He walked towards me, his footsteps quiet on the damp earth. My body still refused to obey me. I was frozen in place, watching him approach. He knelt a few feet away, his fearless eyes assessing me. My torn clothes, the grime on my face, the dried tears staining my cheeks, my trembling body, my useless shield arm – he saw it all. I felt exposed, utterly vulnerable under that gaze, like every moment of my suffering was laid bare before him.
He didn't say anything immediately. Just looked. His gaze felt intense, like he was seeing everything. My past, my suffering, the depths of my despair. He knew I was the Shield Hero. He was wearing similar clothes. Another Shield Hero? The thought was impossible, absurd, yet here he was.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out a hand. Not with the crude grab Myne had attempted, not with the brutal force he had used on Myne's limbs, but with a calm, purposeful gesture, extending towards my face.
For a terrifying second, every fiber of my being screamed in protest. Flashing images of Myne's cruel smile, of hands reaching for me with malicious intent, flooded my mind. I flinched violently, squeezing my eyes shut again, bracing myself for another blow, another violation. The trauma response was automatic, overwhelming.
But the blow didn't come.
Instead, his hand simply stopped in front of my face. It didn't touch me. I felt the faint stir of air as his hand hovered near my cheek. And then, his thumb moved. Gentle. A feather-light touch against my skin. Wiping a tear from my cheek. A simple, unexpected act of non-cruelty.
My eyes flew open. His face was close now, no longer a terrifying mask of vengeance, but calm. His eyes, still intense, held a weary, pragmatic light I hadn't seen before. The chilling edge from when he spoke to Myne was gone, replaced by a tone that sounded... almost tired. Almost normal.
"So," he said, his voice calm now, flat, lacking any melodrama. "Don't worry, you're safe now."
Safe. The word felt alien. Hollow. Safe from Myne? Yes. But safe from this world? From the suffering? From the man who had just demonstrated such terrifying power? I didn't know how to respond. My throat felt raw, choked with unshed sobs and unused words. I could only stare at him, bewildered, trembling.
He continued to assess me, his gaze lingering on my appearance. "You're a mess," he stated, a simple observation of fact. No judgment. "How long do you think its been you would've bathed?"
Bathed? The thought was so far removed from the horrors I had just endured, it felt surreal. Hunger, thirst, terror, betrayal, attempted suicide, brutal torture, inexplicable rescue... and he was asking about bathing?
"Well," he continued, a faint, dry note entering his voice, "I'm not fond of bathing but... You smell."
He said it matter-of-factly, wrinkling his nose slightly. The unexpected bluntness, the complete lack of charm or malice, was... jarring. Almost humorous in its sheer, misplaced practicality. After everything, my most immediate problem, apparently, was personal hygiene. And he, my terrifying rescuer, wasn't keen on fixing it himself but felt obligated to point it out.
He didn't wait for a response I couldn't give. His gaze dropped to his shield arm. The green Shield on his arm pulsed faintly, a soft, warm light emanating from it. The light enveloped me, a gentle wave washing over my battered body.
A strange sensation spread through me. The aching muscles, the screaming fatigue, the paralyzing numbness in my legs... it all began to fade. It wasn't the harsh jolt of the System's shock, but a soothing warmth, a feeling of repair. The physical weight of the past days lifted. I could feel strength returning to my limbs. The tremors subsided. The paralysis receded.
In moments, I could move. I could have gotten up. The healing was instantaneous, complete. Amazing. His power was amazing. To fix my body so completely, so casually.
I sat there, physically healed, staring at this stranger. He had appeared from nowhere, ended my tormentor's reign of terror with terrifying efficiency, shown me a brief, confusing flicker of gentleness, pointed out I smelled, and then healed me with a glowing shield. He was a walking paradox. A savior forged in darkness. And I had no idea who he was, or what he wanted. But for the first time in a long time, the abyss of despair felt... slightly less absolute. Though the fear of the man who stood over me, capable of such brutality, was just beginning.