Chapter 58: Saving My Fish
Kestrel stooped over, working hard to pick the lock around Ren’s neck with the blade she held. The lock was crafted from a stubborn metal material, putting up a strong fight against her attempts.
Kestrel found herself sprawled across the smooth, gem-like surface, wrestling with the stubborn lock while trying her best not to harm Ren.
Every so often, her fingers would graze Ren’s neck. Perhaps because of his significant blood loss, his skin felt cold, as cold as ice to the touch. An unexpected shiver would occasionally ripple across Ren’s skin whenever she accidentally made contact.
Throughout Kestrel’s battle with the lock, Ren, laying there, never spoke. He quietly turned his face away, allowing her to continue her efforts.
Exhausted and unsuccessful, Kestrel paused to regain her breath. It was then she noticed Ren was purposely avoiding her gaze.
"Is he angry with me? Annoyed because I returned? I’d feel the same way if someone ignored my plans," Kestrel thought. She then remembered the look on Ren’s face when she had climbed up to him—he was trapped there, his beautiful eyes wide in disbelief as he looked at her. His eyes were a whirlwind of emotions that Kestrel couldn’t quite understand.
She was sure, however, it wasn’t anger. If she had to put words to it, the frail Ren looking at her presented a picture of delicate vulnerability that affected her in an odd way. This sight evoked a strange sense of sadness in the usually unemotional Kestrel.
She wasn’t sure what this feeling signified, but she knew she would never forget the way he looked at her.
Yet, Ren quickly shifted his face again, avoiding her eyes.
Kestrel felt an urge to turn his face back to hers, to look deeply into his eyes once more, but she knew it would be rude, so she resisted.
There Ren was, trapped, his black combat suit mostly torn, revealing his chest. His shattered legs and bleeding body were on full display. The metal lock around his neck was proving impossible to crack, which was starting to frustrate Kestrel.
The blade she was using to attempt to open the lock was one she had found on a recent battlefield. It was Ren’s sword, now in Kestrel’s possession, reduced to a mere dagger, common and seemingly powerless.
Then, a barely audible, weak voice emerged from the handle of the knife, "Give...me some...fresh blood...and it will open..."
It was the strange blade handle speaking, Kestrel realized,
"You need blood? Will mine work?" she asked.
Before she could finish her question, a pale hand, devoid of any color, rose from below and without any hesitation, grabbed the sharp blade.
It was Ren’s hand.
Blood flowed from Ren’s slender fingers. The once dull dagger absorbed the color of the blood, becoming intriguingly captivating.
"Wow, such sweet blood," a chilling voice echoed from the dagger’s handle, "Such a brutal injury, and so much blood lost."
The next moment, Kestrel applied force, and the dagger responded. With a small click, the lock around Ren’s neck was opened.
The ground beneath them was incredibly smooth and stained with Ren’s blood. As soon as the lock embedded in the stone was freed, Ren helplessly slid down the slide.
Kestrel reached out to catch him, but she missed. She could only watch as Ren, drenched in blood, tumbled from the cliff made of aquamarine and gemstones.
However, he never reached the ground, as enormous tendrils surged from the earth below, catching him mid-fall.
Ren landed into a cluster of squirming, soft tendrils.
The typically restless and unruly tendrils handled Ren gently, cradling the injured man in their midst. They made no inappropriate movements, even assisting in adjusting Ren’s open shirt. A single tendril extended to softly stroke Ren’s blood-soaked hair.
Ren lay among the vast number of tendrils, weakly curled up as if he had no strength left, staying motionless.
On the other side of the gemstone mountain, more clusters of tendrils quickly ascended. They tore at the white psychic threads, freeing their beloved orca.
The orca opened its mouth, its tiny pink tongue curling up, emitting a small whimpering noise, revealing its sharp little teeth.
The tendrils began to squabble, competing to find the best spot to comfort the injured tail and tender dorsal fin of the orca.
Only when they had to remove the psychic bone spur piercing the tail fin did the constant bickering among the tendrils pause.
Kestrel stood at the top of the gemstone hill, looking down at Ren.
She knew that when the bone spur was removed, the pain from the psychic incarnation would transfer directly to Ren, forcing him to endure the agony of crushed bone.
The bone spur that had pierced the tail fin and left the orca hanging in mid-air was quickly and efficiently pulled out by the tendrils. The orca whimpered, its figure gradually fading, returning to the psychic sea. The psychic bone spur that had trapped it was yanked out, tossed carelessly to the ground, and crushed by the tendrils.
