It was painful. He even wanted to vomit, especially with this bastard's hand rummaging around and pressing his face down into the blanket.
GULP!
The feeling was dry, dusty, and gritty against his lips, and the taste was mineral, like he had licked a pinch of ash, something his body wanted to reject.
Not to mention how dry it was, scraping down his esophagus without a drop of water.
Of course he was talking about swallowing the Raw Ember Core. Right now his ash-gray eyes were watering and reddening from the pain. Under the gray blanket, his pain and effort had finally yielded a result:
[HARDENED SKIN (TIER 1)]
TYPE: PASSIVE / PERMANENT
EFFECT:
- Dermal layers gain the tensile density of cured leather, providing 35% resistance to blunt trauma.
- Small blades (knives, fine rapier tips) struggle to pierce without moderate pressure.
- Surface friction is slightly increased, grip becomes noticeably steadier.
Ohh! It actually got a passive skill! Amidst his watering eyes and the view of nothing but gray blanket filling his vision, still being pinned and rummaged from above, Lucian felt a flicker of joy looking at the hovering transparent screen before him.
The passive skill took hold almost immediately. Where before, Derrick's hands had shoved the back of his head against the gray blanket and he had felt the skin dragging uncomfortably against it, now it felt easy, or rather, it didn't hurt at all.
Thankfully he wasn't wearing the formal Aegis attire. Instead he wore the standard white patient gown, loose and light, which didn't suffocate him.
He began carefully reading the skill description while his head was still being pushed down.
It makes my skin harder. His eyes narrowed and he began to calculate. Then is it possible to do something about this bastard who's been pinning my head down like he planted a stake?
The answer was of course no. The difference between a Rank 1 and Rank 2 Aura Knight was quite stark: one was barely stronger than a civilian, and the other was essentially a trained brawler.
So his only hope was the last line of the skill.
The next moment, Lucian began twisting his body. The loose white patient gown fluttered and dragged against the white sheets and thin gray blanket.
"Huh?" Derrick's voice cut into his ears. "What are you doing? Wiggling like a worm?" he continued, his tone mocking. Yet the next moment, using the hospital bed mattress as a pivot, Lucian reached up and grabbed Derrick's wrist.
Derrick, who had been sneering, narrowed his eyes at this futile resistance. But before he could work out what this weakling was trying to do, Lucian's hand, grip somehow stronger from the friction boost, twisted Derrick's wrist in the direction it naturally bends.
"Tsk!" Derrick clicked his tongue. He furrowed his brows in annoyance and loosened his grip.
Using that opening, Lucian braced his legs against the bed frame, raised his head to meet Derrick's small dark eyes, heavy jaw, and blunt nose, all twisted with annoyance and confusion, and then thrust his head upward and sideways, using his whole body, not just his neck.
The result? Derrick's jaw took the hit and he stumbled slightly backward, eyes going wide with shock. Then they widened further as he stared at Lucian, who looked back at him with calm indifference.
Lucian patted his own head and adjusted his clothing, watching Derrick the whole time. "Hmm." He nodded, studying Derrick's disbelieving face as if nothing unusual had happened. "That was easier than I expected," he said, holding his chin.
That of course made Derrick's confused expression slowly shift. His brows drew down harder, his whole face darkened, and he glared at Lucian. "Enough playing." The next moment, a faint dirty-orange shimmer, like heat haze, enveloped his right palm and forearm.
When Lucian saw this, his calm expression turned solemn.
Iron Founding Palm. He recalled that the original Lucian had studied this technique as well. It was taught by low-ranking knights for shoving enemies back.
But the problem: you're using that against a patient? No, no no, y-you dare to attack me? While turning this over, he glanced at his supposedly kind, beautiful, warm fiancée, Seraphina, who for some reason had closed her usual pale sapphire-blue eyes.
Or rather, to be precise, she blinked slowly.
What the fuck? So you're turning a blind eye? This time Lucian was glaring at her. It was an obvious violation, attacking a patient, but he had no time to dwell on it because...
SHRILL!
The low thump of displaced air, like a heavy book dropping on a table, followed by a faint crackle as excess aura dissipated. Along with it came the shadow of Derrick's palm, his skin flushed and reddening, probably from the shame of being pushed back by Lucian the weakling in front of his goddess. The strike aimed for Lucian's collarbone, perhaps to pin him down again.
CRACK!
Yet the expected blast, or even a cough of blood, didn't happen. Instead, a sound like splintering bone echoed through the ward. Lucian stood calm as ever, not moving a single millimeter.
"Arghhh!" It was Derrick who shrieked, clutching his completely broken wrist in horror. His eyes went wide. His gaze swung back and forth between Lucian and his own wrist before he finally collapsed to the floor, face and clothes drenched in sweat.
And Lucian, the culprit: how could he not have known? When he had read that passive skill, of course he knew he could withstand Derrick's attack.
The force of his own Rank 2 Aura hit Lucian's hardened skin like a brick wall and snapped straight back into Derrick's wrist joint with a sickening crack.
It was just that, unfortunately, he could only defend, not attack.
The reason he had panicked, or rather changed his expression, was simple. His ash-gray eyes now looked at his fiancée, whose smile remained angelic and warm on her pale rose lips, yet he could see her eyes had turned pitch black.
Lucian said, "A stranger just barged into my room, shoved my head down, and attacked me with aura. What do you think, my love? Didn't you lock the door?" He said it in one breath, eyes cold as he looked at this sicko fiancée of his.
Of course, what was I hoping for? Despite having the title of his fiancée, this Seraphina had already tried to stab me, and I was still hoping for kindness from her? Fairness?
Derrick was probably one of her lackeys. Stating it as plain fact, Lucian looked at Seraphina and watched her smile twitch.
"Forgive me, my dear," she said, just the one sentence, then stood up. "I have other matters to attend to."
The apology sounded less than sincere, obviously. The smile was already close to cracking, and her shoulders were stiff as she moved. Lucian watched and noted all of this while glancing back at Derrick, who had now fainted.
You're just a background character. Let's see how much use you can be, Lucian thought, eyes narrowed at Derrick's face.
There were many plans to deal with this mob character, but then he suddenly remembered:
Then he shifted his attention, recalling the protagonist, Arthur.
There's a bigger problem than this bastard. Tsk.
He took a deep breath and looked outside. The sky hung low and overcast, thick gray clouds pressing down like a lid, with a fountain standing at the center of the courtyard.
With the System here, it's time to get serious.