Chapter 3 The Room "Can't you see?"...
To facilitate treatment, Madonna simply gathered the long blonde hair of the Son of God to one side of her head.
His long, golden hair, which had finally gained some luster, cascaded down his shoulders like a waterfall bathed in sunlight, spreading out as he stood up.
He never opened his eyes.
As someone who had personally experienced having his eyes gouged out, he knew very well that even if he lifted his eyelids, he wouldn't gain any light. So he simply stopped doing this futile effort, slowly turned his body along the edge of the bed, and found an empty space to sit upright on the edge of the bed.
Outside the window, the sky was ablaze with embers, and the slivers of light seeping into the room through the glass window greedily licked the profile of the son of the gods.
Half of the handsome blond youth's face was tinged red by the fiery glow of the sunset, while the other half remained serene in the gradually fading shadows of the room.
As light and shadow intertwine, and brightness and darkness alternate, the sacred features of the Son of God are tinged with a touch of the eerie.
Buster seemed to understand why the king had deliberately covered his face before the execution.
It certainly has the power to bewitch.
"I should thank you."
Suddenly, the God's Son, who had been as quiet as a puppet, spoke.
Then Buster understood why the king had placed a silencing spell on him.
That elegant, gentle voice was like ice crystals falling onto a silver plate, clear and translucent with a touch of ethereal resonance. It was as if each syllable carried a divine tremor, striking straight to the depths of the soul.
It makes people unable to resist falling in love and becoming fascinated.
Fortunately, Buster was mentally stable.
His gaze lingered on the flawless face, and after a moment, a cold snort escaped his throat. This flamboyant and wild man sneered, "I didn't save you for a dry thank you."
The son of the god, with his eyes tightly closed, shifted his head almost imperceptibly for a moment, indicating his confusion.
They seem not to understand what kind of expectations they deserve from someone who has nothing.
Until the other party responds.
Buster said, "I want you to bring someone back to life, a long-dead soul."
The son of the god slowly shook his head, and his long golden hair, which had been hanging down his shoulders, slid down to his chest.
He said, "I'm sorry. I can't fulfill your wish right now."
Whether it was a silencing spell that left him with lasting effects, or it was simply his natural tone of voice, the Son of God's every word was slow and paused.
But it's surprisingly pleasant to listen to.
Perhaps it was his voice that made him more appealing, but surprisingly, the usually short-tempered Mr. Storm didn't get angry. With his arms crossed, he sat lazily on the sofa, looking as carefree as a country bumpkin…
Oh, he was a robber to begin with.
The bandit 'Storm' lingered on the Son of God, finally settling on his eyes, which had thick eyelashes and eyebrows shaped like distant mountains.
What if I find your eyes again?
Legend has it that the divine power of the son of a god comes from his beautiful eyes. And because the son of a god possesses such power cannot be killed by ordinary human weapons, the king, in order to kill him, gouged out his eyes and discarded them in a faraway place.
He was then kept imprisoned until his divine power was exhausted.
The process of consuming divine power was extremely lengthy; the entire Harlin Empire waited a full six years before seeing any hope of executing the son of the god.
Of course, this also gave Buster a chance to get people out of trouble.
As expected, the Son of God fell silent. He seemed to be considering the feasibility, while Buster took the silence as a sign of acquiescence, a confident and ostentatious smile spreading across his lips.
"Then let's take this as the exchange condition. I will help you find your eyes and restore your divine power. You help me revive someone. Once the goal is achieved, we will be even, and you can leave at any time to pursue your freedom."
The son of the god, as serene as a plaster statue, remained expressionless. So Buster waited for him a little longer.
"Alright." Finally, the Son of God nodded, each word he uttered still slow and deliberate.
"I promise you, if you can get my eyes back, I will do my best to fulfill your wish."
"That's right!" Storm slapped his thigh, stood up, and left the infirmary decisively.
The room door opened and closed, closed and opened again.
Madonna, who was the first to leave, returned.
She stood before the seated Son of God, her usual boldness towards her colleagues gone, and said in a very gentle tone, "Awake? Perfect, I'll take you to your room now."
She had the thought of helping the son of the gods to his feet, but as soon as she reached out her hand, the beautiful woman dressed in coarse linen clothes touched the edge of the bed, supported herself, and slowly stood up.
Even though he is blind, he doesn't need any special help from others most of the time.
Some people are just stubborn in certain aspects, and Madonna expressed her understanding, turning her head and walking ahead of him.
If she doesn't offer help, she guides the other person by making sounds.
“My name is Madonna Neil. You can just call me Madonna.” She introduced herself enthusiastically, in a way that didn’t require a response.
“Our ship… oh, has the leader introduced it to you? Or have you heard of the ‘Storm’ bandit gang?”
The Son of God's head-shaking was expected. Madonna nodded: "That's true. I heard you were captured when you were very young. It would be strange if you could have heard of that. Then let me, Madonna, the chief medical officer of the 'Storm' military bandit group, introduce you!"
