Chapter 5. Haetae (10)
In the end, Ronen couldn’t resist—his hands rose to his chest, fingers pressing hard against his stiffened nipples, rolling them in slow circles. The pleasure built again, but this time, the sensation was almost overwhelming, coming so soon after his first release.
He tensed his entire body, chasing the climax—when suddenly, Eckart’s hot, sweat-dampened palm pressed flat against his lower abdomen. Ronen forced his eyes open and found Eckart’s face transformed—no trace remained of his usual ascetic coldness. Instead, his gaze burned like a predator locking onto its prey.
It felt too good. The excuse of “helping” had long since dissolved into raw desire, and the knowledge that Eckart—once so chaste—was now consumed by lust sent a shiver of forbidden pleasure through him.
“Ah… ah! Hah…”
Ronen’s head tilted back slightly, exposing the slender line of his throat—not fragile like a woman’s, but still delicate enough to be alluring. The hollow of his collarbone, the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, even the way his skin glistened with sweat—all of it was intoxicating. Below his neck, his flushed flesh was damp with perspiration, heat radiating from every pore.
The sight of Ronen touching himself, his fingers teasing his own nipples, was more than Eckart could bear. Before he realized it, his hand was resting on Ronen’s stomach, feeling the taut, slightly rougher texture of his skin beneath the slickness of cum. The faint tremors of Ronen’s body transmitted through his palm. As he slid his hand upward, Ronen’s abdomen tensed further, the muscles firm beneath his touch. Beneath the sticky residue, he felt the faintest trace of hair.
His fingers climbed higher, brushing over lean muscle until they grazed a hardened nipple.
“Hiiik!”
Ronen gasped, his body twisting in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was trying to escape or press closer. When Eckart’s fingers circled the sensitive peak again, a whimpering moan escaped Ronen’s lips.
Ronen suddenly seized Eckart’s hand.
“Hah… no…” His breath was ragged, but his words were clear. “You don’t… nngh, have to… touch me like this.”
He pushed Eckart’s hand away, as if trying to spare him further sin. The rejection sent a pang of something ugly through Eckart’s chest.
He was already a sinner. He had given in to desire, to deception, to the fulfillment of his own lust.
If the devil had a face, it was surely his own now. He had never imagined his mind could melt like this, that his instincts would overpower his reason, that he would become a slave to desire.
But in this moment, it felt too good to resist. For the first time, he understood the weakness of those who fell to Satan’s temptations. He knew this was a trial, and yet he couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t reject it, no matter how much he should.
“Ah, ah, I—I’m going to… nngh!”
Ronen’s breath hitched, his body trembling as he came again, his cock twitching weakly—this second release far less than the first. A thin streak of cum splattered across his stomach before his body went limp, his muscles unclenching in waves. His emerald eyes gazed distantly, his ragged breaths only stoking Eckart’s hunger further.
He admitted it to himself: he had fallen. He lusted after the man before him, and in doing so, he had forgotten his duty, his rank, his very faith.
Eckart clenched his hand, now coated in Ronen’s release.
***
The sky darkened as if preparing to unleash a storm. It wasn’t cold enough for snow, so if anything fell, it would be rain—and if it rained, the heretics scheduled for execution today would be granted a reprieve until the downpour ceased.
Eckart stepped into the Papal Court, his gaze flicking toward the black birds gathered at the window. Lately, there were more crows than people in the city. They had been drawn by the scent of death. It was a sight he had seen often on battlefields.
It was as if the city itself had become one.
The corridor was so dim that candles had been lit, their flames casting long, wavering shadows. Eckart’s own silhouette stretched and flickered with each step. Thud. Thud. His footsteps were the only sound in the empty hallway.
Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded on Eckart’s forehead. He hadn’t noticed his breathing growing heavier, his chest tightening until it ached. The corridor felt endless, its far end unreachable no matter how far he walked.
His heart pounded from the strain, and he stopped, clutching his chest, bowing his head—just as the candles ahead began to extinguish one by one. Only tendrils of smoke remained, curling upward before vanishing into the encroaching darkness. Soon, even those were swallowed, leaving nothing but an abyss.
Eckart staggered as the ground seemed to shift beneath him. The entire building swayed, and he struggled to keep his balance—but it was useless. The floor gave way, and he plummeted into the darkness, debris crashing down around him.
He and the ruins were devoured by the gaping maw of the void. As he fell endlessly, something coiled around his body, binding him tight. He groaned in pain, thrashing, but his arms were already spread and secured, immovable.
His feet burned as if scorched. He looked down—and saw a world consumed by fire. There was nothing but flame and screams. It was hell.
And he was at its center, bound and impaled, his heart slowly burning black, filling the air with the stench of charred flesh.
The fire spread leisurely, reducing his body to ashes.
“…Eckart!”
“Hngh! Hah!”
The voice calling his name jolted him back to consciousness. He gasped for air like a drowning man pulled from the depths. Blinking rapidly, he realized he was crouched in the middle of the corridor, his hand clutching his chest as if he’d suffered a heart attack.
“Are you alright? You look terrible.”
“…Your Holiness.”
The voice that had pulled him from hell belonged to the Pope. Eckart frowned at the concerned gaze fixed on him, sweat dripping from his brow.
“I apologize for my unseemly appearance, Your Holiness.”
“Are you truly alright? You’re pale as death, struggling to breathe… You look like a man facing his end.”
Eckart followed the Pope into his study, his eyes fixed on the man’s feet. A man facing his end. Perhaps that was accurate. He had sinned. His soul had corrupted. He had lost his place in God’s grace.
He should have reported his failure immediately and requested reassignment. But now, he found himself considering leaving the knighthood entirely. He would pass his duties to Lef and retreat to a monastery, devoting the rest of his life to penance…
Eckart pressed his lips together. But what would become of Ronen?
“If you have troubles, you may confess them to me. I will listen.”
The Pope himself offered to hear his confession—a rare honor. Eckart longed to unburden his tormented soul, to receive absolution, to be given a chance at redemption. But if he spoke, Ronen would be dragged to prison.
Hesitant, Eckart unbuckled his sword and knelt on one knee, laying the weapon before the Pope. The older man’s voice filled with bewilderment.
“What is the meaning of this, Eckart? Or should I say, Sir Manus?”
“…Your Holiness. I tried, but I could not overcome it. The burden is too great for me. Please, relieve me of this duty.”
“I refuse.”
“But, Your Holiness…”
“If you falter, what will become of the other knights? Do not let personal emotions sway you, Sir Manus. I know your suffering well, but they are all criminals. I will pray for you. Do not waver.”
The Pope’s voice was gentle but firm. Eckart couldn’t bring himself to lift his head as he forced out the words:
“I, too, am a sinner, Your Holiness. I have no right to punish others.”
“The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise you up. If you have sinned, you will be forgiven. I will pray for you, for the prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.”
The Pope bent forward, placing a hand on Eckart’s bowed head.
“To protect yourself, you must strengthen your soul. Do not torment yourself with useless imaginings. Much fear comes from weariness and loneliness.”
He picked up the sword and returned it to Eckart, his voice kind.
“You should take time to rest. I will grant you a few days’ leave. Stay here in the Papal Court, compose yourself, and live a more devout life. Remember—I am praying for you. We are all sinners, but if we confess and repent, God will forgive us, again and again.”
Eckart remained torn. This might be his last chance. He should do what was right.
If he simply spoke Ronen’s name, everything could return to as it should be. He knew that. And yet, even as he left the Papal Court, he said nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to betray the man who had trusted him, who had offered to pray for his faltering soul.
In the end, his lips remained sealed.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
