Return of the Mythic Bloodline

Chapter 490: Auburn-haired Man

Grendel tried to retreat out of the cave, using his subordinates as shields. However, the aura blades were too sharp to be stopped by a troll’s body. They pierced clean through his subordinates before slicing his arm off at the shoulder.

"GRRRR...." Grendel roared, his retreating pace growing frantic.

Another arc of blade came. This one took his legs. His massive body crashed to the ground, and a heartbeat later the ceiling gave way, enormous slabs of rock thundering down and burying him completely. His grey blood splattered in every direction like a burst balloon.

"What an irony..." Ezekiel murmured, standing still at the centre of the ruin. "I am going to die protecting the very world I hated."

Her eyelids had grown heavy with exhaustion. The vision before me began to blur as her consciousness slowly slipped away. Just as she was about to fall into the rain of collapsing rock, a hand grabbed her from behind.

The vision went completely dark. Everything fell silent.

A colourful mist appeared in the darkness, slowly swallowing it whole. It spiralled inward, and from within it the world took shape again.

Tip... tip... tip...

Drops of water fell from one of the countless jagged spikes overhead in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She was inside a cave again. The ground was dark and moist beneath her. On the rough stone walls, the shadows of dancing flames shifted and swayed.

A fire burned at the centre of the cave, the only source of light in the surrounding dark. On the far side of the flame sat a figure whose face was obscured behind the heat and the glow.

"You shouldn’t move just yet. Your wounds might reopen," the figure said. His voice was calm, measured, that of a man well accustomed to steadying others.

"Wh-where am I?" Ezekiel asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position despite the protest of her body.

"We fell from the cliff of the hill when I was trying to carry you out of the cave," the man revealed, rising to his feet. He walked around the fire toward her, holding out a bowl of porridge, his face carrying a faint, careful smile. Now that he was close, I recognised him. He was the auburn-haired knight who had held his ground against Grendel during the battle, buying time with nothing but will and steel.

"It came as quite a shock to me," he said, an awkward note creeping into his voice, "that the infamous Twilight Sword was actually a woman."

Her eyes widened at his words. Her hands flew to her face. There was no helm. She looked down. She had been completely stripped of her armour.

In an instant, she grabbed her sword, which lay beside her along with the rest of her armour, and thrust it forward until the tip reached the man’s throat.

"E-easy there," he gasped, raising both hands in submission.

The sword in Ezekiel’s hand began to tremble before it fell to the ground with a ringing clang.

"You have reopened your wound," the man sighed. His gaze dropped to the bandaging around her stomach, where blood had soaked the grey cloth a deep crimson. "Eat the porridge. It will help you recover."

He bent down, picked up the sword, and began stepping back.

"M...my sword..." Ezekiel muttered.

"I cannot have you slice my throat in my sleep," he replied with a small shrug, "so I will be confiscating it until you have calmed down."

Ezekiel kept her gaze fixed on him, her blue eyes carrying a cold and murderous glare.

"Wh... where are the other soldiers?" Ezekiel asked, laying back down.

"Perhaps searching for you..." He paused briefly before continuing. "Or perhaps they have already returned to the empire. They must be assuming you died inside the cave. Your technique brought down the entire zenith of the hill afterall." He shook his head slowly, something like reverence settling into his expression. "My respect for you has grown even more, Sir Ezekiel."

His voice carried genuine admiration, unguarded and without flattery.

’That means he is the only one who has seen my face,’ Ezekiel concluded inwardly. ’Aside from the previous king who summoned me to this world, no one knows that I am a woman. Not even the Queen. I must recover my strength and kill him.’

"Damn, this is no way to treat your saviour," I sighed, hearing her thoughts as clearly as spoken words.

She grabbed the bowl of porridge and began forcing it down. The motion strained her injury and fresh blood seeped through the bandages, darkening them. She ignored it and kept eating. She needed her hands to eat, and so the pain was simply the cost of it.

"Would you like me to feed you?" the man offered.

He was instantly silenced by the sharpness of her glare.

"Thank you for protecting me back there," he continued regardless, undeterred by her clear unwillingness to engage. "I would not have survived the last strike from Grendel if you had not stepped in. To you, I am probably one of many subordinates whose name you never learned. But to me, you are someone I have long looked up to. It was an honour to be saved by the Twilight Sword himse—" He cleared his throat. "Herself."

Ezekiel did not reply. She might as well not have heard him at all.

After a long moment, she asked, "What of Grendel?"

"The troll king was crushed into paste inside the cave. He is fifty feet under the ground...or should I say fifty feet under the hill, hahaha."

"..."

"I... forgive me. I was only trying to ease the tension," he said, a note of embarrassment creeping into his voice at her continued silence.

’So I have finally done it. Grendel is dead. The war against monsters is over. I can ask the Queen to send me back to Earth.’

For the first time since I had been watching her memories, a very faint smile curled at the corner of her lips.

I almost felt bad for her. From what I had learned from fighting so many trolls, high trolls like Grendel wouldn’t die even if their whole bodies were crushed. The only ways to kill them were to behead them or pull their souls out of their bodies, like I did to him. Him being alive in the Black Gate was proof enough of that.

The man watched Ezakiel face in quiet silence before rising to his feet. He returned carrying a bundle of clean bandages and a bowl of water.

"I will treat your wound," he said, settling beside her.

"There is no need," Ezekiel refused immediately.

"I am not asking for your permission though."

He began applying ointment to the strips of bandage, smoothing it with practiced care. Then he moved closer, his hand reaching toward the bandaging at her stomach. Ezekiel’s hand shot out and locked around his wrist. Her nails pressed into his skin.

"If you touch me, I will kill you."

"You cannot. Not as you currently are," the man replied evenly, his hands moving to her back.

Ezekiel tightened her grip with every ounce of strength her weakened body could produce. Beads of blood formed where her nails had broken the skin, yet the man did not flinch. He untied her bandage and began unwrapping it.

When the last of it fell away, the wound beneath was ugly and raw. Her skin was split open in several places, blood welling steadily from each. Her grip on his arm tightened again, though this time not from anger. The cold cave air brushed across the open wound and the pain of it was sharp enough to steal her breath.

"Lay down," the man ordered.

She did not move. He released a quiet sigh, pressed a single finger to her forehead, and pushed her back.

Weakened as she was, she had nothing left to resist with. She fell back helplessly.

He cleaned the wound with a damp cloth, working carefully and without haste, then wrapped fresh bandages around her waist and tied them off with a firm tuck.

"All done," he said, with a small satisfied smile.

"You will pay for this," Ezekiel muttered, the back of her hand resting across her damp forehead. Her breathing was still laboured from the ordeal of the treatment.

"Is that how you say thank you?" the man chuckled, gathering the soiled bandages and the bowl of reddened water.

"Rest well. I will find us something to eat," he said, and then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness of the cave.

"You will absolutely pay for it," Ezekiel muttered again, clenching her fists against the rough ground, thoroughly and completely furious.