As soon as they reached the middle of the stairs, Isri could sense that Cesil's breathing was becoming unsteady, so he stopped and asked, "Is the young master tired?"
Seeing that Ceshir did not speak, Isri spoke again: "I can do it myself, young master, you can put me down."
Only then did Sehir's gaze return to Isri: "Really?"
"Yes, young master."
Seeing that Isri was being direct, Sehir did not press the matter further. He released Isri with both hands and stood aside to watch.
Islam looked up at the steps in front of him and tried to lift his leg. Just as he was about to succeed, there was a loud "bang!" and Islam fell down the stairs.
Sehir frowned slightly, watching Isri prop himself up on the steps, a handsome smile spreading across his lips: "Looks like I'm not up to it myself."
Why are you trying to be tough?
Sahir muttered to himself as he stepped forward and draped Isri over himself again as they climbed the stairs. He had never realized there were so many steps.
After finally making it to the second floor, the irritation on my body started acting up again.
"Young Master, is it heavy?" Isri asked, opening his mouth.
Sehir did not answer, but quickened his pace.
Isri chuckled to himself, leaning down slightly, his voice just brushing against his ear: "Young Master, how's the pressure?"
Sesil's body trembled violently, and the tips of his ears turned even redder. The hot breath sprayed onto his already sensitive ear tips, and he wished he could fly.
Isri felt a sharp pain from the bone in Cesil's shoulder, his brow twitched slightly, and his voice was halting: "Young Master... please slow down, it's too fast, I can't keep up."
Sehir grabbed Isri's waist and pinched it hard, slowing his pace a little.
"Did I say something wrong?" Isri started to play dumb, raising his hand to touch his waist, which was aching from being pinched.
"Did the cold scare you?" Sehir met Isri's gaze. "I think I should hire a few more servants."
After Cecil finished speaking, the air fell silent for half a second. The warm atmosphere from before instantly dropped to zero, and the weight on his body also became much lighter. Isri frowned slightly, his voice indifferent.
"I will not allow the young master to hire anyone else."
Sehir paused for a moment, then reached out and pulled Isri off his body, throwing him onto the door panel.
"Get some rest." Cecil spoke quickly, then turned and left.
As Isri watched Ceshir's retreating figure, a gray emotion gradually filled his eyes, and the desire in his eyes, fixed on his prey, grew even stronger.
After Sehir had walked away, Isri gently stretched his body, turned around, pushed open the door, and went inside.
Thick clouds outside completely obscured the moon, and the snow seemed to be falling even more heavily than before. Isri slowly walked to the window, took off the gloves he was wearing, and gently hooked the drawer in front of his waist with his long, slender fingers.
Inside the empty drawer lay a bright silver ring, its patterns ornate and exquisite, but it didn't look like an ornament at all; it looked more like an anklet.
Isri held the object in his hand, raised it slightly in front of his eyes, and saw that the silver ring was a little wider than his wrist, with a small hole at the end.
"What a pity, we almost had to use it," Isri muttered to himself, his voice full of regret.
As he spoke, he put the things back in the drawer, paused for two seconds, and then looked up at the snow outside the window.
The snow hadn't yet settled where he'd just fallen. Isri raised his fingertip and tapped the spot through the glass. His long, phoenix-shaped eyes narrowed, and he forcefully suppressed the desire that had just risen within him.
The young master is so adorable.
——
The following day, another prayer day arrived, and because of the coming of the Holy Son, the inhabitants of the West Asian continent flocked to the Greenland Church to catch a glimpse of the Holy Son's face.
Sehir got up very early and arrived at the church before dawn to begin preparations. When he got out of the car, because he was still asleep, Islam carried him down.
When the priest saw it, he was stunned for a second, and then he quickly stepped forward to take Ceshir from him, but was stopped by Islam.
"What are you doing? His Holiness the Holy Son needs to be baptized now," the priest questioned, looking at Islam.
Islam caught a glimpse of the robe the nun beside him was holding, and his gaze returned to the priest.
"Sorry, leave the changing to me. If you do it, the young master won't be used to it."
"He is His Holiness the Holy Son, he must get used to it!" the priest persisted.
Isri took a step back, his smile unchanged, and said calmly, "Young Master has a bad temper. If he offends the Goddess, it would be a loss for him."
These words, though seemingly indifferent, struck the hearts of the priest and nuns like a sharp bullet.
Of those present, only Isri truly understands Ceshir. If Ceshir is as bad-tempered as he claims, it would be a sin for them, and indeed for Her Majesty the Goddess.
"Okay," the priest finally agreed.
Islam bowed slightly in thanks, then turned and followed the nun into the baptismal chamber.
“Just give it to me,” Islam said, turning to the nun with a smile.
Isri's respectful attitude, coupled with his incredibly handsome face, momentarily bewitched the nun, who handed the tray she was holding to Isri.
The temperature in the baptismal chamber was just right, and a delicate aroma filled the entire room. Isri gently placed Sehir on the baptismal table. The dim yellow light shone on Sehir, making him look like an angel kissed by God, fast asleep.
Engrossed in watching, Isri momentarily forgot his original mission. His golden hair trembled slightly under the light, and he couldn't resist reaching out to touch it.
“This isn’t the task I’ve assigned you.” Sehir raised his eyelids, his deep blue eyes looking at Isri.
Chapter Thirty-One
Isri's hand froze in mid-air, then he quickly withdrew it, bowed, and apologized, "I'm sorry, young master."
