With a kick, Kilian sent him rolling on the ground. Silence then dropped on the scene. To say nothing of Kilian, even Olaf's wife and child had not expected that Olaf would be so shameless as to directly hail Kilian as his ancestor and beseech salvation. A minute had yet to pass since his arrival!
"Don't be rude," Kilian ordered with a smirk that only made Olaf's wife and son warier. But undisturbed, Olaf rolled back toward Kilian's seat, and broke into a profusion of kowtows, smacking his head on the ground with ardent zeal painting a vivid picture of his desire to live.
"Master, just tell me what you want; all I have is yours! Wealth? Take it! House? Take it! Land? Take it, I don't care! I will be your dog, your puppy, your cat, whatever you want! I will peddle my son's rear, hell, I will even peddle my rear if that's your command! Just let me live!" Olaf wept, yet still smacked his now bleeding forehead on the ground.
Within the aristocracy, there was no such thing as "ugliness." In terms of looks, men and women ranged from above-average to breathtaking. Of course, they couldn't compare to the likes of fehls.
With a square jaw, straight-edged nose, a finely trimmed beard, and green eyes, Olaf undoubtedly was a handsome man. Only the extravagant, curled mane of blond hairs that trailed below his calves gave him that bit of eccentric look. None would have expected that the muscular, 1.86 meters tall man would possess this level of dignity. Kilian, however, remained unimpressed.
The better the life, the harder it was to part with it. Olaf became the viscount of Ostria at the age of 25 and ruled for 31 years. Yet, he barely looked older than 40. The likes of stress and anxiety left no trace on his rosy cheeks. Clearly, the man lived a splendid life and looked forward to the years to come.
As the saying went, "where there's life, there's hope." And indeed, Kilian had perfectly assessed Olaf's thoughts. As far as he was concerned, concepts of honorable death existed only to cheat men into self-destruction. So long as he could escape this calamity, there was room for maneuver.
Alas, Olaf wasn't the only one eager for a way out. While his son floundered in consternation, his wife - Ophelia - a breathtaking beauty of sky-blue hair and eyes, knelt before Kilian. DNA modifications and melanin enhancement had already reached the point where noble families could not only pick their children's looks -- but give them hair and eye colors unavailable to commoners.
However, while they had no qualms in beautifying their looks, high-ranking nobles typically didn't meddle with their eye or hair color. The reason? Ancestry. Conformity to the ancestors' looks was of critical importance to Arcadia's aristocracy. Only lesser nobles turned to the "bloodline frauds," as the high-ranking called them, to create unique daughters and sons for better marriage prospects.
Ophelia was the textbook example of the callous gold digger. At the age of 19, she seduced the then married viscount, helped him murder his first wife, and replaced her as viscountess—all for the sake of glory, splendor, wealth and rank. 11 years later, she still remained childless, but since Olaf already had an heir and a few bastards here and there, he didn't care for it.
"Your lordship, on behalf of the citizens of Ostria, I thank you!" Ophelia exclaimed as she bent in a kowtow. Her zip back bodycon tightly hugged her luscious curves, outlining her perky butt that she purposely stuck out to bring forth Kilian's lust. His lips curled into a smile, and he trailed his hazel eyes on the noblewoman's backside.
"Oh? Now now, why would you say that?" Kilian played the fool while his eyes ogled Ophelia's form with the flaring glint of lechery. Believing her body having the intended effect, Ophelia pursued.
"Your lordship, don't be cheated by his submissive appearance. For decades, this monster of a man terrorized the population of Ostria, nobles and commoners alike, committing all manners of vile deeds! He even murdered his wife to force me into marrying him!" Ophelia sobbed with warm, dripping tears. Kilian now wondered if acting classes weren't secret requirements of an aristocrat's education.
Meanwhile, Olaf's son's eyes widened in disbelief. Olaf, however, rose in outrage!
"Deceitful slut, how dare you?!" He snarled with his wobbling right index aimed at his sobbing wife. "Master, don't trust the harlot, she's full of lies! Less than 24 hours ago, she had an iniquitous maid skinned alive for mistakenly dropping her jewelry! How is that a human being?! If not for her honeyed words, how could I kill my wife?! Master, don't let her big butt and rack trick you! Remain lucid!" Olaf pleaded with his clasped hands swaying back and forth.
"What an amusing couple," Kilian thought while his eyes still trailed on Ophelia's curves. Despair filled Olaf. If he'd known this walking plague was that easily swayed, he would have snatched, stripped and bundled several noblewomen to entertain him! Alas, it was far too late!
Trusting that her charms held Kilian in their sway, Ophelia slightly raised her head, giving him a glimpse into her cleavage.
"Your lordship, I will not try to defend myself against these groundless accusations. I can only hope that you will see through the beast's lies and give the people of Ostria the justice they deserve. If only for their sake, I don't mind giving up my life!" The words flowed from Ophelia's red, luscious lips like poetry.
"Moved," Kilian beckoned for Ophelia to stand up and walk toward him. She did just that, standing up and striding toward Kilian with her hands clasped and her shoulders slumped in a false show of modesty.
Giving her an approving nod, Kilian motioned for Ophelia to turn. At first, she feigned resistance, then helplessness, and finally turned to give him a full view of her back. Without a word, Kilian stretched out his hand toward Ophelia's zipper and in a slow, tantalizing motion, unzipped her dress.
"Your lordship…" Ophelia purred like a mellow kitten yet still swayed her backside before Kilian. Olaf couldn't believe his eyes and prepared a protest, but reasoning that such a move would undoubtedly end his life, he abstained and dropped back on his knees.
"The poisoned honeypot gets us all," Olaf lamented. Meanwhile, Kilian slipped his hand into Ophelia's dropping dress, running it across her plump ass cheeks to cop a feel.
"Anh...your lordship...you can't…" Ophelia purred, but ignoring her, Kilian carried on, sliding his hand below her butt to trail her moistening pussy lips. Evidently, the thought of having another man undress and toy with her body before her kneeling husband badly aroused the depraved lady. But even as her loins stirred, Ophelia resisted the urge to rub herself on Kilian's fingers.
Moving between Ophelia's labia and clit, Kilian teased the outer part of her cunt till her clit stood erect, her suppressed moans proudly echoed, and her juices filled his hand. He then slipped his middle finger into Ophelia's cunt, fingering her at a first slow, then increasingly rapid pace.
"Ahh...ahhh...ahhh!" Failing to maintain her chaste exterior, Ophelia moaned in delight, grating Olaf's ears with a pitch that left him red with shame.