Chapter 62: A Snake's Blessing
From the look of things, the Shrouded One knew very well there was no way he could survive that attack. The dagger's venom had seeped deep into his body, and the pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His last hope rested on the Master—at least he wouldn't let him die before their mission was accomplished and the village finally fell under the Master's control.
The Master appeared at his side, his face a mask of concern, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of frustration. He glanced at the wound, then turned his gaze back to the Shrouded One, his voice low and controlled.
"The dagger was made from serpent bones," the Master explained, his words lingering in the heavy silence. "One of your kind. That's why it won't heal quickly."
The Shrouded One's eyes flashed with a mix of pain and realization. "And no magic can heal it?"
The Master shook his head, his brows furrowed. "None. Not even my power can undo this damage."
A thought struck the Shrouded One, and with a ragged breath, he looked up at the Master, his voice hoarse but determined. "But what if the pot could heal me? If it can bring me back from the brink of death, why not this?"
The Master hesitated, his gaze flickering between the Shrouded One and the empty pot nearby. But the Shrouded One was insistent, his eyes burning with a desperate need. With a soft grunt, he managed to push himself up, though the effort left him gasping for breath.
"Take me to my room," he murmured, his voice strained. "The pot is there. Maybe it can do something..."
Reluctantly, the Master helped him to his feet, supporting him as they made their way through the dimly lit halls of the mansion. The Shrouded One's childhood room was eerily still, filled with remnants of a past long buried. Once inside, he collapsed onto the bed, his body exhausted from the pain and the strain of walking.
"I'll be fine," he muttered to the Master. "Just leave me. Let the pot do its work."
The Master stood for a moment, uncertainty swirling in his mind, but then he left the room, closing the door behind him.
The Shrouded One closed his eyes, the room fading around him as sleep took him in its grasp. The battle for his life was not over, but for now, he could not fight it.
When he finally awoke, hours had passed. The room was dim, with only the faintest glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. His breath hitched when he felt the absence of the searing pain—the wound was gone. His skin was smooth, unmarred, as if the injury had never existed. It was a mystery that gnawed at him.
He sat up, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror across the room. There were no signs of the battle he had just endured, no trace of the venom that had nearly killed him. The wound had vanished completely.
His hand instinctively reached for the pot beside his bed, but when he shook it, there was no hissing sound. No sign of the serpent that had protected him. His heart raced as confusion set in. He remembered hearing faint hissing sounds just before falling asleep, as though something was coming to his aid. But now, nothing.
The pot was empty.
"What just happened?" he muttered to himself, his mind racing. Was it the pot that healed him, or something else entirely? The questions were endless, but one thing was certain: he couldn't explain it.
---
Meanwhile, outside the mansion, in the village, Elara and Ariella sat together under the ancient oak tree, their faces solemn.
"They think he's dead," Ariella whispered, her eyes scanning the distance as if expecting to see the Shrouded One appear at any moment. "But we know better."
Elara nodded, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "The Master might think he's invincible, but we've found his weakness. The dagger... it almost ended him."
"But there's still so much we don't know," Ariella said, her voice heavy with uncertainty. "What happened to him? How did he survive?"
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. "Whatever it was, we need to prepare. If he's not truly gone, he'll come back, and we'll need to be ready."
The villagers, too, were on edge, whispering among themselves. There had been rumors about the Shrouded One's return, but no one had seen him since the fight in the village square. His disappearance was both a relief and a cause for worry. Some believed the Shrouded One had been defeated, while others feared it was only temporary—his dark influence lingering like a shadow over the village.
As night fell, the uncertainty hung in the air, thick and oppressive.
Back in the mansion, the Master sat in his study, his hands clasped together as he stared into the flickering fire. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of everything. He had failed to heal his son, but now the boy was… healed, somehow. But at what cost?
He had no answers.
But one thing was certain: he would not let the Shrouded One's survival go unnoticed. Not while the boy was still useful to him.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, the Master wondered if this unexpected healing was a sign. A sign that perhaps his son had become something more than he had ever planned.