Soulbound: Dual Cultivation

Chapter 377: Cleansing Lucas 3

The tent flap was drawn aside slowly, and the first thing Lucas sensed before he fully focused was the familiar weight of authority that filled the space, followed closely by something heavier and far more personal, and when he turned his eyes he saw the king standing there in full war attire with Elder Gideon just a step behind him.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.

The king’s gaze lingered on Lucas’s bandaged face and the faintly visible scars beneath the wrappings, and his jaw tightened as he exhaled, while Elder Gideon’s eyes softened immediately and his hands clenched at his sides as if restraining himself from rushing forward.

Elder Gideon broke first.

"My son," he said quietly, his voice thick despite his effort to keep it steady, "when I heard you were awake, I..." He stopped himself, swallowed, then continued, "I thank the heavens."

Lucas felt a familiar warmth stir in his chest, mixed with guilt he could not fully suppress, and he answered calmly, "I’m alright, Father," knowing the words mattered more than their absolute truth, "I’ve taken worse hits than this and walked away."

Elder Gideon frowned at that, his eyes sweeping over the healing salves and the faint glow of residual energy still clinging to Lucas’s skin as he replied, "You do not need to pretend strength in front of me," then added more softly, "not after what you did."

The king finally stepped closer, his voice low and controlled as he spoke, "You nearly died in that abyss," and though his tone carried authority, there was no mistaking the concern beneath it.

Lucas met the king’s gaze without hesitation and said, "Nearly," then allowed a faint smile to form as he added, "but not quite."

The king shook his head slowly and responded, "You saved Henrietta, the ice belle, and half an army," his eyes narrowing slightly, "do not speak of it lightly."

Lucas glanced briefly toward where the ice belle hovered near his shoulder, her presence steady and reassuring, before turning back and saying, "What mattered most is that everyone crossed safely," and in his mind he replayed the moment when white light had swallowed death itself, knowing some victories were paid for in ways words could not describe.

Elder Gideon stepped closer to the bed despite himself and asked, "Can you truly stand soon," his concern slipping through his composed exterior, "or must we delay."

Lucas took a slow breath and answered honestly, "My body needs time," then added firmly, "but my mind is clear and my cultivation is stable," because he refused to let weakness define him when the war ahead would demand clarity above all else.

The king nodded once, accepting that, then straightened his posture as the weight of command returned fully to him.

"Then we proceed," he said, his voice resonating with resolve, "the scouts have returned with preliminary reports, and our allies will begin merging forces within the next phase of the march."

Lucas listened carefully, already shifting gears internally despite the lingering pain threading through his meridians, and replied, "Good," then continued, "we cannot afford stagnation now."

The king studied him for a moment longer before speaking again, "You should be resting," he said, though his eyes betrayed relief at Lucas’s composure, "yet here you are already thinking of formations and logistics."

Lucas allowed himself a quiet inward sigh, aware that this was who he had become, and answered, "War does not wait for wounds to heal."

Elder Gideon placed a hand against his chest briefly and said, "At least promise me this," then looked directly into Lucas’s eyes, "do not shoulder everything alone."

Lucas met his father’s gaze and nodded slowly, meaning it more than he ever had before, and replied, "I won’t."

The king turned slightly toward the others in the tent and then back to Lucas as he concluded, "Rest for now," his tone firm but respectful, "we will reconvene soon and discuss the next movements in detail."

Lucas inclined his head faintly and said, "I’ll be ready," already feeling the familiar pull of responsibility settle back into place despite the exhaustion.

After the tent flap fell closed behind the king and Elder Gideon, a quieter atmosphere settled in, the kind that came only after tension had burned itself out, and Lucas released a breath he had not realized he was holding.

Henrietta moved closer without asking, her presence calm and steady, and she sat beside him before placing her hands gently against his shoulders, her touch warm and deliberate as she began to massage the tight muscles along his neck and upper back.

"You’re still forcing your body to stay alert," she said softly, her fingers pressing into a knot that made Lucas wince before relaxing, "even now you refuse to rest properly."

Lucas let out a low breath and closed his eyes halfway, allowing himself to lean slightly into her touch as he replied, "Old habits," then added with a faint, tired smile, "they are difficult to kill."

Henrietta shook her head slightly, though her hands never stopped moving, and answered, "You faced death directly," her voice firm despite its gentleness, "even habits should bend after that."

Lucas did not respond immediately, because part of him knew she was right, while another part knew the war ahead would not allow softness for long, and he simply murmured, "Just for a moment."

Nearby, the ice belle hovered quietly, watching the scene with unusually calm eyes, and for the first time since the battle, the tight frustration around her seemed to ease, her gaze shifting from Lucas’s scarred face to the slow rise and fall of his chest.

She sniffed the air suddenly and frowned.

"He is safe now," she muttered, almost to herself, then glanced at Selene’s earlier offering on the small table nearby, "I can eat."

Henrietta looked up in mild surprise and said, "You finally feel hungry," her tone gentle but relieved, "that’s a good sign."

The ice belle floated closer to the plate, stared at the venison for a moment, then her expression soured as she poked it lightly with one finger.

"It is cold," she said flatly, then crossed her arms and added with a huff, "I do not want cold food."

Lucas opened one eye and chuckled weakly despite himself, the sound rough but genuine, and said, "You nearly tore apart an abyss dragon," then paused before adding, "but cold meat is where you draw the line."

She turned sharply toward him, offended, and replied, "That is different," then softened when she saw his face and continued more quietly, "you were hurt."

Her appetite clearly faded as quickly as it had come, and without another word she drifted toward the tent entrance, pushing it aside with a flick of her fingers.

"I will find Tom," she said, her voice carrying determination again, "he will get something warm."

Henrietta glanced briefly in her direction while still working Lucas’s shoulders and remarked, "She has been blaming herself since the abyss," then looked back down at Lucas, "even creatures like her carry weight."

Lucas sighed inwardly, feeling the truth of it settle heavy in his chest, and replied, "She saved all of us in the end," his voice low, "I just wish she did not think strength means never being hurt."

Henrietta’s hands slowed slightly, her touch becoming gentler, and she said, "That lesson applies to you as well," her tone unmistakably pointed.