Chapter 11 You're Free. He never showed any sympathy for a stranger before...
The Storm Leader's deep gaze, which had been scrutinizing the Son of God, now held a hint of inquiry. He seemed to harbor doubts about the Son of God's selfless prayers.
As the leader of the Stormwind Bandit Gang, Buster had naturally heard many rumors about the Son of God before rescuing him. Besides the massacre of the city, he had heard even more about the Son of God's skill in bewitching people.
It seems that quite a few people, bewitched by the Son of God, have tried to help him escape or seek justice for him.
And all of these things will eventually end with the traitor being executed.
The silencing spell placed on the Son of God must have stemmed from the king's fear, which is why Buster and Madonna weren't surprised when they learned of its existence.
But if the Son of God is truly such a selfless and fearless individual, how could he have committed the massacre of a city, been imprisoned in an underground dungeon, had his eyes gouged out, and been placed under a silencing spell?
Is she acting to gain his trust?
Then use him? Make him avenge you?
Buster narrowed his eyes slightly.
However, the reason why the Storm Leader was able to become the leader was not only because of his outstanding abilities and superior combat power, but more importantly because he was intelligent and would not easily believe anyone's one-sided story. Even if everyone claimed that this was the truth, he would still maintain independent thinking until he obtained strong evidence to prove it.
Of course, this is all predicated on his willingness to pursue the answer.
For the time being, he has no interest in the blood debts borne by the son of the gods and his story.
His relationship with the Son of God was merely a normal collaboration; once things were over, they would return to being parallel lines, with no further connection whatsoever.
The storm remained silent, its gaze fixed solely on the back of the slender yet beautiful son of the god.
My gaze swept over his long hair, over his disheveled clothes, and over the faint red marks hidden beneath his blond hair and clothing.
The empty, pure white plain remained calm, as if nothing had happened.
The Storm Leader's already limited patience ran out. He frowned and tried to carry the Son of God back to the ship.
Although Mark's condition is not optimistic, the ship is well-equipped with resources and has Madonna as a temporary doctor, which is better than wasting time here.
But just as he was about to leave, he noticed tiny golden fluorescent particles emerging from the lifeless stone statue.
These particles drifted in the sky above the pure white wasteland, then slowly sank down, like a drizzling rain falling, yet full of relaxation and softness.
Buster noticed that the son of the god, who was like a docile kitten, snuggling close to the statue, suddenly went limp.
He ran over without thinking.
With his arm wrapped around the child's back, Storm held the Son of God in one arm, lifting the arm slightly so that the child naturally leaned towards his chest.
"Hey." Storm took a step back and looked coldly at the statue.
With his other hand still holding the two chicks stacked together, the Storm Leader said coldly.
"If it's just about vitality, you can take mine."
He might not be able to do what a god could, but when it came to life force, the Storm Leader felt he had plenty of energy and was no less capable than any god.
There's no need to take from this weak boy.
However, the golden light completely ignored the Storm Leader's intentions, wandering in the sky on its own, and drifting rhythmically toward Mark's direction.
"Do you want him dead?!" Receiving no response and being ignored, the Storm Leader was already showing signs of anger.
Fortunately, the statue responded before his anger reached its peak.
"I did not drain his life force..."
Unexpectedly, the stone statue could speak. The Storm Leader hugged the Son of God tightly and took a half step back, adopting a defensive posture.
It was a woman's voice, deep, gentle, sacred, and ethereal.
Perhaps it's a common trait among gods, but like the sons of gods, the stone statues speak in a very slow and deliberate tone.
Buster waited until she finished uttering the last word before continuing the conversation.
"So what's wrong with him?"
The person was perfectly fine just now, how did they suddenly faint!
It has a bit of the feel of Zihan's parents.
The stone statue remained silent.
After a long while, she finally spoke with a sigh.
"He's too weak..."
A golden light emerged from nothingness, transforming into a slender arm that slowly caressed the divine child who lay obediently in Buster's arms.
Her tone was full of pity, and her hand stroking the beautiful face of the son of the god was full of tenderness.
“His divine power was almost gone, and although his life force was recovering, he was as weak as a newborn baby.”
Her fingertips gently traced the face that still held a touch of childishness yet was exceptionally beautiful, her fingertips lingering below the eye sockets.
The Storm Leader, holding the Son of God, turned away unhappily, rejecting her touch.
Although he didn't know exactly what was bothering him.
The Storm Leader continued to ask questions with a cold expression.
"Don't tell me that this golden light is your life force."
The owner of the hand was not angry, but responded directly.
“Yes,” she said.
The Storm Leader paused for a moment, looking down at Mark he was carrying, and noticed that his emaciated companion's skin was gradually filling out. The skin was changing from a wrinkled, drooping state to fuller, and its color was transforming from withered tree bark to a normal human skin tone.
...Has it really been restored?
