foot on the man's stomach. With every word he ground down viciously.
"Nyx Farrow is a virgin, you hear me? Never even popped the cherry, you son of a bitch."