The moment the bone spur was extracted, Ren’s neck arched backward, his fingers tightly clutching his clothes. He convulsed slightly, but never made a sound.
He recovered quickly, lifting his face from the tendrils to look up at Kestrel, who was perched atop the gemstone hill. Despite his pale face, he even managed to give Kestrel a small smile.
Kestrel knew that smile wasn’t a sign of joy, but of reassurance—he was using it to comfort her, to tell her he was okay, even though his legs were broken, he was covered in blood, and his psychic incarnation had a massive wound.
The scene was chaotic at that moment: the leech-like mutant was still screaming, the summoned metal heads were being controlled by the flood of tendrils, the orca had just been saved...
Kestrel’s head throbbed with pain as more and more tendrils surged out, but strangely, her attention was drawn away at that moment.
She looked at Ren, lying bloodied amongst the tendrils on the gemstone hill, managing a feeble smile at her.
In the midst of this chaos, Kestrel found herself pondering something entirely unrelated.
The tendrils had said, "He tastes so sweet." The odd dagger had echoed, "The kid’s blood is sweet."—"Maybe he is sweet," Kestrel considered, "Like the candy he gave me."
Kestrel licked her lips and descended the gemstone hill.
She gripped Ren’s arm, attempting to lift the motionless Ren onto her back.
However, when she gritted her teeth and tried, she found she might not be able to do it.
Ren seemed lean, but he was tall and robust. Kestrel lacked the physical strength to carry him.
Biting down on her teeth, she tried to heave Ren’s body onto her shoulder, struggling to stand up.
Ren’s head rested on her shoulder. With the intense jostling from Kestrel’s movements, he suddenly opened his mouth, vomiting a mouthful of blood. The stain was vivid, splattered on the ground.
Ren, who had held back his voice while the bone spur was being pulled, couldn’t help but let out a weak gasp.
Hearing the tired panting and feeling his chest heave violently, Kestrel stared at the alarming red stain on the ground. Somehow, she found the strength to slowly straighten her legs. She hoisted Ren’s body, heavier than her own, onto her shoulder. With the help of the tendrils, she started moving forward.
She knew she couldn’t go far like this, but she had to keep going.
The boy had taken his cat, and she had to get her ’fish’ back.
After a few steps, she heard Ren’s weak voice over her shoulder.
"To the left," he whispered.
Kestrel turned left and hadn’t gone far when she heard Ren’s voice again,
"Down... the second staircase."
Ren was guiding her. Even in this condition, slumped weakly on Kestrel’s shoulder, unable to move, he was still using his alpha sensing ability, trying to find the nearest hideout that Kestrel could reach.
He found them a small hideaway, a narrow alley under a staircase. From the outside, the alley seemed shallow, offering no shelter for a person. If one relied solely on sight, they would never venture into such a shallow alley to search.
Interestingly, if one dared to venture three or four steps into the tiny alley, they’d discover a visually hidden corner at the end. The corner opened up into a narrow dead-end, cluttered with a few discarded items.
Using her last bit of energy, Kestrel dragged Ren into the alley, finally collapsing from exhaustion.
They slumped down among the discarded items, listening to each other’s labored breathing.
The sound of scattered footsteps echoed from outside, the metal-headed guards were searching for them. But the footsteps passed by hastily, without even a pause.
They weren’t discovered. They could rest here for a while.
The tendrils drew back their massive forms, hiding under the ground outside the alley, taking up the duty of watchman. With their presence, the thoughts of any searcher passing by would be disturbed. They wouldn’t notice the two hidden in the alley, at least not for a while. But Kestrel knew they couldn’t hide for too long, they had to leave as soon as they could, ideally before the palace gates shut.
Ren’s eyes remained closed for only a brief moment as he lay on the heap of discarded items. Then, he opened them, pushing himself up against the wall.
With his hands trembling, he tried to realign his broken leg. His hands looked weak and were shaking continuously, but when he positioned them on his knee, they suddenly became steady. With a firm twist at the joint, there was a nauseating crunch as the leg bone was realigned.
Just imagining the pain, Kestrel felt an involuntary shudder in her own leg.
Another sound of bone shifting echoed in the quiet alley.
Ren gasped, pressing his hands against the ground. After a moment, his breathing stabilized, and he tried to rise to his feet using the wall for support.
"Do all alphas have such absurdly resilient bodies?" Kestrel was shocked.
Of course, she quickly realized she was wrong.
