Chapter 142 - 97 : Awake (2)

Chapter 142: Chapter 97 : Awake (2)

The skin beneath the torn clothing was pale, almost unnaturally so. Lucian initially attributed it to blood loss, but the longer he looked, the less convincing that explanation became. His memory was clear. He had seen this man covered in injuries. He had watched him lying in the mud, barely moving, and carried a body so limp that several times he had wondered whether the man was already dead. Yet now, there was not even a mark on his skin.

Lucian’s gaze moved slowly over the stranger again, taking in the blood stained clothing and torn fabric before returning to the smooth skin beneath them. His brows drew together as doubt began to creep into his mind. Was he actually seeing this? Had exhaustion finally caught up with him? Was the entire night beginning to affect his senses? He knew what he had seen, yet what lay before him made no sense.

Still, he needed to know.

Lucian slowly raised his hand. He hesitated only briefly before reaching out, as if touching the stranger would finally tell him whether what he was seeing was real.

His fingers were only a short distance from the stranger’s skin when...

His fingers were only a short distance from the stranger’s skin when his wrist was suddenly caught.

Lucian froze.

The stranger’s hand had closed around him without warning. One moment it had been lying completely still. The next, its fingers were locked around his wrist.

Then the grip tightened.

Pain shot through Lucian’s arm as the pressure increased, hard enough to make it feel as though the bones inside his wrist were being crushed together. His breath caught in his throat. He instinctively tried to pull back, but the hand did not move. It was far too strong.

Then the stranger’s eyes opened.

Lucian’s entire body went rigid.

For a fleeting instant, crimson flashed across those eyes before settling into a deep, unnatural red. Lucian stared at them, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. The cave suddenly felt colder, and a chill travelled slowly down his back.

It was not simply fear.

Something deeper had taken hold of him, something instinctive that existed beneath thought and reason. Every part of him seemed to recognize the danger before his mind could understand it.

Run.

The command came without words.

Lucian’s body reacted on instinct. His feet shifted as he tried to pull himself away, but the hand around his wrist held him firmly in place. He tugged again, harder this time.

Nothing.

He could not break free.

The stranger simply stared at him.

There was no anger in his expression, no obvious hostility, nothing Lucian could point to and call a threat. The crimson in those eyes slowly faded, settling back into their usual deep charcoal gray. Yet even after the strange color disappeared, something about them remained unsettling. They were quiet, ancient, almost thoughtful, with a stillness that made their true depth impossible to measure.

The longer that gaze remained fixed on him, the harder it became for Lucian to breathe normally. He could not tell what the man was thinking or what he wanted. There was simply nothing in those eyes that gave him an answer, and somehow that uncertainty made the grip around his wrist feel even heavier.

Lucian’s heart hammered against his ribs. He forced himself to breathe, drawing in a slow breath through his nose and letting it out carefully as he fought to keep his panic under control.

"Easy."

His voice came out softer than he intended. "I mean you no harm."

The stranger did not blink.

Lucian swallowed and slowly raised the clean strip of cloth in his other hand, keeping his movements deliberate and easy to follow.

"I was only trying to treat your wounds."

He held the cloth where the stranger could see it. "You were unconscious when I found you. You were badly injured and bleeding, lying in the middle of the forest with a pack of wolves closing in around you. I didn’t know if you were going to survive, so I brought you here."

The stranger continued to stare at him.

Lucian forced himself to remain still. The grip around his wrist had not disappeared, but the pressure was no longer increasing. He took that as a small sign that the stranger was at least listening.

"I’m sorry if I frightened you," he added quietly. "That wasn’t my intention."

For a moment, nothing changed.

Then the grip slowly eased.

Lucian felt his lungs finally draw a full breath, but he did not move his hand or try to pull away. If he had been the one waking in an unfamiliar cave after suffering injuries severe enough to leave him barely conscious, finding a stranger standing over him and reaching toward him would have been enough to make him react as well.

After everything that had happened that night, Lucian could hardly blame him.

So he waited.

The stranger’s gaze shifted around the cave.

