A Gorgeous White

Chapter 290: The Dark Plain

Moulin's eyes shrunk as he intensely stared at the gaping wound on Hadrian's arm. His eyes are filled with alarm, and fear doused him like a wave of cold water. The wound seemed scorched, bleeding and emitting a horrible stench.

"H-Hadrian, " Moulin stuttered.

He looked up only to see the man holding him show no expression at all. Not even a wince of pain as though his injury was just some insignificant thing. Moulin suddenly felt his chest sting.

"Are you alright?" Hadrian asked as he lowered his gaze. The golden rings in his eyes deepened as he examined the youth's expression for any signs of pain. His gaze softened when he realized Moulin wasn't hurt. Moulin didn't feel less comforted.

Suddenly, the rope shook once again, and the pair felt themselves being lifted. The veins on Hadrian's arm bulged, pulsing as the rope grew tighter around his limb to the point of his skin turning blue. Moulin used his other hand to hold the rope as he held on Hadrian. His mind swirled in concern as he kept glancing at the deep scratches on his lover's arm.

Slowly, the people above pulled them upwards. They gradually inched closer to the edge. And when Moulin thought that the strain was already too much for Hadrian, a hand suddenly reached them from above.

"Moulin!" Emlen shouted. The relief in his eyes was significant. The Lord could not help but feel as though a tidal wave had smoldered the flames in his heart. The dreadful feeling poisoning him from the inside instantly disappeared once he saw his little brother, safe within Lord Hadrian's arms.

The rest helped and quickly pulled them up from the edge. Fortunately, the others only suffered minor injuries. The only person in a difficult situation was their leader himself.

"Healer!" Someone yelled as soon as they saw Lord Hadrian's wounds.

Hadrian settled on the ground with Moulin kneeling beside him. The young man's eyes were filled with despair as he carefully lifted Hadrian's arm, ripping off the torn sleeve and examining the dreadful wound. His silver pupils quivered, and he lowered his head, pressing his lips together. The blood endlessly streamed down Hadrian's skin in a gruesome mixture of red and black. The acid of the black ooze already devoured the meat, and it would continue to eat away the flesh within.

"Calm down..." Hadrian raised his other arm and lifted Moulin's chin, "I am far from dying."

"Don't joke around!" Moulin gritted his teeth and lowered his head again, concealing his face.

Hadrian only smiled faintly. He said a few comforting words to his lover before he acknowledged the medic of the group. Moulin was quite attentive as he listened to the healer's words. His eyes were serious while he absorbed everything the man explained to them.

When the healer finally concluded that they remove the acid immediately, Moulin asked how. And the answer made him stop. "Scrape it out with the infected flesh?" His eyes widened. He could already predict the amount of pain that would accompany Hadrian in the procedure.

The healer nodded, stating that the wound would never heal as long as the carnivorous liquid remained in the wound. Once it was removed, the wound would regenerate normally and quickly.

"I'll do it." Hadrian was resolute as he declared. The healer paused a bit before nodding and handing Hadrian a dagger. Moulin could see his own fearful eyes on the blade's reflection as it was passed to Hadrian. His heart was beating rapidly.

'This is all my fault. I should've done something.' Moulin's hands clenched into fists. His chest tightened significantly.

A hand suddenly caressed his cheek, making the youth looked up. It was Hadrian, staring at him with a soft gaze. It was as if he was telling Moulin that it wasn't his fault. None of it was...

"Trust me. I will be alright..." Hadrian whispered, and he slowly leaned forward to press his lips on Moulin's mouth in a soft kiss. The others instinctively looked away, unsure if they should be witnessing their intimacy.

The kiss was brief, and when they pulled away, Moulin felt a bit less anxious, choosing to believe Hadrian's words. He nodded and breathed out to calm himself before helping Hadrian restrain his upper arm.

He watched without hesitation as Hadrian used the blade to cut out his own flesh without even twitching or wincing. The dagger dug into the deepest part of the wounds, slowly slicing the meat inside with precision.

Some of the men with them had shifted their attention, unable to bear the sight of it. However, Moulin didn't turn away even once. His eyes were on his lover, carefully searching for any signs of pain and prepared to soothe it.

Clang!

The blade fell on the rocky earth, and the procedure had finally finished after a few minutes. True to the healer's words, once the infected flesh was removed, the wound looked fresh. It was quickly treated and wrapped, leaving it to regenerate itself.

"See? All done." Hadrian turned to face Moulin with a gentle look. "You can stop worrying now..."

With knitted brows, Moulin sighed and wiped off the sweat on Hadrian's forehead. "Just... don't get hurt again..."

"Hm..." Hadrian smiled and let Moulin lean against him. He sighed, relishing the sweetness of the young man's touch.

...

"Ahem..."

Suddenly, Emlen cleared his throat. When the pair's gaze shifted towards him, he boldly held Moulin's arm until the youth stood up.

"Excuse me. I shall have a word with my brother..." Emlen said with narrowed eyes. He ignored the gazes around him and dragged Moulin away before Hadrian could answer him. Helplessly, Moulin spared Hadrian a glance before following his brother. Moulin had an earful for a few minutes, but he didn't say a word. His thoughts only drifted towards Hadrian's injury.

................

Long delicate fingers caressed the short black grass covering the whole ground. Jagra's eyes are carefully analyzing the plants that barely reached the top of his boot. A crease appeared between his brows.

"The plants aren't withered or rotten..." Jagra spoke curiously. There was no tree around them, only the slight fog and the ash-grey sky hovering above them ominously. "It's strange..."

He raised his head to the people in front of him.

"We have to keep moving. The outpost isn't far. We might be able to reach it before night comes." Emlen spoke as he swept his eyes around him. Despite the unusual change in their surroundings, Emlen didn't want them to waste any more time. He took a deep breath before he turned to Hadrian. "My Lord..."

"..."

Studying the grass briefly, Hadrian shifted his attention and gave the nod to Moulin's brother. His expression was stern as he turned to the rest of the men.

"Onwards."

They continued their journey silently.

With the grass cushioning their steps, their footsteps were quieter. They felt not the faint hardness of a rock or pebble nor the snap of a root or twig. It was as though treading across an endless rug of exotic fur. Moulin already found this beyond suspicious, and he knew the others thought so as well.

Moulin felt silenced by the strange energy the area was giving him. He heard a slight whimper, and he lowered his gaze. Snow was peeking out from the satchel's cover, curiously observing the area.

"Brother, what is this place?" Moulin asked with a soft voice. He was forced to walk beside his elder brother just until he was sure that Emlen's paranoia had lessened a bit.

Emlen answered.

"The Dark Plain. The outpost isn't far from here. Furthermore, the malibreeds cannot step foot here. At least, that is what the pathfinders said. For now, it's safe to assume that we're safe." He grasped his brother's shoulder gently.

Hearing his words, the others seemed to be relieved. Moulin could only nod and assure himself. Perhaps, this time, they would not lose anyone. Will they be able to reach the outpost successfully?"