Chapter 227: Sun’s approach
The room felt smaller, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow over their sweating bodies, the herb scent drowned by the musk of sex. The bed creaked louder, protesting each thrust, the quilt now a twisted mess.
Her breasts bounced wildly, her moans syncing with his grunts, a raw, desperate harmony. "Yes... coming... ah!" she cried, her second orgasm crashing through her, core pulsing hot around his rod, clenching in tight, rhythmic waves.
Her body trembled under him, back arching, breasts pressing against his chest, wrists straining against his grip as pleasure rolled through her.
Jae thrust through it, slow but deep, drawing out every shudder, her moans softening to gasps as she fought for breath, her skin slick with sweat, the room heavy with their shared heat.
xxxx
The infirmary had grown quieter since the chaos of the recent battles. Its silence was almost sacred, the kind that pressed against the skin and demanded hushed voices. The air smelled faintly of crushed herbs—lavender to calm nerves, mint to ease nausea, and bitter wormwood mixed into tonics that left a dry sting in the nose. That scent lingered with the sharper, sterile bite of alchemical disinfectants that seeped into the very stone walls after years of use.
The space was long, rectangular, and orderly, lit by the pale light that filtered through tall, narrow windows. Sunlight streamed in faint beams, catching on floating dust motes and giving the air a faint shimmer. Beds stretched along both sides of the room, their linens crisp and white, tucked with military neatness. Wooden nightstands sat beside each bed, holding small vials of medicine, folded cloths, or steaming cups of herbal teas.
Most of the beds were empty. A handful were occupied, though not by wounded soldiers or students bandaged from battle. A girl with a pale complexion rested upright, sipping slowly from a mug while a healer murmured softly by her side. Two beds down, a boy lay curled under a blanket, cheeks flushed, his shallow breaths broken by the occasional cough. Another student, no more than a first-year, sat with his knees drawn up, a warm compress balanced against his head as he blinked drowsily at the floor. Their presence added a quiet backdrop of human fragility to the room, but it was subdued, gentle, and did not disturb the hush.
Healers moved softly between them, their footsteps light, their hands practiced and calm. Their voices were barely audible, low and steady, carrying a rhythm of reassurance that blended into the stillness. There were no cries of pain, no clatter of emergency. The infirmary today was not a place of chaos, but one of quiet care.
In the middle of that stillness, Elise sat by Jae’s bed.
Her chair was plain, a simple wooden thing that creaked faintly whenever she shifted, but she hardly noticed its discomfort. Her attention was wholly on him. Jae lay stretched out on the bed, the sheet drawn neatly over him, his head turned slightly to one side as if sleep had found him in the middle of a thought. His blonde hair caught the light in soft strands, and his expression was calm, almost boyish, the faintest trace of his usual smirk lurking at the edge of his lips even in unconsciousness.
The healers had done their work well. There were no bandages left, no visible marks of what he had endured. His body was whole, almost untouched, as though the battles he fought had left no trace. But Elise remembered too vividly. She had seen him bleed, had felt the sting of fear as she rushed to him. The memory lingered in her chest like a bruise, invisible but aching.
Her fingers brushed lightly against the edge of the sheet, then slid closer until her hand rested atop his. His skin was warm, steady. That simple touch grounded her, reminding her that he was here, alive, not some fading vision she had clung to in the heat of battle.
For long minutes, she simply watched him breathe. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that soothed her, but her thoughts churned beneath the surface. Elise was no stranger to wounds or death. As a healer, she had seen countless students laid across these beds, some recovering, some not. But Jae was different. With him, every cut, every risk, tore at her in ways she didn’t want to admit. He laughed at danger, walked into storms like they were nothing, and yet—when he fell, she felt her heart tear with him.
Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to speak, but the words never came. What could she say? That she wished he’d stop throwing himself into fights? That she wanted him to stay alive, even if it meant holding back his hunger for strength? He wouldn’t listen. That was who he was. And still... she couldn’t stop wanting it. Wanting him safe.
The door creaked open.
Elise’s head snapped up, her body tensing. For an instant, she expected Tirel’s fiery hair and sultry grin, or Byun’s easy smirk meant to disarm tension. But the figure that stepped inside froze her blood.
It was Sun.
He entered as though the infirmary belonged to him, every step precise and commanding. His shoulders squared, his chin tilted upward, his dark hair catching faint glints of light. He moved with that same cold arrogance that followed him everywhere, the quiet assurance that he was above all others. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes found Elise sitting at Jae’s side.
"Elise," he said smoothly, his voice cutting through the hush without effort. "I was hoping to find you here."
Her back stiffened. She glanced at Jae, still resting, then back to Sun, her voice low and guarded. "What do you want?"
He stepped closer, his boots clicking softly on the stone floor. His tone lowered, meant only for her. "You shouldn’t be wasting your time with him. A farm boy, a reckless fighter who doesn’t understand the world he’s stepping into—he’s beneath you."