Acidity of Regret Ch 95
- Feb 16
- 6 min read
A heavy vibration rattled through her bones as they tumbled across the ground and slammed into the wooden legs of a market stall.
[Unknown] "Ugh......"
A suppressed groan sounded above her head. Vanessa, frozen in shock, blinked several times before scrambling to sit up. Her robe’s hood fell back, allowing her short, golden hair to flutter in the biting air.
The figure who rescued her from the charging horse wore a robe that concealed every inch of their body. Her gaze didn't linger on the hidden face but dropped to the arm extended above her.
The stall’s support had collapsed, sending an oak barrel the size of a child’s torso rolling down. It sat directly atop the stranger’s hand, crushing it against the earth.
[Vanessa] "Oh my God."
Her face turned ashen. She called for help, and it took four grown men to heave the massive barrel aside.
Once the weight vanished, she rushed to check her savior. Unlike her, he couldn't even manage to steady himself; the impact had been severe. His hand was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle, the skin already beginning to purple.
[Vanessa] "Are you alright? We need to get you to a physician, quickly......"
In her haste, she grabbed the edge of his robe. The loosely draped hood slid back, revealing his face.
[Vanessa] "......Declan?"
Stunned silence fell over her. She hadn't expected to encounter him here, of all places. The noise of the market and the surrounding scenery faded into a blur, leaving only his face in sharp, impossible focus.
She remained in a trance until Dina pushed through the crowd, followed by a knight from the Grand Duchy who had arrived late to the scene.
[Physician] "It’s fractured. This will take quite a while to heal."
The physician adjusted his monocle and spoke with clinical detachment.
Vanessa’s gaze slid toward Declan’s hand. It had swollen into a bloated, bruised mass, testifying to the severity of the injury.
The physician rummaged through a weathered drawer and pulled out rolls of white bandages.
[Physician] "I’ll need to keep this immobilized for a while. Avoid moving the joint or applying any pressure."
Declan remained silent, so Vanessa spoke for him.
[Vanessa] "How long until it’s fully healed?"
[Physician] "Even with minimal movement, two months at least......"
The diagnosis drew a heavy sigh from Vanessa. The sound carried the weight of her lingering shock.
This reunion was a bolt from the blue. She had spent the last hour staring at him, her mind dark and blank.
Why was he here?
Why had he thrown himself in harm's way for her?
Three years of separation should have made them strangers, yet here he was, broken and bleeding on her account.
She had only regained enough composure to bring him to the village’s tiny clinic because his injuries looked so dire. He hadn't moved a finger after the fall, likely having struck his head during the impact.
Dina was currently off to return the hair ornaments they had purchased. Since Vanessa hadn't expected a medical emergency, she lacked the funds for the treatment. She intended to pay the physician once Dina returned. She had no desire to linger, but she couldn't abandon a man who had been mangled while saving her life.
The clinic was cramped and modest. She scanned the room before her eyes settled on the man across from her. Declan rested his left hand on the table for the physician but kept his right hand over his forehead, as if attempting to shield his face from her scrutiny.
[Physician] "If you’re in a hurry, heading to the capital might be best. This is a remote village with no advanced healing, but in the capital, magic or divine power could shorten the recovery time."
The physician spoke with a hint of calculation.
While magic was rare and divine power was a luxury reserved for high nobility in the Ingzella Empire, he had observed the quality of Declan’s clothing. Though the outfit looked plain at a glance, the material and stitching were exceptional—details the physician recognized from his youth serving the capital’s elite.
Furthermore, the clinic—usually empty—was currently surrounded by a group of men in crisp uniforms who radiated an aura of lethal competence. His knights were currently waiting outside due to the lack of space.
Neither Vanessa nor Declan responded to the physician's advice. A subtle, suffocating tension stretched between them.
Sensing the heavy atmosphere, the physician finished the bandages and slipped away to another room.
[Vanessa] "......"
