[SYSTEM WARNING: Target's HP at 30%. Continuing to drop.]
[WARNING: If the target dies, the host will be erased.]
Shut up.
Iris snarled inwardly.
The riverbank still burned.
Flames crackled along the shoreline, throwing warped shadows across the reeds. Smoke hung low, heavy with ash and blood.
The fire hadn't died—only the killing intent had shifted.
Prince Chen lay motionless on the ground.
The black arrow was buried deep in his chest, its shaft trembling faintly with each shallow breath, like a nail driven in by death itself.
From the reeds farther out came hurried footsteps.
Soft. Disciplined.
Metal brushing against metal.
Assassins.
Not panicked. Not searching blindly.Closing in.
"Damn it…"
Iris dropped beside him and grabbed his arm.
Cold.
Too cold.
She pulled.
Nothing.
She braced her foot against the ground and dragged harder, muscles screaming—
He didn't move an inch.
He looked lean. Built light.So why did he weigh like something already halfway buried?
[System Suggestion: Exchange 'Strength Pill (Basic)' — Cost: 50 points]
"Exchange."
No hesitation.
No bargaining.
Heat exploded through her veins.
Her muscles tightened violently, strength flooding in so fast it made her vision blur.
Iris sucked in a sharp breath, hooked both arms under his uninjured side, and heaved.
His body lurched.
She nearly fell backward from the sudden give.
Grinding her teeth, she hauled him up, staggering step by step toward the reeds, dragging him like a sack of dead weight as arrows whispered somewhere behind them.
She plunged into the marsh.
Cold water soaked her boots instantly. Reeds lashed against her legs and arms, slicing shallow lines into skin she barely felt.
She kept moving.
Didn't stop.
Didn't look back.
Deep Within the Reeds
Prince Chen was not completely unconscious.
Pain burned through him like wildfire—raw, merciless—while poison crept deeper with every heartbeat.
His thoughts fractured, slipping in and out of darkness.
But something held him there.
Hands.
Soft, but unyielding.
Locked around his arm.
"Don't die…"Her voice broke between breaths."You bastard… hold on…"
She was close. Too close.
Warm breath brushed the hollow of his neck, each ragged inhale ghosting across his skin.
Most of his weight was on her.
With every labored breath, his burning chest pressed against her back, heat bleeding through fabric—unnatural, alarming.
"Let… go…"
The words scraped out of him, hoarse and useless.
He tried to push her away. Weakly. Instinctively.
He wasn't built for closeness like this.Didn't tolerate it.Didn't need it.
"Shut up."
Her arm snapped back, locking around his waist. She hauled him higher, forcing him flush against her, leaving him no room to fall—or escape.
"Unless you want to get turned into a pincushion," she hissed, breath sharp, "stay still."
He let out a muffled grunt.
His head sagged forward, coming to rest against her shoulder.
The scent hit him then.
Faint medicine. Sweat. Something clean beneath the chaos.
Strangely—
It didn't disgust him.
In this razor-thin line between life and death,it became the only thing that felt real.
He stopped resisting.
His fingers twitched once—then slackened.
Iris felt the shift immediately.
The full weight of him settled against her spine.
Heavy.
Warm.
Breathing—barely.
She adjusted her grip, braced herself, and dragged them both deeper into the reeds, every step sinking, every breath burning.
She didn't slow down.
Didn't think.
Didn't let go.
Abandoned Fisherman's Shack
The shack smelled of damp wood and old rot.
Prince Chen lay flat on the broken wooden bed, the boards creaking faintly beneath his weight.
Blackened blood seeped steadily from his arrow wound, sliding down his shoulder and soaking into fabric that had once been immaculate.
Half his body was already stained dark red.
Iris knelt beside the bed, fingers hovering just above the wound.
Too deep.
Too late for anything gentle.
An arrow embedded at this angle had already torn muscle and lodged close to bone.
If the necrotic tissue wasn't removed now, the poison would finish what the arrow had started.
