In the Nest of the Fallen Serpent - Chapter 22
Chapter 22
For a fleeting moment, a wounded expression flickered across her face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, as if she were conscious of it, but not before Benedict had seen it.
‘A slave, with wounded feelings? Preposterous.’
He scoffed inwardly. Did she think he would be grateful and cherish her for using her magnificent divine power to heal him? Not a chance.
She would offer her ability, down to the last drop, whether she wanted to or not. He would see to it.
“You don’t want to?”
She shook her head, her lips pressed together as if holding back tears. A moment later, a golden light bloomed at her fingertips, spreading to encompass her entire hand. It was a warm light, like a single match struck in the winter.
Benedict watched with satisfaction, observing from beginning to end how the divine power flowed from her body. Little was known about divine power.
Those who manifested it were exceedingly rare, appearing only once or twice a century, and most tried to conceal their gift.
Now, he had the perfect subject to extract that information from. Her status as a slave, unable to defy him, her naive and overly compassionate nature, would all prove useful.
“…Master.”
Hilde’s voice, weak and strained, reached him as she finished healing him. Her face was noticeably paler.
“It seems that magnificent divine power of yours isn’t infinite.” If it had limits, its usefulness decreased. Benedict assessed his slave’s value.
“I can, continue to heal you. But, the more tired I become, the longer it will, take….”
Her words were broken, gasped out between breaths. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Please… please don’t deliberately injure yourself.”
“Why? Is it too much for you?”
“It’s not that…” Her dry, pale lips parted slightly. “If the healing… is delayed, you’ll have to… endure the pain longer…”
In that instant, as he saw the pity and concern in her clear, pink eyes, a single thought flashed through his mind: ‘How dare you.’
Benedict’s face twisted in a grimace. An unbearable wave of displeasure washed over him. ‘You, pitying me?’
“Argh!” He yanked her silver hair down sharply, eliciting a soft cry. Bringing his face close to hers, he threatened her menacingly. “Do you know the lifespan of a slave?”
“Ah… hh… uh…”
“You should know your place.” A slave could be disposed of at any moment, should they displease their master. Benedict continued, his voice low and dangerous, “Whether I tear your flesh or break your bones, you will continue to diligently use that shallow talent of yours.” He tightened his grip on her hair. “Because that’s your only means of survival.”
He released her abruptly, her slender body swaying precariously. She steadied herself by placing her hands on the floor, taking a shaky breath before nodding weakly.
“If you understand, sit properly. Don’t be a nuisance.” Benedict pulled on a fresh shirt and kicked the medicine chest on the floor with the toe of his boot. The bottles inside clattered against each other.
“I, I’ll tidy this up.”
Hilde hurriedly gathered the medicine bottles and bloodstained cloths. The backs of her hands were chapped and white, the mark of countless hours of labor.
Benedict glanced at them with an indifferent, uncaring expression before turning his gaze to the window. The small wounds of an insignificant slave were of no concern to him.
***
After the wounded were tended to and preparations for departure were complete, Hilde was left alone in the carriage. The Duke had chosen to ride his horse instead.
Because of this, Hilde fidgeted anxiously. She carefully folded Benedict’s torn cloak and waited for the carriage to stop. As evening approached, she spotted him nearby. Clutching the cloak, she approached him.
“Master.”
Benedict, who was giving instructions for the following day’s schedule, turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll… I’ll walk, so please get back in the carriage.”