[Declan] "......"
She studied him again.
The word long ago felt appropriate. She couldn't even remember the last time she had seen his face, and the gap felt like a chasm.
Because he had never shown himself during these three years, this sudden encounter brought a storm of confusion. If not for this accident, they would have passed each other without a single word. She would have ignored him, as was her right.
Why did it have to be like this......?
To receive a wound meant for her.
They had severed ties three years ago. They were less than strangers. Yet, the irony of fate had anchored her to his side.
It wasn't just the injury that held her back. It was his overall condition.
He had looked terrible when she first began to reject him after her regression, but that version of Declan was a paragon of health compared to the man before her now.
He was gaunt, his features hollowed out by a dense, somber shadow that clung to him like a second skin. Even his posture was diminished; he looked withered, lacking the arrogant vitality of the man she once knew. He wouldn't even meet her eyes—a sign that he knew he was an intruder in her life.
[Vanessa] "Sigh......"
She stood up. The depth of their shared history and the years of silence made his presence a crushing burden. She decided to wait for Dina outside the clinic.
But.
[Declan] "Where are you going?"
As she tried to pass him, a hand clamped onto her wrist. His grip was weak—pathetic compared to the iron strength he once possessed. It felt like a child clutching at a sleeve. Yet the sheer desperation in that touch forced her feet to stop.
Close up, his face was even more sallow, as if the very blood had been drained from him.
[Declan] "Please...... stay for just a moment."
She hadn't intended to flee the village, but her silent departure had clearly triggered his panic.
[Declan] "Ten minutes."
[Vanessa] "......"
[Declan] "If not...... just five."
His raspy voice made him sound like a starving animal sensing its master was about to abandon it. It mirrored the desperate, pleading man who had knelt before her once before.
She realized a moment later that the hand holding her was trembling.
[Vanessa] "......"
She could shake him off. She could walk away, and he would have no right to complain. He was the man who had tormented her beyond the limits of human endurance.
But it was difficult to leave a man who looked like he would collapse into dust the moment she turned her back. More than that, her eyes kept drifting to his bandaged hand resting on his knee.
The image of the horse charging at her remained vivid. If he hadn't pulled her away, she might have suffered an injury far worse than a fracture. People died under those hooves.
Five minutes.
A whisper of gratitude, which she had forgotten in her initial shock, suggested she could spare that much.
She reached down and pried his hand off her wrist.
[Declan] "Ah......"
Despair flooded his face, turning it even more ashen. He looked utterly discarded. However, his eyes widened slightly when she walked back to the seat opposite him and sat down.
[Vanessa] "Five minutes."
She pulled a pocket watch from her dress. It was a clear signal: she would give him exactly five minutes, no more.
Declan stared at her, dazed. He couldn't believe his own eyes.
When he had followed her to the market, he hadn't intended to show himself. He had spent years carefully staying out of her line of sight, limiting his own world to the shadows.
He felt a deep sense of failure. He had promised not to seek her out, yet here he was, shamelessly appearing before her. He feared her hatred. He feared that this would make her loathe him even more.
But he couldn't have stayed hidden.
The market was a sea of people, and amidst the chaos, the threat to her life had manifested in an instant. Before logic could take hold, he had already lunged for her. The thought of her being hurt had bypassed his brain and gone straight to his muscles.
The pain in his hand was excruciating, enough to make his vision swim. Yet even then, he had tightened his hold on her, feeling nothing but relief that she was unscathed.
And now, this.
The scene before him felt like a dream. After three years of watching her from a distance, having her within arm's reach was more than a surprise—it was a miracle.
A thousand sentences tangled at the tip of his tongue. He wanted to tell her that her short hair suited her, or that she looked much healthier.
But he was terrified that one wrong word would shatter her mercy and drive her away. He was content to be a man struck mute, as long as she stayed this close—in a space where, if he reached out, he could touch her.
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