Chapter 85 The Storm Takes Me Back
At three in the morning, the bustling noise of the streets subsided, and everything returned to silence.
Moonlight streamed obliquely through the window, gently outlining the edges of things sleeping in the darkness.
The blond god, his hair disheveled and nestled in the Storm Leader's arms, suddenly flinched, curled his fingers, and sat up in the moonlight.
His long, shimmering hair moved with his movements, like a waterfall flowing backwards, but eventually came to a standstill as he sat up.
There was no wind, and the only sound in the room was the Storm Leader's steady breathing.
Reinhardt, sitting up straight, without any warning, stretched out his slender, white hand and slowly reached towards Buster's face.
Reinhardt's touch wasn't very accurate; the first thing he felt was the protruding peak in Buster's throat.
The rigid physiological structure vibrated with each breath, and Reinhardt felt his fingertips go numb from the vibration.
He laughed, seemingly finding it amusing, and lingered there for a while before continuing to climb, stroking upwards along Buster's jawline.
He couldn't see, but the paintbrush at his fingertips outlined clear lines for him. Thus, Reinhardt sketched the approximate form of Buster.
A sharply defined jawline, a high, straight nose, and thick, long, yet neat eyebrows. Reinhardt thought, "The Storm Leader must really be quite good-looking; Madonna and the others' praise isn't just flattery."
Amused by his own thoughts, Reinhardt's lips maintained the same curve as he placed his fingertips on Buster's lips and slowly began to caress them.
Just like Buster did to him before.
Buster's love was as fiery as his personality, surging like magma; he could feel Buster's overwhelming affection for him.
Although Reinhardt was emotionally detached and knew he might not be able to match the other person's level, he still tried to learn from and replicate the other person's behavior during this time.
Reinhardt is now quite certain of his feelings for Buster, but it seems he can no longer tell Buster.
Just like the rain of flowers he couldn't see, he regretted not being able to fully express his liking for the event.
However, regrets are inevitable, and Reinhardt was prepared from the beginning.
Leaning down, his long hair flowing over his shoulders, Reinhardt slowly placed a kiss on the lips of the sleeping Buster.
Gentle and mild-mannered, just like him.
"storm."
"My warrior."
May you have a peaceful and prosperous life.
He murmured softly.
Reinhardt groped his way out of bed, changed into the clothes he had prepared beforehand, summoned the aircraft, and took off the ring Buster had given him.
With remorse, he placed the ring on the table where the two had shared their meal, opened the French windows of the balcony, and boarded the aircraft alone.
Leaning down, Reinhardt gave the instructions in a low voice.
"Take me to the Harlin Empire."
The aircraft beneath him immediately received the signal and carried him away into the night.
*
When Knight Commander Mihir first heard the Second Prince's order, he was filled with shock and disbelief. But now, having already pledged allegiance to the Second Prince, Mihir had no choice but to head out of the city alone, his mind still filled with doubt.
At the agreed time, he waited all afternoon on a secluded forest hill. Just as the sun was about to set and he felt he had been tricked again, a white figure slowly landed in front of him from afar.
Mihir stared blankly at the other person until he was close enough to snap out of his daze and look around warily.
Even if the Second Prince gave the order, he would find it hard not to suspect the purpose behind it.
Strangely, everything around seemed normal.
There were no more raiders following closely behind, nor an arrogant storm leader; there was only a well-dressed and stunningly beautiful son of the god.
He instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it at any moment. Only after confirming that there was only one person present did Mihir relax his guard slightly and carefully observe the man before him.
Legend has it that the Storm Leader was a man of violent temper and infamously wicked character. Like most people, Mihir believed that the Son of God, in his hands, would either be imprisoned or tortured to death; in short, he would not have a good end.
The son of the god, who he remembered as miserable, wounded, and disheveled, now stood before him again, but seemed like a completely different person.
Her dry, brittle hair, like a shimmering golden galaxy, cascaded over the shoulders of the beauty dressed in a pristine white robe.
The painful marks on his wrists and ankles, worn raw by chains, and his feet, which had been naked and covered in blood for years, had faded.
He was clean.
It was so clean it looked like it was glowing.
Her figure was still tall and slender, but the Son of God now looked much fatter. Her arms and legs, which used to show clear veins and bones, had become quite plump.
Even his chest had developed a bulge, whether it was muscle or something else, I couldn't tell.
If it weren't for the fact that the Son of God was clearly male, Mihir might even have the illusion that he was a lady.
He was once captivated by the appearance of the Son of God, and for countless days and nights, lying in bed recalling that moment, he would feel as if he were hallucinating.
But now he was certain that his first glance was not an illusion; in fact, he should say that the son of the god who had reshaped his memories was even more captivating than before.
With great difficulty, Michel looked at the veil covering his eyes and couldn't understand why a prisoner who had already gained his freedom would choose to return.
Could it be that he was mistreated by the Storm Leader and couldn't stand it anymore, so he simply ran back to seek death?
Judging from the current state, it doesn't seem like it.
Who would raise a prisoner as their precious daughter?
Mihir stood up straight with a puzzled look on his face and took a bottle of medicine out of his pocket.
"Drink it, then come with me."
This is a transformation potion, specifically instructed by the Second Prince. He seems to not want others to know that the Son of God has returned.
The Son of God took the medicine bottle almost without hesitation and drank it all in one gulp, as if he was not worried at all that Mihir had poisoned him.
Such composure stirred up mixed feelings in Mihir.
After watching him finish his drink, Mihir summoned a small flying vehicle, walked up to Reinhardt who was blindfolded, gestured for him to get in the vehicle, and said, "Take off the blindfold, it's too conspicuous."
The Son of God raised his hand in silence and decisively tore off the gleaming eye patch.
Just then, a gust of wind swept by, lifting the soft silk scarf from his fingertips and carrying it into the distance.
It was almost as if he could see it; Mihir watched as his head followed the silk scarf as it turned. Until the scarf was freely carried away where they could no longer see it, he was astonished to see the Son of God smile.
But that smile vanished in an instant, as if it were his illusion.
The Son of God regained his calm expression, slowly turned around, and touched the rounded handle of the aircraft.
With a hint of reluctance, he stroked it very slowly.
Finally, he bent down and, in a voice that Michel had never heard before, with a smile and an indescribable regret and longing, gently uttered two simple words.
"storm."
Mihir's heart tightened, and he immediately gripped the hilt of his sword, becoming fully alert.
Unexpectedly, the surroundings remained calm, with only the rounded aircraft taking off and heading into the distance.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com