Chapter 155: Returning To Town

On the outskirts of Reinhart, Abel trudged forward, his steps labored and uneven. Pain radiated through his body with each movement, his face pale and lined with exhaustion.

His injuries, though gradually healing, were still a heavy burden. His broken wrist throbbed with every swing of his arm, sending sharp pangs that traveled up to his shoulder, he was still recovering from the Flower Princess's crushing grip.

The soreness in his ribs made every breath a painful endeavor, but he moved.

He could vividly remember those final moments before his consciousness had slipped away.

The sight of the Stone Tower Master crouching beside him, calm but purposeful, was burned into his memory. Whatever the Tower Master had given him had dissolved quickly in his mouth, spreading warmth and healing energy through his battered body.

Yet even with the aid of the mysterious remedy, some wounds would take time to heal fully—time he didn’t feel like he had.

As he walked, Abel's thoughts were a whirlwind of fear, regret, and resolve.

The Flower Princess haunted his mind, her terrifying presence still fresh in his memory. The raw, uncontainable power she had unleashed made him feel small and insignificant, despite all he had achieved.

The way she had crushed his wrist, and toyed with him as though he were nothing more than a pest, sent chills down his spine. His hand instinctively reached for his badge, the comforting weight of it a reminder of the Tower Master’s intervention that had saved his life.

He gritted his teeth as the memory of the Murman family surfaced, especially the youngest son with the golden necklace of luck. "Luck," he muttered under his breath, his tone bitter.

The absurdity of a magical artifact capable of altering fate still confounded him. That cursed necklace had shifted the course of his knife, sparing the boy and ultimately leading to the Flower Princess's awakening.

Abel couldn’t shake the thought that he should have gone all out from the start, should have struck with every ounce of his power before the situation spiraled out of control.

The soft crunch of blue petals beneath his boots brought his mind back to the present. He paused, glancing down at the field around him.

It was similar to the place where he and the others had first used the flags to enter the Flower Princess's domain. The petals swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant color a stark contrast to the darkness that lingered in his thoughts. The sight was almost calming, yet Abel couldn’t fully appreciate it.

His mind raced with questions about how Stone had entered the pocket dimension and, more importantly, how he had managed to exit unscathed with the Flower Princess sealed within his gourd.

A shiver ran down Abel’s spine as he recalled the look of awe and determination on Stone’s face.

The Tower Master’s arrival had been a miracle, but it was clear to Abel that the stakes were far higher than he had initially realized.

He clenched his fists, wincing as pain shot through his injured wrist. His pace slowed, his legs heavy with fatigue, but he forced himself to keep moving. Reinhart was close, and with it, the answers—or perhaps the chaos—that awaited him.

As he approached the faint outline of the town, he cast one last glance at the field of petals behind him, a reminder of how close he had come to death. His resolve hardened. If he was to survive in this world of unpredictable magic and overwhelming power, he needed to adapt, to grow stronger, and to never again underestimate what lay beyond the veil of the unknown.

As Abel entered Reinhart, he was met with a sight of utter devastation. Buildings that once stood proud were now reduced to jagged ruins, their shattered remnants strewn across the streets.

Thick clouds of dust hung in the air, stirred by the occasional tremors that rippled through the ground. The destruction was widespread—cracked walls, collapsed rooftops, and broken cobblestones painted a grim picture of chaos. It felt like the very fabric of the world was unraveling.

Abel walked cautiously, his mind swirling with questions.

Having spent the last several days in the Flower Princess's pocket dimension, he had been completely unaware of the destruction that had been unfolding in Bask.

The sight before him was surreal, like a war-torn land after a long battle. As he moved through Fifth Street, he noticed guards running frantically through the streets, shouting instructions to the few civilians who were still outside.

"To the enforcement office!" one guard yelled, ushering a family into a sturdier building. "Move quickly! Stay together!"

Another guard barked orders from across the way. "Get to the city hall! It’s reinforced—it’ll hold!"

The sense of urgency was palpable, and Abel could see the fear etched into the faces of those being evacuated.

Despite the commotion, he walked unnoticed along the side of the street, his battered state and worn appearance allowing him to blend into the chaos.

He was relieved for the anonymity. Explaining his injuries and where he had been felt like an unnecessary distraction. For now, his focus was singular: reaching his estate.

As he turned a corner and his estate came into view, his expression darkened. Half of the Starry Villa was gone, reduced to rubble. The grand structure that had been his sanctuary now stood broken, a shadow of its former glory.

His heart sank, and a grim determination settled over him as he quickened his pace, each step a painful reminder of his still-healing injuries.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The path through the wreckage was treacherous, littered with shattered stone and jagged debris.

The entrance to the basement appeared intact, a small mercy amidst the destruction, but the back of the estate was completely destroyed. As he scanned the rubble, a faint noise caught his attention. He moved closer, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement beneath a pile of debris.

A figure lay there, barely alive, pinned under a heap of broken stone and wood. Abel’s heart skipped a beat, thinking it might be Lena, but as he got closer and cleared the rubble with his good hand, he realized it was someone he had never met, whose vile aura was obvious.

The man’s face was pale and bloodied, his body broken and battered. His eyes fluttered open as Abel knelt beside him, and with a weak, venomous murmur, he spat out, “Fuck... off...” before letting out a final, rattling breath. The light in his eyes faded, leaving him lifeless beneath the rubble.

Abel’s face twisted in frustration, but he quickly turned his attention to another sound—a faint, wheezing breath coming from the side beneath some wreckage.

His pulse quickened as he moved toward it, clearing debris through pain that raced through his body piece by piece until he found her: Lena.

