346: Hurting Himself

Hurting Himself

As Oriana stepped inside the palace doors, she spotted Arlan slowly making his way through the foyer towards the staircase. Her instinct was to rush to him, but Rafal and Imbert promptly blocked her path with their sheathed swords.0

Despite their elevated status compared to her humble servant position, Oriana shot them a fierce glare. Her eyes glistened with tears, yet they harbored an icy resolve that conveyed her anger and frustration at being thwarted.

The two knights remained steadfast, making it clear they had no intention of allowing her to reach the Prince. Though she was tempted to employ her powers and effortlessly dispatch these obstacles, she opted for a more rational approach, turning to Roman for assistance. However, Roman appeared unmoved, aligning himself with the two knights instead.

Hadn't Roman consistently been the one to guide her to Arlan when he was in a troubled state? Why the change now?

An unsettling silence enveloped the Thistle Palace, with no one uttering a single word. Actions spoke louder than words as Rafal, who typically relished in taunts, remained uncharacteristically silent, as if there were an unspoken agreement among them.

Imbert exchanged a meaningful glance with Rafal and then quietly followed the Prince, leaving Oriana in Rafal's charge. Oriana yearned to follow Imbert, but Rafal raised his sheathed sword, barring her way, his displeasure evident in his stern gaze.

Helpless and heartbroken, she watched Arlan ascend the stairs unaided, occasionally stumbling and regaining his balance by clutching the stair railing. Imbert trailed behind, his expression inscrutable.

Oriana finally sank to her knees on the floor, overcome by her inability to reach him and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, and she clutched her chest, feeling a physical ache. He was the one who was wounded, yet why did she bear this emotional pain? Her heart throbbed painfully, and it felt almost unbearable.

As Oriana's tears continued to flow, Rafal's gaze shifted to the second floor, where Arlan had already ascended. With a solemn sigh, he retracted his sword and quietly exited the mansion, sparing one last glance at the weeping servant. Today, unlike his usual mocking self, he appeared impassive.

----

Meanwhile, Arlan staggered into his room, his unsteady steps betraying the turmoil within. The door closed behind him, leaving Imbert stationed outside.

A palpable aura of malevolent black magic enveloped Arlan, etching pain onto his features. His breaths remained shallow, his body drenched in sweat, and his half-opened eyes harbored both disgust and anger. Every fiber of his being longed to release a heart-rending scream, but he found himself utterly drained of strength.

Arlan discarded his unbuttoned coat, letting it fall to the floor. He shuffled toward a small desk against the wall, somehow managing to lower himself to sit on the chair in front of it. His trembling hands sought out the drawer, and with effort, he pulled it open, revealing a short dagger within.

His gaze fixated on the small dagger blade as he withdrew it from its sheath. Placing his right hand firmly on the top of the desk, his trembling left hand pushed up the sleeve on his right arm. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he clenched the dagger in his left hand and slashed at his wrist. Blood welled up, but he felt no pain.

Fury ignited in his eyes as the wound miraculously healed in an instant. Frustration gnawed at him, and he gripped the dagger tighter, glaring at his wrist, as if contemplating separating it from his body. He slashed and stabbed at his wrist repeatedly like a madman, his actions growing increasingly frenzied, yet the wounds stubbornly healed themselves, adding to his growing anger.

The room echoed with the sounds of his angry, ragged breaths, and Arlan's relentless assault on his own wrist. But there seemed to be no release for his pent-up fury.

Exhaustion finally overcame him, and his head dropped heavily onto the table with an audible thud. His eyes squeezed shut, his forehead glistening with sweat, marked by deep furrows of frustration.

However, in the next moment, an intrusive image flashed through Arlan's mind—a woman's filthy hand caressing his chest provocatively and sensually. His eyes snapped open, and his attention shifted back to the dagger. This time, his anger was redirected; it was no longer his wrist that bore the brunt, but...

Without hesitation, he savagely drew the dagger across his chest, slicing through the fabric of his pristine white shirt and then into his own flesh, staining the cloth with crimson. The wounds, as before, stubbornly sealed themselves, and he continued, his actions unrelenting, as though he were immune to pain. All he yearned for was to purge the overwhelming disgust that consumed him, yet nothing could erase the haunting image from his mind.

Finally, his last reserve of strength abandoned him. The dagger slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. Once more, Prince Arlan's head descended heavily onto the table, producing a resounding thud that echoed through the room.

-----

At the Foyer

After a lengthy spell of crying, Oriana remained seated at the mansion's entrance.

Roman approached her and knelt before her, offering a glass of water.

"Have some water."

Oriana glanced at the glass. She was exhausted, stemming not only from her recent sprint but also from the emotional whirlwind that had engulfed her. She need to replenish her energy so she could maker her way to the Prince.

Wiping away her moist eyes, she accepted the glass and drank the water, her throat still constricted by crying.

When she finished, Roman retrieved the glass and spoke softly, "You should head back to your room."

Raising her eyes to meet Roman's, she couldn't help but ask, "What happened to His Highness?"

Roman's gaze lowered to the glass in his hands, and he rose to his feet. "Just know that this won't be the last time, and you may witness such nights again. Your role will be to leave His Highness to himself."

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