Following Isri's movement, Sehir raised his chin, but Isri didn't make any move for a long time. In the end, Sehir couldn't help but frown and look at Isri first.
Isri was fiddling with his robes, so much so that he couldn't even find the right spot for his head. Sehir turned his head and looked at Isri, whose forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and a hint of teasing rose in his heart.
"Why didn't you send that person? Aren't they much faster than you?"
Isri stopped moving his hands, and just then he found the position of the head. Isri turned around and moved closer to Ceshir, raising his hand to pull the robe over his head, his tone cold with a hint of desire.
"Young Master is mine. The thought of anyone other than me touching him makes me feel disgusted."
“That’s a priest.” Sehir met Islam’s cold gaze.
Isri remained unhurried, and after putting on his robe, he lifted Sehir down from the baptismal table.
"Young Master, as you know, I don't believe in anyone except you."
As Sehir watched Isri's devout bow, a strange feeling welled up inside him. The black hair seemed like a demonic claw from hell, deeply enticing Sehir's heart and wanting him to become addicted to it.
For a moment, Sehir hardened his heart, his eyes revealing the superiority of a ruler, his voice steady and resonant: "Believe in me?"
"Yes, I only believe in you."
Cecil's lips curled into a smile: "I want you dead!"
Isri's body stiffened visibly, and his fingertips, which were resting on his shoulder, trembled slightly.
Sehir was startled by Isri's sudden action. He was about to speak when Isri abruptly looked up, and his voice caught in his throat.
Those pale amber eyes stared straight at Cecil, a mixture of tension, fear, and hesitation welling up inside, just like a kitten abandoned by its owner.
"Really?" Isri's voice weakened, and he avoided looking at Ceshir.
Sehir felt as if he had been suddenly thrust into a high place, as if he had done something wrong, and stood there somewhat at a loss.
“I was just kidding.” Cecil turned his head away, no longer looking at Isri. “Don’t take it seriously.”
Watching Ceshir's retreating figure, Isri bent down even lower, a sinister smile curving his lips. The emotions that had been in his eyes vanished, leaving only an intense, possessive excitement.
"I see."
——
The priests and nuns outside had been waiting for a long time, and the crowd had begun to line up to enter the church.
As soon as the priest saw Cecil come out, he rushed forward, his voice tinged with urgency: "Come quickly, the crowd is getting impatient."
Cecil nodded slightly, a captivating smile playing on his lips: "I apologize, I was delayed by some matters earlier, I hope Your Holiness the Priest will not mind."
"Not at all, it's good that the Holy Son has arrived." The priest was a little embarrassed by Cecil's respectful behavior, and his cheeks even turned slightly red.
Sahir smiled, lifted the robe beside him, walked up the steps, and stood beneath the goddess statue.
The crowd also took their seats on the church pews. Isri chose an excellent spot where he could see every part of Sehir clearly.
Those below looked at Cecil, a position they all longed for, but ultimately it could only remain a dream. Only those with the purest and cleanest bodies could be worthy of the position of the Holy Son.
The snow-white robe made Cecil look even more fair-skinned, and her bright golden hair, refracted through the glass windows above, resembled golden feathers. Her pure yet deep blue eyes were, unfortunately, the same color as the gemstone around the neck of the goddess statue.
It was as if the goddess herself had chosen this child, bestowing upon him the highest honor.
Some of the people below had only heard rumors of the Holy Son, but had never seen him. Upon seeing him today, they were instantly captivated and raised their hands in devout prayer.
Isri stood in the corner, the light shining on Ceshir was truly dazzling, and Isri was so mesmerized that his prayer posture became a little stiff.
That awkward and comical bowing posture, the reverence and desire in his eyes burning like a raging fire, enveloped Isri.
The silent salute was a declaration of his sovereignty; his final movement was more precise than anyone else's, a testament to his reverence for the God he believed in.
His beloved and great Sehir was his God, his supreme and irreplaceable God.
"Young Master, I will always believe in you, for all eternity."
Islam kept his head down, speaking so softly that only he could hear it.
Sehir stood on the high platform and looked around at the people present. The admiration and respect in their eyes made it seem as if he could really bring them wealth and happiness.
It's human nature to have something to rely on, but to take that reliance too seriously is pedantic and foolish.
Even the true God cannot save them.
Halfway through the prayer, Sehir felt his legs were going numb.
Islam timed it perfectly, and once the crowd in the church had dispersed, he immediately went up and picked up Sehir, without even the priest standing to the side saying a word.
"If you're tired, young master, don't come next time." Isri placed the man on the baptismal table and then unbuttoned his robe.
Sesil, exhausted, closed his eyes and tilted his head: "Do you want to be hunted down everywhere?"
"I'm sorry, young master, I didn't think it through." Isri apologized verbally, but he was well aware of the consequences of not coming. However, if Cecil didn't want to come, he could simply disappear without a trace with Cecil.
Isri ruthlessly tossed the robe aside, his eyes filled with disgust and disdain. The robe was stained with too much filth; those ignorant things would be ashamed to even glance at the young master.
Sehir squinted his eyes, still half asleep. Getting up so early in the morning was too much of a torment for him, and having stood all morning, he could practically fall asleep standing up.
Seeing Sehir's unsteady gait, Isri felt a tickle in his heart and subconsciously took two steps forward, standing in front of Sehir.