The physicians’ complexions were far from agreeable. If Prince Cody lost his life, the enraged king would almost certainly execute them all.
Lin Yao might not care about his own survival, but they desperately cared about theirs.
Cody’s breathing had diminished to a faint, thready whisper. If he woke, all would be well; if he did not, he would truly never open his eyes again.
“High Priest, what should we do now?” They looked to Lin Yao—the only person who had cast aside all concern for life and death—as though he were their sole pillar of support.
When facing the death of others, one might remain composed; when facing one’s own impending demise, no one wished to lose their life.
“Now, we can only wait for His Highness to awaken,” Lin Yao murmured, offering no miraculous solution. He merely gazed at Cody with eyes brimming with tender warmth. Looking at the trembling physicians, an involuntary wave of annoyance rose in his chest. “I was the one who pulled the arrow, so it is enough for me to stay here and attend to His Highness. The rest of you should go inspect the soldiers—they stand in equal need of care.”
Following such a disastrous defeat, Cody’s fate was not the only thing hanging in the balance. Even from within this chamber, one could faintly hear the agonized wails and howls of the wounded troops outside.
When fleeing for their lives, pain was easily suppressed by adrenaline; once they halted, those agonizing—though non-lethal—wounds proved to be the ultimate test of a soldier’s endurance.
The physicians were only too eager to escape this suffocating atmosphere. Almost the moment the words left Lin Yao’s mouth, they offered hasty apologies and turned to depart.
Servants remained in the mansion. Lin Yao instructed them to discard the basins of bloodied water and bring fresh supplies. Rolling up the voluminous sleeves of his priestly robes, he dampened a cloth and began meticulously wiping away the dried blood and grime from the prince’s face.
His movements were gentle yet remarkably thorough. Once the dirt was cleared from Cody’s face and neck, he delicately applied medicinal salve to the cheek laceration before attending to the other scattered wounds across his body.
To avoid reopening the severe chest injury, Lin Yao cut through the seams of Cody’s soiled garments and armor, leaving only the inner undergarment intact before pulling a light quilt up to his waist.
The man’s breathing remained nearly imperceptible, yet Lin Yao kept his fingers rested on the prince’s wrist. The pulse beneath his touch fluttered steadily—proof that Cody was stubbornly clinging to life.
“Your Highness, you must wake up.” Lin Yao gently smoothed the prince’s hair, his voice laden with sorrow and tenderness. Yet the moment he was unobserved, his eyes turned exceptionally cold and detached.
When a person was unconscious, they were not entirely devoid of perception. A man like Cody, even when gravely wounded, undoubtedly retained a lingering awareness of his surroundings.
Lin Yao did not merely keep a silent vigil. Once everything was settled, he began cultivating Posuo Flowers.
Though the Posuo Flower was revered as a sacred object meant to enhance a warrior’s physical strength rather than a healing herb, in Lin Yao’s view, such a potent restorative operated similarly to wild ginseng used to prolong a dying breath.
Had it not been for the robust constitution granted by past Posuo Flowers, the man lying on the bed would likely have perished the moment that arrow pierced his chest, never surviving long enough to reach this city.
Normally, to prevent waste, Posuo Flowers were refined into solid pills. However, a man lying unconscious and devoid of awareness could not possibly swallow such hard medicine.
Lin Yao was forced to brew the cultivated flowers in an earthen pot, feeding him the concentrated decoction spoon by spoon.
He tended to Cody with meticulous care, leaving the attending servants no opportunity to intervene.
Yet despite Lin Yao keeping watch for a day and a night, the man on the bed showed no sign of awakening.
Cody was not merely their God of War; he was the spiritual pillar of the entire army. Without his active presence, the garrison stationed in the city felt as though they had lost their foundation, consumed by a pervasive sense of dread and uncertainty.
Lin Yao stepped outside only once, a shadow of profound worry flickering across his eyes.
“High Priest, has His Highness still not awakened?” A personal guard stepped into the chamber, his expression devoid of hope, looking utterly bedraggled—likely due to grim news from the front.
Lin Yao shook his head, studying the guard’s expression. “Has something happened?”
The guard hesitated, looking conflicted. Yet seeing the bowl held in Lin Yao’s hands, he let out a heavy sigh: “Many of the remaining physicians have fled. They believe His Highness will never wake. Even the soldiers are growing restless.