"System," she said under her breath. "Anesthetic. Sterile forceps. Silk ligature."
[System Notice: Insufficient points.]
[Current environment does not meet sterile conditions.]
[Advanced surgical tools unavailable.]
[Providing basic Hemostatic Powder ×1. Cost: 20 points.]
"Damn it."
No anesthetic.
No clamps.
No sutures.
Only time—running out.
Iris scanned the room once.
A dim oil lamp flickered on the table, its flame unsteady in the night wind sneaking through cracked boards.
A silver hairpin sat in her hair.
That would have to be enough.
She pulled it free and thrust the tip straight into the flame.
The silver heated quickly, glowing red, tiny crackling sounds rising as the metal burned. Firelight reflected in her eyes—steady, focused, stripped of hesitation.
She turned back.
Prince Chen's eyes were half open.
Unfocused.
Fixed on her face.
Those peach-blossom eyes—usually cold, sharp, unreadable—were now dulled by pain and poison, rimmed faintly with moisture.
The vulnerability sat wrong on him. Dangerous. Intimate.
"There's no anesthetic," Iris said quietly, leaning closer until their noses were barely inches apart.
"I need to cut the wound open. Remove the dead tissue."Her voice didn't waver."Then I'll cauterize the vessels directly. With this."
She lifted the glowing pin just enough for him to see.
"You're going to be in extreme pain."
For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then his lips curved—barely.
A pale, crooked smile.
"I've endured worse," he rasped. "Do it."
She didn't answer.
She tore open his collar.
Fabric ripped loudly in the silence, exposing pale skin streaked with blood.
His chest was lean, solid, muscle tightening and releasing with each labored breath.
Iris drew the Spectral Scalpel.
Then—she stopped.
Instead, she swung one leg over his waist and straddled him.
His awareness snapped back violently.
"…What are you doing?" His breath hitched.
"Pinning you down."
Her expression remained flat, but heat crept faintly up the back of her ears.
"When the pain hits, you'll move. Instinctively. "She placed her left hand on his shoulder—firm.
"If you shift even an inch while I'm cutting, I'll sever your artery."
A pause.
"And if the pin slips, it'll burn straight through your heart."
That got his attention.
She leaned down.
Her left hand slammed onto his shoulder.
Her right hand drove the blade in.
"—NGH!"
His body arched violently, spine bowing off the bed like a snapped wire.
Every muscle locked hard, breath tearing from his lungs.
His right hand shot up and clamped around her waist.
Hard.
So hard her breath stuttered.
His fingers dug in, knuckles whitening, grip fierce enough to bruise.
Iris didn't flinch.
She carved away the poisoned flesh with controlled precision, blade sliding where bone met muscle. Each cut was clean. Necessary.
Blood welled instantly.
She grabbed the pin.
Pressed.
Hiss.
Smoke curled upward, carrying the stench of scorched flesh.
Prince Chen's breath shattered, breaking into ragged gasps.
His grip tightened reflexively, pain making him shake, body fighting her hold even as she kept him pinned.
Again.
Cut.
Press.
Hiss.
The room filled with the sounds of it—burning flesh, harsh breathing, the wet drag of steel through tissue.
Sweat rolled down his temple, sliding along the bridge of his nose, dripping onto the back of her hand.
Hot.
Real.
Iris ignored the ache blooming at her waist, ignored the way her own breath had gone shallow. Her focus never wavered.
Finally—
Metal clattered.
The poisoned arrowhead dropped to the floor.
The worst of the poison was gone.
The rest would have to be held back.
She stared at it for half a second—then her strength gave out.
Her hands loosened.
Her body sagged forward, collapsing onto his chest.
Prince Chen gasped, chest heaving beneath her cheek, the sound rough and uneven.
His hand slipped from her waist—slowly—yet it didn't fall away completely.
It rested there.
Not gripping.
Not pushing her off.
Just… staying.
Like his body hadn't yet learned how to let go.
Their breaths tangled in the narrow space between them.
Heavy.
Uneven.
Alive.