The Scum Emperor's Redemption System - Chapter 66
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Chapter 66: Psychosexual Trial (3)
[Chapter Will Be Heavily Edited & Story Will Be Heavily Changed]
It was her again—the maid. She stepped inside, her movements quiet and deliberate, the faint rustle of her skirts the only sound in the room.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” she began, her tone demure but with an undertone he couldn’t quite place.
Argider straightened in his chair, wary. “Yes? Is there something you need?”
The maid stepped closer, her gaze steady, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “No, Your Majesty. I came to see if you needed anything.”
There was something in her tone, something that made his pulse quicken. He frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Are you?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was soft, almost tender. “You’ve been alone in here for hours. You seem… troubled.”
Argider opened his mouth to dismiss her concerns, but the words caught in his throat. The way she looked at him, her dark eyes holding his, was disarming.
“I—” He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “I appreciate your concern, but really, I’m fine.”
The maid moved closer, her steps deliberate. She was close enough now that he could catch the faint scent of lavender clinging to her skin. “Majesty,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “you don’t have to bear it all alone.”
Argider felt the air shift, the atmosphere in the room growing heavier. He stood abruptly, creating distance between them. “Thank you,” he said, his tone firmer this time. “But I’m quite capable of managing on my own.”
The maid didn’t retreat. If anything, she seemed emboldened. “Why do you push everyone away?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “I see it, Majesty. The way you carry yourself, so strong, so untouchable. But inside, you’re… lonely, aren’t you?”
His jaw tightened. “That’s enough.”
“Is it?” she pressed, stepping closer. Her fingers brushed the edge of his sleeve, light as a feather. “I could help you, if you’d let me. You don’t have to be alone tonight.”
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Argider stared at her, his mind racing. The warmth of her hand on his arm, the sincerity in her voice—it was tempting, more tempting than he cared to admit.
But then he thought of his wives, of their disdain and cold shoulders. He thought of Esmeralda’s biting words, of Fiorenza’s mocking laugh. If he gave in now, what little respect he still had—respect for himself—would be lost.
Argider stepped back, breaking the connection. “No,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “I won’t. And you shouldn’t either.”
The maid’s eyes widened slightly, her expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then she bowed her head, stepping back. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” she said softly, before slipping out of the room.
The silence that followed was deafening. Argider sat down heavily, his hands covering his face. The temptation had been real, and the rejection—even one he’d delivered himself—left a hollow ache in his chest.
But he couldn’t dwell on it. Not now. There was still one thing he hadn’t done: try again.
He started with Faeralys. This time, he brought a peace offering—a rare bottle of wine he knew she liked. When she opened the door, her eyes flicked to the bottle, then back to him.
“You think you can buy my forgiveness with wine?” she scoffed.
“It’s a start,” Argider said, trying for a smile.
Faeralys let out a sharp laugh. “You’re unbelievable. Take your wine and go, Argider. I’m not interested in your half-hearted gestures.”
The door slammed shut, leaving him standing there with the bottle in hand, feeling foolish.
Next was Isolde. He found her in the library, her favorite retreat. She looked up when he entered, her expression cool but curious.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said, his tone soft.
“And?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I wanted to talk,” he said. “To… apologize.”
Isolde closed her book, leaning back in her chair. “Go on, then. Apologize.”
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Argider hesitated. The words felt heavy, difficult to form. “I know I’ve hurt you,” he said finally. “I know I’ve been distant. And I’m sorry.”
She regarded him for a long moment, then sighed. “Your words are nice, Argider. But words don’t erase the past. They don’t fix what’s broken.”
She stood, taking her book with her. “Come back when you have something more than words.”
Callista was no easier. He found her in the gardens again, tending to her flowers.
“Callista,” he called softly.
She didn’t look up.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer.
“For what?” she asked, still focused on her work.
“For everything,” he said, his voice earnest.
Callista straightened, brushing dirt from her hands. “That’s a lot to apologize for,” she said. “Where do you even begin?”
“I’m trying,” he said.
She gave him a sad smile. “Try harder,” she said, echoing Emarel’s words, before walking away.
By the time he reached Esmeralda, Argider was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. He found her in the throne room again, as composed and commanding as ever.
“Esmeralda,” he said, his voice low.
She looked up from her papers, her expression unreadable. “Back again, are we?”
“I just… I needed to say that I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”
“You’ve said that before,” she said, her tone sharp.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Esmeralda regarded him for a long moment. “Figure it out, Argider,” she said finally.
Back in his chambers, the hours passed in excruciating silence. Argider paced the room, his mind circling back to his failed attempts to reach his wives. Their words, their expressions, the finality of their rejection—they all echoed in his thoughts, growing louder the longer he dwelled on them.
A knock at the door broke through his spiraling haze.
“Come in,” he called, his voice low and tired.
The door creaked open, and there she was again—the maid. She stepped inside with the same quiet grace as before, her hands folded in front of her, her expression composed.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” she began, her voice soft yet steady. “I brought you something to eat. You haven’t had anything all day.”
Argider blinked, surprised. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed, nor how empty his stomach felt. He glanced at the tray she carried—simple fare, but the aroma was comforting.
“Thank you,” he said, his tone almost hesitant. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” she replied, setting the tray on the table.
There it was again—that undertone in her voice, that unspoken something that lingered in the air between them. Argider shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to address it or ignore it entirely.
“You’ve been very kind,” he said, opting for neutrality.
“It’s my duty,” she replied, though her eyes lingered on his for a moment too long.
She left without another word, the door closing softly behind her.
But the maid didn’t stay away for long.
The next morning, she appeared again, this time with fresh linens and a quiet question: “Did you sleep well, Your Majesty?”
Argider hesitated before answering. The truth was, he hadn’t slept well at all. His dreams had been a confusing tangle of memories and emotions, punctuated by flashes of the maid’s soft smile and lingering gaze.
“It was… adequate,” he said finally.
She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “If there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you need only say so.”
There it was again—that offer, wrapped in formality but carrying an undertone he couldn’t ignore. Argider felt his chest tighten, a heat rising within him that had nothing to do with comfort.
“No, thank you,” he said quickly, his voice clipped.
The maid simply nodded and went about her work, her presence both soothing and maddeningly distracting.
As the days went on, Argider found himself encountering her more and more. She seemed to appear at the most unexpected moments—bringing a fresh cup of tea when he least expected it, tidying the room when his thoughts were darkest, lingering just long enough to make her presence felt.
It was as though she could sense his loneliness, his need for connection, and sought to fill the void.
And it was working.
Argider hated to admit it, but he found himself looking forward to her visits. Her presence, though understated, was a balm to his wounded pride and aching heart. Yet, at the same time, it stirred something deeper, something more primal.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the room was bathed in golden light, she appeared again. This time, she carried nothing—no tray of food, no linens, no tea. She simply stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression thoughtful.
“Majesty,” she said softly, “you seem… restless.”
Argider laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “May I sit?”
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. She took a seat across from him, her posture poised but relaxed.
“Your wives,” she began, her voice gentle, “they’ve hurt you.”
Argider looked away, the words cutting deeper than he expected. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “I hurt them first.”
“Perhaps,” she said, her tone neutral. “But does that mean you deserve to be alone?”
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