She lay motionless, her body bruised and battered, her breathing shallow and labored. Her crimson arm was twisted unnaturally, and blood stained her face, but she was alive—barely.

“Lena…” Abel muttered, his voice heavy with concern as he crouched beside her. She had been a trustworthy individual and someone he had grown fond of, she could be useful in the future, especially with the high loyalty she had, therefore, he didn't want to see her perish here.

Her eyes fluttered open weakly, barely able to register his presence. “Abel… you… you’re back…” she whispered, her voice faint and trembling.

“Stay with me,” he said through gritted teeth as he began to lift her. With one arm still severely injured and his body aching all over, the task was excruciating, but the strength he had gained from his recent breakthrough allowed him to manage with one arm.

Each movement sent sharp waves of pain coursing through him, but he didn’t stop.

As he hoisted her into his arms, Abel glanced around at the wreckage, his mind racing. Whoever had caused this destruction had intended for no one to survive.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he muttered, his tone low and resolute. Lena’s head rested against his chest as her breathing grew fainter. Abel’s gaze hardened as he carried her toward the basement entrance.

Abel moved slowly toward the basement door, his breath ragged, his body protesting every step. Lena’s weight, though slight, felt heavier with each passing moment as her condition worsened.

Blood dripped from her shoulder, leaving a grim trail of red behind them. The gash was massive, exposing bone and muscle beneath, a horrifying testament to the brutality she had endured. Abel cursed under his breath, the urgency of the situation gnawing at him.

As he reached the basement door, he hesitated, realizing Lena wouldn’t make it much farther without intervention.

Gently, he laid her down on the cold floor, her head resting against his knee. She groaned faintly, her breath shallow and labored. Abel reached into his robe, fumbling through his bag until he pulled out a handful of gray leaves. Without hesitation, he crushed them in his palm, releasing a bitter aroma, and carefully pressed the paste to Lena’s lips.

“Swallow this,” he murmured, his voice trembling with both anger and fear. “Come on, Lena. Don’t give up.”

With effort, she swallowed the crushed leaves, her body weak but responsive. Abel wasted no time, lifting her again despite the fiery pain shooting through his own body.

He carried her down the basement stairs, each step feeling like an eternity, until he reached the small sanctuary he had crafted below. The room was dimly lit, and at the back, behind the lab it was furnished with simple necessities—a few beds a workbench, and shelves lined with medical tools and vials of experimental substances.

Abel placed Lena carefully onto the bed, her pale face glistening with sweat. Blood still seeped from her shoulder wound, though the leaves had slowed the flow slightly. Her breathing was faint, each rise and fall of her chest a fragile struggle.

“Damn it, Lena,” Abel growled, his frustration mounting. “You’re not dying on me.”

He rummaged through his supplies, pulling out medical tools and antiseptics. His hands shook as he cleaned her wound, grimacing at the sight of the exposed bone and torn flesh. Despite his best efforts, the tools he had weren’t enough to mend the damage. The gash was too deep, the blood loss too severe.

He could feel her vitality slipping away, her life flickering like a dying candle.

Lena’s eyes fluttered open briefly, glassy and unfocused. She murmured something, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you... for giving me... a chance,” she said, her words gurgling as blood pooled at the corner of her mouth. “No one… ever did that before. I can… die happy… knowing someone cared. Even… in a world full of misery…”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Abel’s heart clenched. He shook his head vehemently, his voice firm. “No. You’re not dying. Not now. Not here. You’ve got a life ahead of you, Lena, and I’m not letting you throw it away.”

But as her eyes began to flutter shut again, Abel’s desperation reached a breaking point.

He glanced around the room, searching for anything—anything—that could save her. His gaze fell on a container tucked on a high shelf. Inside was the strange, regenerative feline skin he had been studying for weeks. Its properties were nothing short of miraculous; the skin clung to anything it touched, refusing to perish even under extreme conditions.

Abel hesitated, his mind racing. It was untested on humans, and there was no way to predict how her body would react. But he was out of options. If he did nothing, she would die.

Grabbing the container, he opened it and retrieved the skin. Its texture was unsettling—soft yet unyielding, almost alive. He reached for a mixture he had concocted before using gray leaves and began applying it to her wound. The paste, combined with the feline skin, might just give her a fighting chance.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, carefully pressing the skin onto the gash. At first, there was no reaction, but then, to his astonishment, the skin began to spread. It fused seamlessly with Lena’s flesh, covering the wound entirely.

The regenerative properties activated almost immediately, knitting the torn muscles and exposed bone back together. Abel watched in awe as the other cuts and scratches on her body began to transform, the edges of the wounds sprouting patches of feline fur.

Her breathing steadied, the rise and fall of her chest becoming stronger and more rhythmic. Abel exhaled a long breath of relief, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from his body.

The changes were subtle but undeniable—her complexion regained its color, and her body seemed to radiate a faint, otherworldly vitality.

Abel inspected her closely, searching for signs of corruption or adverse effects, but there were none. The feline skin had done its work without any malicious side effects, at least for now.

He slumped onto the second bed in the room, his body aching and his mind racing. The events of the past days weighed heavily on him, from the harrowing encounter with the Flower Princess to the devastation he had returned to in Reinhart.

“I barely made it out alive,” he muttered to himself, wincing as he adjusted his injured wrist. The throbbing pain in his ribs reminded him of how close he had come to death.

Despite his exhaustion, Abel knew he couldn’t rest for long. The chaos above ground demanded his attention, and he needed answers. What had happened to Reinhart? How much of Bask had been affected?

As he looked over at Lena, now resting peacefully, he allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. He had saved her—for now. But the challenges ahead loomed large, and he knew the road would only get harder from here.

“I’ll figure it out,” he whispered, his resolve hardening. “One step at a time.”