The Angel In His Life (Part 3)

There was no other reason for someone to spare a lowly Beastman.

Understanding his situation, Ragar gritted his teeth against the pain and struggled to sit up.

Ignoring the protests of his body, he swung his legs off the bed and sank to his knees on the floor.

"What are you doing?! Stop that! You're injured—you can't get up!"

The small master placed their tiny hands on his shoulders, their voice filled with concern.

Ragar hesitated briefly, unsure of their motives, but quickly dismissed the thought.

Surely, the child was only worried about his future meat shield.

That made sense.

It was fine, then.

The pain didn't matter.

There wouldn't be any lingering effects.

More importantly, remaining sprawled out in front of his new master would have been disrespectful.

Keeping his ears hidden as much as possible, Ragar bowed his head deeply, lowering his head to the floor in submission.

This child had saved him—a Beastman who had been fated to die.

From this moment forward, he was his master.

He vowed silently to himself that he would not repeat his past mistakes.

Outside of his duties, he would maintain his distance and ensure his wretched body never defiled this master's hands.

"Young Master, I swear upon my life to serve as your shield and protect you until my last breath."

"You idiot! You big dummy! Stop saying things like that and just go to sleep already!"

Ragar uttered the usual words expected of him when he was taken in by a new master.

Under normal circumstances, this would be the point where a new slave collar was placed around his neck, and the master's brand would be seared into his shoulder as proof of ownership.

But something about this master was different.

Before Ragar could dwell on it, he found himself half-dragged back to the bed and tucked beneath a luxurious, soft blanket—a comfort far beyond what any slave deserved.

The small master wore a pouty expression but began gently patting Ragar's chest with an oddly tender touch.

"Young Master… the collar and branding…" Ragar asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion as sleep threatened to overtake him.

Perhaps the branding would wait until his wounds fully healed.

After all, pressing a burning brand into his weakened body might be too fatal for his current condition.

But that thought was immediately dismissed.

Instead of confirming his assumption, the small master's expression tightened as if he was in pain, and to Ragar's astonishment, he climbed into the bed beside him.

The small master lay down, curling up next to Ragar as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Despite his frozen state, the master continued to pat his chest gently while softly saying.

"Your scars… they're a badge of honor. What's a branding? That's not a badge of honor—it's just ugly. As for a collar… Hmm. No, I think a beautiful necklace would suit your neck much better than some collar."

For a moment, Ragar couldn't comprehend what he had just heard.