Rita’s clothing was gradually being removed, piece by piece, but just as she was about to reach the last and most important parts, Cecilia stopped her.
A flicker of doubt flashed through Cecilia’s mind as she looked at Rita’s body.
She had just come back from the brothel, yet there wasn’t a single suspicious mark on her—something about that didn’t quite add up.
But just the fact that Rita had been to the brothel was enough reason for punishment, and it was by no means undeserved.
“Kneel.”
Cecilia ordered.
Rita let out a small “oh” and clumsily obeyed.
Cecilia knew exactly what she intended to do, but Rita was completely clueless; just kneeling there made her heart race for a long time, growing more intense by the second.
She could only sense Cecilia standing behind her, reaching for something on the table.
A cold, sharply edged object pressed against Rita’s spine—not piercingly sharp, but its edges traced the shape of her backbone, slowly and firmly sinking down.
The strange sensation left on her skin by the hard object was like a feather brushing against tangled strings of her heart, making Rita even more restless.
Finally, the object came to a stop at the position of her coccyx.
Even though Rita hadn’t revealed her beloved heart-shaped tail, the sensation of that cold, hard thing touching such a sensitive spot caused her body to tense involuntarily.
Then came a muffled thud, and Rita felt a dull ache spread across the soles of her feet.
It wasn’t really painful—nothing like the weight of the Momoka Gun itself.
What she was enduring wasn’t so much physical pain as it was humiliation—kneeling here like this to be punished.
“I will strike the soles of your feet,” Cecilia’s voice came from behind Rita, reciting almost like a creed: “When you stand firm upon the earth, you shall recall the shame of broken oaths; it will guide your path ahead.”
Again, then again, the hard object kissed Rita’s soles a total of eight times.
Afterward, Cecilia circled around the kneeling girl and came to stand before her.
Rita finally got a good look at the object in Cecilia’s hand—a short cane inlaid with jewels, its patterns carved from rare metals proving its high value.
So that was the thing from before.
“Stretch out your hand.”
Cecilia ordered once more.
After striking the soles, did she now have to strike the palms too?!
Was she some kindergartener who had made a mistake?!
An adult woman dressed so revealingly, being treated like a child—it felt even more humiliating.
“Hand.”
Cecilia repeated, and Rita obediently extended her hand.
The cane landed in her palm; the pain was still mild, but the shame of being casually struck by such an object was unprecedentedly intense.
Cecilia whispered, raising the cane repeatedly: “I will strike your palm. When you hold a sharp sword, you will remember the shame of your broken oath; it will temper your edge.”
Finally, the jewel-inlaid cane lifted Rita’s chin, forcing her to look up, her gaze meeting the golden-haired girl’s eyes shining brilliantly in the candlelight.
This time, it was no longer a warning after punishment but a foretelling.
“I will strike your cheek,” Cecilia said, her warm breath between slightly parted pale pink lips carrying away the burning heat on Rita’s face.
But Cecilia only spoke half the sentence—the rest somehow disappeared without a trace.
Did she forget her words?
Rita thought so.
But only Cecilia knew that in the moment Rita raised her head, her mind had briefly gone blank.
Without bending down, Cecilia’s slender, soft fingers cupped Rita’s burning cheek, sending a faint chill through her skin.
Hah.
Cecilia took a deep breath.
Carry on.
The girl’s palm slowly left Rita’s cheek.
Smack.
Cecilia didn’t use the cane this time—what landed was her delicate hand.
Rather than a strike, it was more of a light tap.
In Rita’s experience, such a gesture usually meant one of two things: either provocation or teasing.
“Lady Cecilia…”
A strange emotion rippled through Rita’s slightly dazed eyes, causing Cecilia to momentarily feel the urge to lean down and take things further.
Whoosh.
Cecilia swiftly put away the cane, straightened up, and turned her back to Rita, listening to her own heartbeat pounding with unprecedented intensity.
No, no!
Cecilia’s nails dug into her palm; the slight pain reminded her not to do anything “appropriate” to such a “perfectly suitable” situation.
Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale—no matter how many times she repeated it, her racing heart refused to calm down.
“Rita, put on your clothes. Your punishment is complete. You must remember today’s pain and shame and never offend again.”
Rita still held her chin up slightly; the light tap on her cheek seemed to freeze her thoughts, turning her into a puppet who could only obey commands.
After all, the atmosphere just now had been too intense.
Only when Cecilia spoke did Rita come to her senses.
Was this… over?
It felt like some bizarre, awkwardly sacred and dramatic ritual.
But why had she had to take off her clothes?
In rituals like these, one was usually either completely naked, wearing a simple robe, or clad in knight’s armor.
Wearing only underwear seemed a little strange.
Rita didn’t know, and she didn’t dare ask.
“There’s more.”
Cecilia spoke again.
“To become a Sacred Knight, one must be pure and restrained. From today onward, you must abide by this rule.”
What?!
Most people could just accept celibacy—but what was she? She was a little succubus!
Telling her to be pure and restrained was basically telling her, “Go die.”
Either starve to death from restraint or get caught and executed while hunting—meanwhile, the succubus who had framed her would get off scot-free, right?
“Gulp…” Rita swallowed.
“You can’t do it?” Cecilia turned back to look at Rita again, frowning when she saw Rita still kneeling in the same posture.
“Lady Cecilia… could you… give me a grace period? One week… just once?” Rita raised her hand tremblingly.
Though she had failed twice, she couldn’t just starve to death.
“No, the Rule of Sacred Knights does not allow for self-relief,” Cecilia said, feeling her own cheeks burning as she spoke, but given the situation and to protect her reputation, it was better to be clear.
Self-service was like drinking the northwest wind; it might make sense superficially but solved nothing!
“Then… then… ten days… half a month…”
Rita bargained. Though this wasn’t the best time, it was a matter of life and death—better than being caught again next time.
Poor Rita had no idea that next time, she might be more discreet.
But every time she asked, Cecilia only replied: “No.”
Time passed, and even Cecilia’s patience was completely drained.
Unable to bear it any longer, she grabbed the cane and knocked it against Rita’s head.
“Rita, what exactly do you want?”
“I-I…” Rita was so flustered she almost cried, “I just want some affection!”