Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Chapter 372: Sad belle

By the time Elder Gideon’s group finally emerged and reached the place where Lucas lay resting on the purified ground of ice and light, the old man lost all composure he had maintained throughout the march. The moment his eyes fell on the still figure before him, his heart seized violently, and for a terrifying instant he was convinced that the son he had once watched lie comatose for months had finally slipped beyond his reach forever. He leapt down from his horse without caring for dignity or rank, his movements frantic and unsteady, and rushed forward with trembling hands as he called Xavier’s name in a hoarse voice that cracked halfway through.

"Xavier," Elder Gideon said urgently, dropping to his knees beside him as panic surged through his chest, his fingers reaching out as if afraid that if he hesitated even a breath longer, it would already be too late.

Before his hands could touch Lucas, Henrietta stepped forward and gently but firmly caught his wrist, her expression solemn yet calm in a way that grounded the chaos in his mind. "He is alive," she said softly, her voice steady despite the exhaustion written plainly across her face. "He is only resting. His body has reached its limit, but his breath is strong and his pulse is stable."

Elder Gideon froze at her words, staring at her for a long moment as if struggling to believe them, before his gaze slowly returned to Lucas. Only then did he truly see the damage that had been done, the burnt and peeling skin on his face, the scorched scalp where hair had been reduced to blackened remnants, and the faint lines of pain that still lingered on his features even in sleep. His shoulders began to shake as tears welled in his eyes, sliding down his weathered face without restraint as he clenched his jaw to keep from sobbing aloud.

"My boy," he whispered brokenly, his voice thick with grief and pride intermingled so tightly that he could not separate them. "What kind of battle forces you to give this much."

The soldiers and cultivators who had arrived with him stood in stunned silence, many of them having only heard noises of the chaos within the abyss and now finding themselves confronted with its aftermath. Their gazes moved between Lucas’s battered form, Henrietta’s bloodstained robes and the ice belle hovering quietly nearby, her presence serene yet overwhelmingly authoritative. None of them spoke, for no words felt sufficient in the face of what they were witnessing.

Henrietta placed a reassuring hand on Elder Gideon’s shoulder, her touch firm and grounding, and spoke to him in a tone that carried absolute certainty rather than empty comfort. She told him that Lucas would recover, that his foundation was too solid and his will too stubborn to allow this to be the end, and that what he needed now was time and careful handling rather than panic or grief. She explained that his exhaustion was the price he paid for standing in the path of something far beyond ordinary calamity, and that his body had protected his life even if it could no longer protect itself from injury.

Then, without wasting another breath, she turned sharply to the surrounding soldiers and cultivators and began issuing orders with crisp authority. She instructed them to prepare a makeshift carrier immediately, something sturdy enough to bear Lucas’s weight without jostling him, and reinforced enough to be safely moved through the abyss under the protection of the ice belle’s domain. Several cultivators stepped forward at once, summoning planks of hardened qi, binding them with reinforced cloth and leather, while others stabilized the structure with elemental support so that no sudden shift would disturb him.

Only after seeing the carrier take shape and realizing that Lucas would not be left behind or treated carelessly did Elder Gideon finally allow the tension in his body to ease. His shoulders sagged as though a great weight had been lifted from them, and he let out a long breath he had not realized he was holding. He remained close to Lucas, his eyes never straying far, but the frantic fear had given way to quiet vigilance and aching concern.

As the preparations continued and the soldiers began reorganizing for the next stage of the march, the distant sound of approaching hooves echoed faintly through the purified expanse of ice and light. A moment later, figures emerged from the far side of the stabilized passage, riding hard and fast, their expressions grim and alert. The king was at the front, his posture rigid with restrained urgency, with Volde riding slightly behind him and Lira close at his side.

The moment the king’s eyes landed on Lucas lying upon the ground, his expression shifted sharply, disbelief flashing across his face before being replaced by a deep and somber gravity. He dismounted without ceremony and strode forward, his gaze fixed on Lucas’s burned features and the stillness of his form. "What happened here," he asked in a low voice that carried the weight of command and concern in equal measure.

Volde followed closely, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in the remnants of distorted energy still lingering in the air, the unnatural clarity of the surrounding domain, and the quiet presence of the ice belle hovering nearby. He did not need an explanation to understand that something extraordinary had occurred, but seeing Lucas in such a condition still struck him deeply. "This was no ordinary encounter," he said slowly, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

Lira dismounted last, and the moment she saw Lucas, she froze where she stood, her breath catching painfully in her throat. She moved forward on unsteady legs, stopping just short of him as her hands trembled at her sides. "He looks like he fought the abyss itself," she whispered, her eyes shining with fear she tried and failed to conceal.

Henrietta stepped forward to address them all, her voice steady despite the fatigue etched into her features. She explained briefly but clearly what had transpired, how the shadow dragon had nearly claimed them all, how Lucas had intervened without hesitation, and how the ice belle had asserted her sovereignty over the abyss to turn certain death into survival. She made it clear that Lucas had paid the price for that stand, but also that he had succeeded where few could have even endured.

The king listened in silence, his jaw clenched, and when she finished, he looked down at Lucas once more with an expression that held equal parts respect and quiet sorrow. "Then we owe him more than our lives," he said at last. "We owe him victory."

The king approached the ice bell slowly . He stopped a respectful distance away, lowering his head slightly so his towering presence would not feel imposing to the small spirit hovering before him. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and sincere, stripped of royal command and authority. He thanked her openly for standing her ground against the shadow dragon and for protecting Lucas when even seasoned warriors would have faltered, admitting without reservation that the army and the kingdom itself would have suffered an immeasurable loss had she failed.

The ice belle did not respond immediately. Her tiny arms were crossed tightly against her chest, her crystalline wings flickering faintly with restrained emotion rather than power. The glow around her dimmed and flared unevenly, betraying her mood far more clearly than words ever could. When she finally looked at the king, her large eyes were filled not with pride or satisfaction but with sharp resentment and hurt.

She told him that keeping Lucas alive was never a favor to be thanked for, because it was something she would have done even if the world itself was falling apart. Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, not from fear but from anger directed inward and outward all at once. She said that she had underestimated the dragon, that she had been careless with her own strength, and that because of that mistake Lucas had paid the price with his body and nearly with his life.

The king listened quietly, his expression softening further as he realized that the spirit before him was not basking in victory but drowning in guilt. He told her that battles were never clean and that even the strongest beings misjudged their enemies, but she shook her head fiercely and interrupted him, saying that excuses did not heal burned skin or erase the pain Lucas endured while shielding others. She added that seeing him broken and unconscious hurt her more deeply than any wound the dragon could have inflicted on her.

Henrietta stepped closer at that moment, kneeling slightly so she would be at eye level with the ice belle, and spoke gently but firmly. She reminded her that Lucas had made his choice willingly, that he had stepped forward because that was who he was, and that blaming herself alone would only dishonor his resolve. She told her that Lucas trusted her strength and her growth, and that the domain she created had saved countless lives beyond just his own.

The ice belle’s expression wavered at those words, her lips pressing together as her glow steadied little by little. She looked back at Lucas lying on the carrier, his breathing shallow but steady, and floated closer to him, resting beside his head like a silent guardian. She said quietly that until he woke up, she would not forgive herself, and that until he smiled at her again, she would not forgive the abyss, the dragon, or her own arrogance.

The king nodded slowly, accepting her words without argument. He promised that Lucas would receive the best care they could offer and that no one would forget what she had done here. He then stepped back, giving her space, and signaled for the army to continue their careful advance.