His eyes moved from the stone wall to the small fire, then toward the entrance where rain continued to fall beyond the shelter. After taking in the surroundings, his gaze returned to Lucian.

There was something deliberate about the way he looked at everything. He was not simply waking and trying to understand where he was. His eyes moved with purpose, taking in the cave, the fire, the entrance, and finally Lucian himself.

Lucian remained still as he watched him.

The more he looked, the stranger the feeling became.

The man was clearly exhausted. His face was pale, his clothes were torn and stained with blood, and Lucian had seen the state he had been in when he found him. He had looked like someone who could have died at any moment.

Yet there was remarkably little panic in his eyes.

Even now, while still holding Lucian’s wrist, the stranger was not looking around desperately or showing any obvious sign of fear. He seemed to be quietly taking stock of his surroundings, as though he had enough composure left to think before deciding what to do next.

Lucian had seen that kind of composure before.

A memory surfaced unexpectedly.

When he was younger, he had once accompanied his father to the royal palace. There, he had met a duke whose presence had left a lasting impression on him. The man had not needed to raise his voice or demand attention. He simply stood there, spoke when necessary, and carried himself with such quiet certainty that everyone around him seemed to become more aware of themselves.

Lucian had been young at the time, but he still remembered the feeling.

Looking at the stranger now, he felt something similar.

Only this was different.

The stranger was covered in torn clothes and dried blood. He had just survived something Lucian could not even begin to understand, and yet there was a strange steadiness in the way he carried himself. It had nothing to do with wealth, clothing, or position. Lucian could not explain it, but the man possessed a presence that made him seem as though he had never needed anyone’s approval to know his own worth.

Lucian’s gaze lingered on him.

The stranger seemed different. There was something about him that felt more fitting of nobility than any noble Lucian had ever known, as though the title itself would somehow seem more natural on him than it did on those who already carried it.

It felt deeper, almost as though the man had been born to stand above others without ever needing to remind them of it.

Lucian could not explain why he felt that way.

The stranger finally released his wrist.

Lucian immediately stepped back. He crossed the cave and put several paces between them before turning around, rubbing the faint red mark left by the man’s fingers. His eyes remained fixed on the stranger as the man slowly pushed himself upright.

Lucian’s expression changed.

That movement should have been difficult. Very difficult. Yet the stranger did it with surprising ease, leaning his back against the cave wall before settling into a comfortable position, as though he had merely woken from an ordinary sleep.

Lucian stared at him.

His gaze returned to the exposed skin beneath the torn clothing. It was still smooth and pale. There were no deep cuts, no torn flesh, not even the shallow wounds he would have expected after everything the man had endured.

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

He knew that some martial artists possessed bodies far tougher than ordinary people. He had heard stories of men who could withstand blades, endure injuries that would cripple others, or recover from wounds with astonishing speed. There were even legends of martial techniques that could strengthen the body to an almost unbelievable degree, and rare methods said to help heal injuries that should have taken months to recover from.

But this was different.

Lucian had seen the stranger lying in that crater.

He had seen the blood covering him. He had seen how badly he was injured, how little he could move, and how close he had looked to death. If those wounds had been real, then even the greatest martial artist Lucian had ever heard of should have needed time to recover.

Yet the stranger was sitting in front of him as though those injuries had never existed.

There was not even a scar.

For a moment, Lucian simply stared.

If he had not been there himself, he might have thought the entire thing had been fabricated. He might have accused the man of lying if he claimed to have been wounded so badly.

But Lucian had carried him.

He had felt the man’s limp weight against his back as he carried him through the forest. He had seen the blood covering his body and the wounds that had left him barely able to move. He had even fought the wolves that had gathered around him.

He knew what he had seen.

And what he was seeing now was something he had no story, no martial technique, and no legend to explain.

"What are you?"

The question escaped before Lucian could stop it.

Silence followed.

For a moment, the cave seemed to grow quieter, with only the soft crackle of the fire and the distant sound of rain filling the space between them.

The stranger simply looked at him.

Then, unexpectedly, he spoke.

"Thank you."