"We, the 'Storm' bandit gang, are the freest birds in this sky," Madonna said with pride. "Our mission is to rob the rich and give to the poor, targeting nobles and wealthy merchants who oppress the people. As a result, we have an excellent reputation among the common folk. In some towns, we even receive a warm welcome. We have an energy stone on board, so we can travel on the seas and in the sky. The whole world is our destination."
“Our leader, ‘Storm’ Buster Guts, is even more renowned. Oh, he’s the man you were just talking to.”
"Don't let his fierce appearance fool you, he's handsome too..." Suddenly realizing that the Son of God couldn't see, Madonna's tone changed abruptly, "Although! Cough, he has a bit of a temper, sometimes he deliberately does things that people don't like, and he speaks rudely and impolitely. But he's actually a good person, reasonable, and loyal, which is why we're willing to follow him."
"Don't worry, he'll only ever make you angry, and even then, it'll be on purpose. But he'll never treat you badly."
Madonna glanced back at the beautiful son of the gods, hesitated for a moment, and then decided to ask.
"There's something I'm really curious about: did you really commit the massacre twenty-one years ago? Did you single-handedly slaughter an entire city?" Madonna swore she really just wanted to raise awareness and guide the discussion, not that she was deliberately trying to gossip.
Following behind, the slow-moving blonde beauty seemed oblivious to her true intentions.
"Twenty-one years ago, I..."
Before she could finish speaking, she was interrupted by a male voice that suddenly broke into her speech.
"Oh, the Son of God has awakened? The leader actually has the ability to instantly wake someone up? Could it be that he did something—"
The son of the gods heard the man's voice getting closer and closer, then suddenly pulled away.
Madonna's voice was impatient: "Get out of my way! Did I say you could come near me?"
"What are you shrewish for! You rude woman!" The man staggered back and forth, a hint of impatience in his voice. "I didn't do anything!"
The Son of God wanted to say that he wasn't so cowardly, but Madonna's demeanor made him instinctively feel that it wasn't the right time to say such a thing. So the honest, blonde beauty obediently shut his mouth and waited for Madonna to lead him out of the encirclement.
As expected, Ms. Madonna was incredibly powerful. In no time, she had driven away one, two, three, and four colleagues who had come to watch the Son of God as if he were a rare animal, and successfully led him to a locked room.
She stopped, and the son of the gods stopped as well.
"We're here. This is your room."
The son of the gods heard her push open the door, and the two of them walked into another space together.
Madonna explained to him verbally, “The bathroom is on your left, and the bed is on your right, about two meters from where we are now. The window is about ten meters directly in front of us. To the right of the window, which is where we are facing now, there is a coffee table and a two-seater sofa. The teapot is on the coffee table. You know how to boil water, right?”
She felt like a nagging older sister, but after seeing the obedient son of the gods nod, that feeling of resistance dissipated.
So beautiful... I can't get enough of saying it, Madonna couldn't help but exclaim, feeling as if she were raising a life-sized humanoid doll, and her mood was inexplicably good.
But this doll is a bit too pitiful.
Numerous whip marks remained on her fair body—arms, ankles, neck, and even faint traces on her face. Although they were healing, this did not prevent Madonna from expressing strong condemnation.
How could you do that?!
His clothes were even torn!
Oh no, this crudely made style shouldn't even be considered clothing; it's just a piece of fabric that barely covers the body.
For the first time, Madonna felt kind.
She sighed and said, "Your wounds are almost healed. You can take a bath now. I'll get you some food in a bit. Oh, there are some new clothes on the bed. They might not fit perfectly, but you can wear them for now. I'll buy you some more after we dock tomorrow."
The son of God gently thanked the kind lady.
After Madonna closed the door and left, he took off his clothes, which were covered in blood and dirt, and slowly walked into the bathroom in the direction she had indicated. He hadn't encountered clean water in a long time.
This was an extreme luxury during those past six years. He couldn't even afford a full stomach, let alone clean water to cleanse himself. So, as the warm water poured over his shoulders, even the usually composed, doll-like Son of God couldn't help but sigh.
Beneath the flowing water, slender fingers gently traced the healing wounds on his body. The warm water washed over his blond hair, forming tiny golden swirls on his shoulders. He tilted his head back, letting the water glide over his flawless face, washing away the dust and blood that had accumulated over the past six years.
A misty steam gradually rose from the bathroom, and his figure appeared and disappeared in the haze, like a classical oil painting blurred by water vapor.
Finally, the sound of water stopped.
The son of the god, with his wet, blond hair, slowly stepped out of the bathroom.
He walked to the bedside, reaching out to touch the clothes Madonna had laid out on the bed. But his fingertips paused slightly just before touching someone's body, slowly turning around and accurately touching the clothes.
"Heh." A sneer came from beside me.
Immediately afterwards, a large hand grasped the wrist of the son of the god, who was caught off guard and stumbled forward, falling right into a warm, wide embrace.
A hand had appeared on his side at some point, and the voice he had spoken to not long ago suddenly rang out again in this cramped space.
"Can't you see?"
Buster said with great interest.
A note from the author:
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Buster (squeezing his waist): Can't you see?
Son of God (being pinched): ?
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