High Priest, is His Highness—”
“He will wake up. He definitely will,” Lin Yao declared, his eyes gleaming with a firm conviction that seemed capable of igniting renewed hope in anyone who looked upon him. “Have someone guard the remaining physicians—the soldiers still require their skills. And tell everyone that His Highness will awaken within three days.”
“Is that true?” The despondency on the guard’s face vanished at a visible rate, replaced by a glimmer of hope.
Lin Yao nodded steadily. “I swear it in the name of the divine.”
Such a solemn oath sent the personal guard rushing out in ecstatic joy. Yet once left alone, Lin Yao turned to look at the man on the bed, the certainty in his eyes fading into something far more measured.
In his mind, the system’s cheerful voice sounded:
［Host, the Resurrection Pill is ready whenever you need it! Just one pill guarantees that even if he’s down to his last breath, he’ll be up and jumping around instantly!］
Lin Yao gazed down at the man and replied mentally:
［Who said I was going to use that on him?］
［But you promised three days! My scan confirms that while his current state won’t kill him, he definitely won’t wake up on his own in three days.］
Lin Yao let out a faint, dry laugh:
［Rest assured, he will wake.］
The system was perplexed:
［Huh? How?］
［By calling to him with love, of course.］
At that moment, the system assumed its frugal, cold-headed host was making a joke. Yet seeing his posture, Lin Yao genuinely appeared ready to carry out that plan.
Completely baffled, the system could only quietly open the second-hand book its host had gifted it, deciding to pore over it once more.
A bitter liquid seemed to flow continuously into his mouth. Every inch of his body throbbed with agony, yet his frame felt weightless, devoid of all physical strength. Occasionally, he felt the cool, smooth touch of jade-like skin gliding across him—a chill that brought profound comfort.
Beside his ear, a voice as gentle as a soft breeze spoke unhurriedly, permeating his dreams. It was a voice he found himself savoring repeatedly, reluctant to let go, wishing only to hear a few more words.
He could not open his eyes or see his surroundings, yet his mind effortlessly sketched the speaker’s form: immaculate white robes far more exquisite than clouds, hands as fair as pure jade, expressive eyes that seemed to speak on their own, and a heart that constantly fretted for his well-being.
Cody felt as though he were wandering through absolute darkness, guided solely by that gentle voice, allowing him to navigate toward the light.
Except today, it was far too noisy outside.
Lin Yao stood firmly before the bed, blocking several personal guards from approaching. His voice carried an uncharacteristic sharpness: “His Highness is still alive! You cannot take him away!”
“High Priest, three days have already passed, and His Highness shows no sign of waking! It is far safer to transport him back to the royal capital!” A guard captain held the hilt of his sword, his tone urgent. “It is not that we wish to disturb his rest, but the physicians who fled betrayed our condition to Venus. Enemy forces are already marching upon us!”
Lin Yao understood the gravity of the situation. If Venus truly breached the city walls, Cody—in his current state—would be unable to command or fight even if he woke up.
Furthermore, while Lin Yao’s status as a priest could soothe the people, the soldiers obeyed power, not divine mandate. The only person they answered to was the man lying unconscious on the bed.
The young priest hesitated briefly, yet his outstretched arms did not fall: “If His Highness is moved now, his wounds will certainly rupture! I understand your concerns, but please—grant His Highness a little more time!”
Having kept watch for three days and nights without sleep, his voice sounded frail and exhausted. Yet he continued to use his slender, fragile body to maintain a final line of defense against the soldiers.
A priest was inviolable and could not be handled roughly. Having witnessed the soldier burned at the stake, the guards hesitated, creating a tense standoff.
At that exact moment, frantic shouts echoed from outside:
“The enemy has begun siege operations!”
“Forgive us, High Priest! Even if we are burned at the stake upon returning to the capital, we must relocate His Highness now!” Two guards stepped forward, seizing Lin Yao by the arms to pull him aside.
Even as Lin Yao struggled in vain, a broad hand suddenly reached up from the bed, clamping tightly around the guard’s wrist.
A voice, rough and dry yet ringing like thunder, cut through the air:
“Stand down.”
The two words carried absolute authority. The guards instantly released Lin Yao and dropped to one knee, their voices trembling with joy: “Your Highness! You are awake?”