Buster wanted to shake Mark to see if he was truly alive or barely alive. But before his attention was drawn to Mark for long, he caught a glimpse of the golden hand reaching for the Son of God in his arms.
As he coldly glanced back, the golden hand had already touched the latter.
Just as the Storm Leader was about to retreat again, he noticed a slight change in the wound where the Son of God had been touched by the golden hand.
Golden Princess's skin could be described as snow-white, so the red marks crisscrossing her arms looked particularly striking.
However, after the golden hand's fingertips gently touched them, the glaring red marks faded at a speed visible to the naked eye, and the wounds disappeared without a trace.
Buster's hands are faster than his brain.
He tossed aside the recovering Mark and his lover, and quickly ripped off the jacket wrapped around the Son of God. Grabbing the hem, Buster tore the jacket completely off.
Buster, the clueless straight man, didn't see anything wrong with it at all; after all, it was just the two of them...
...
Those two who fainted don't count.
...
Those responsible for treatment don't count either.
It's true that there are only the two of them here, and they're both men, so it doesn't really matter if they're naked.
So Buster very calmly took off his clothes.
"It's a good idea to treat them all at once."
Thinking that the Son of God might also have an injury on his leg, Storm immediately reached for the man's pants. Unexpectedly, before the belt could even be untied, the person in his arms began to struggle violently.
Buster was getting impatient: "Behave yourself!"
The son of the gods showed no intention of listening, grabbing the storm's large hands and desperately trying to pull them apart, refusing to let him.
"You can't beat me anyway, your resistance is pointless..." His temper was about to flare up, and he was about to explode when he saw the expression on the face of the Son of God.
The crisscrossing wounds on the god's son, whose golden hair was disheveled, were mostly healed under the touch of the golden hand. But his complexion was still terrible, no, it should be said that it was worse than before he entered the tomb.
His face, with his eyes tightly closed, was completely bloodless. He pressed his hands against Buster's hands, which were trying to undo his belt, and pushed them away. His body was still trembling slightly.
Buster paused, then asked, "Have you been bullied before?"
The Storm Leader had never been to the dungeon, but he knew the evil in human nature and that once people gained power, regardless of its size, they would do everything in their power to make things difficult for others.
Especially men. The vast majority of men are mindless animals driven by sperm. If the act of marking territory with semen were effective in human society, then the world would likely have a large number of naked, beast-like creatures wandering around.
Moreover, he is the son of a god.
Beautiful and sacred, it is the only living relic in an era when all the gods have fallen.
...Who wouldn't want to taste the flavor of the gods?
Just as Buster was getting restless and lost in thought, the female voice from the stone statue interrupted him.
“He has never suffered such filthy harm.” Her voice was calm, yet tinged with pity. “No one can insult him unless he wants to.”
The son of the gods, who could always stand tall on the execution platform, also maintained his pride and never yielded to suffering.
The small flare of anger that had just been ignited by the Storm Leader slowly subsided.
He sized up the handsome fellow.
The closed eyelids trembled slightly, and the fingertips of the well-defined fingers turned slightly white from the force of the shoving, making them appear even more bloodless.
His golden hair was scattered over his shoulders, like a golden waterfall cascading down. A few strands became entangled with Buster amidst his owner's chaotic struggles. If Buster moved even slightly, the other person would have to lean closer to him in pain.
But he was unwilling to give up, preferring to tear off strands of hair rather than give up Buster.
The Storm Leader saw the furrowed brow and the panic in his eyes.
Only now did he truly realize that the so-called Son of God was just an ordinary guy who had suffered a lot of injustice.
The children of gods and ordinary humans are no different except for being ridiculously good-looking.
For some reason, a strange emotion welled up in his chest. He couldn't quite put his finger on it; it might be sympathy, pity, or perhaps a touch of curiosity about the other person's past.
These strange features made Buster's gaze involuntarily trace the outlines of his eyebrows, the cupid's bow, and the remaining scars on his body.
Buster, who had just been thinking that he would not waver, had to admit that the rumors were true. If this was the way the Son of God used to bewitch people, then he was really capable.
At least Buster has loosened up quite a bit now.
He would never have shown sympathy for a stranger before!
After going over it in his mind again and again, the Storm Leader felt both helpless and at a loss.
He put the clothes he had haphazardly torn off back on the child and pressed his palm against the back of the god's neck.
After a moment's thought, the Storm Leader imitated the way his nanny comforted his crying younger brother when he was a child, leaning down to pull him into his arms and holding him tightly.
"It's alright now."
He lowered his voice, and his movements were nine-tenths clumsy.
He stiffly patted the other person's back, and upon hearing a muffled groan from the Son of God, he realized he had used too much force and immediately relaxed his wrist.
Little by little, gently, I patted his back.
“It’s alright.” He reassured stiffly, his voice carrying a softness and pity that he himself didn’t even realize.
"You are free."
A note from the author:
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I forgot to set the timer yesterday and it didn't post, so I'm updating it earlier today [please!].
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