The priest sitting at the edge of the bed froze in place. Slowly turning his head, he met a pair of opened, deep blue eyes. A shimmer of unshed tears welled up in his gaze: “Your Highness.”
His remaining strength seemed only enough to utter those two words.
“It’s fine,” Cody grunted, propping himself up on the bed.
Lin Yao hastily supported his back, softly warning him not to strain his stitches. Yet the moment Cody was seated comfortably, Lin Yao tried to draw his hand back, only for his fingers to be enveloped in a firm, powerful grip.
“Your Highness.” Lin Yao attempted to pull away, feeling the strength in that hold. Fearing that resisting would cause Cody to tear his chest wound open, he was trapped in an agonizing dilemma, looking pitiably at the prince in hopes that he would release his grip voluntarily.
Yet Cody acted as though he hadn’t noticed the pleading look, ignoring the hesitant glances of his personal guards as he demanded: “You say the enemy has begun their assault? How many are there?”
His awakening acted like a stabilizing anchor, instilling immediate calm amidst the crisis. With enemy forces at the gates, the guards put aside their curiosity regarding the intimate gesture and reported hurriedly: “An estimated ten thousand troops, Your Highness! How should we proceed?”
Cody casually stroked the supple, delicate hand held within his palm, his gaze sweeping past the young priest’s ears—which had turned a deep, crimson red. Looking at the anxious guards, a sharp smile broke across his face:
“Whatever they did to us last time, return the favor. Do not engage outside the gates—hold the walls at all costs, and wait until I have recovered.”
“Understood, Your Highness.” The guards swiftly executed his orders and departed.
Lin Yao watched them leave, then tentatively tried to slip his hand from Cody’s grip. However, he met the prince’s deep, penetrating gaze, causing a sudden flicker of panic in his chest. “Your Highness, I—”
“Be good, don’t struggle,” Cody drew a deep breath, a faint smile surfacing in his eyes as he looked at him. “I thought I would never wake again. I didn’t expect to open my eyes to this world once more.”
Hearing him say this, Lin Yao felt a wave of genuine emotion as well. “Your Highness is blessed by the divine. The soldiers were all desperately praying for your awakening.”
“Only the soldiers?” Cody pulled Lin Yao’s hand to his lips, pressing a dry, warm kiss against his skin. Just as Lin Yao tried to snatch his hand back as if struck by electricity, the prince let out a sudden, sharp groan: “Ngh. It hurts.”
“Where does it hurt?” Lin Yao instantly froze, not daring to struggle any longer. He looked at the wounds on Cody’s torso with deep worry, extending his other hand to lightly check the dressings. “Perhaps Your Highness should lie back down?”
“Now that you’re worried about me, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” Cody chuckled softly, gazing up at him.
His eyes held an intense depth, filled with a gentle warmth entirely unlike his previous coldness. Even while gravely injured, simply resting there, he retained an aura that suggested he could draw his blade at any moment—an effortless charm that made one’s heart flutter uncontrollably.
Such direct, intimate words made Lin Yao’s heart race, yet they frightened him just as much. “Your Highness, you have only just awakened. I will go have the attendants prepare some food for you.”
Cody agreed easily: “Alright, I happen to be starving.”
Yet his hand did not loosen its grip in the slightest.
Lin Yao opened his mouth several times before finally managing to speak: “Could you please release me first?”
To which the prince replied: “No.”
Lin Yao froze on the spot, completely caught off guard by such a blunt response. “But.”
“To be honest, I truly felt I might never wake up,” Cody interrupted softly. “Until I heard your voice. Yao, your voice was so gentle, so soothing—it guided me, allowing me to break free from that absolute darkness. Only when I saw you did I feel as though I had truly returned to life. If you leave, I will be afraid. Would you really have the heart to abandon me?”
His tone was deep and low, yet his words carried an almost petulant, needy affection.
Lin Yao stared at him, answering in a daze: “I won’t leave, Your Highness. I will stay by your side.”
“Such a good boy,” Cody reached out, appearing as though he wanted to caress the youth’s cheek, but his fingertips met the cool silver surface of the mask instead. Tracing the intricate, carved patterns on the metal, he murmured softly,
“Speaking of which, Yao, you seem to have worn this mask continuously, never once taking it off. Why is that?”