CHAPTER 452: THE AFTERMATH: FIGHTING FOR BENER

Lara swept to Bener’s side, already rolling up her sleeves."Shaya, what have you done?" she asked, her tone clipped but not unkind.

"I disinfected the wound, used hemostatic powder, and packed cloth to stop the bleeding," Shaya answered quickly, her voice trembling. "But... the gash is too deep. I don’t dare stitch it alone."

"You did well." Lara nodded once, her hands already moving. "Now let me finish."

Her fingers were steady as she peeled away the blood-soaked cloth, layer by layer. Warm crimson seeped fresh with every touch, and the metallic scent thickened in the room. Bener’s chest rose shallowly, barely perceptible, but it rose—and that was enough for her.

She leaned closer, studying the wound. A deep slash, diagonal across the chest. Torn muscle, close to the rib. Her mind raced, mapping arteries, vessels, the fragile organs beneath. If the blade had gone an inch lower, it would have cut his heart. An inch higher, his lung.

"Percival, hold him down by the shoulders. Gideon, keep his legs still. Father, keep the light steady." She snapped each order like a general on the battlefield, and each man obeyed without question.

Shaya passed her the needle and silk thread with trembling hands. Lara did not tremble. She steadied the torn edges of the flesh with two fingers, pressing hard to stop the renewed bleed, then drove the curved needle through the skin in one swift motion.

Bener jerked weakly, a groan escaping his lips.

"Stay with me, brother," Lara whispered under her breath as she stitched, her voice softer than the thread in her hands. The words were meant only for him, though her composure outwardly never cracked.

The needle dipped and pulled, dipped and pulled, each stitch tightening the torn flesh, binding life back into his failing body. Sweat trickled down Lara’s temples, but she ignored it. Every pull of the thread was an oath—you will not die, not while my hands still move.

When the last suture was tied off, Percival handed her the heated blade. She pressed the flat edge gently over the stitched wound. A hiss filled the room, the searing scent of burned flesh making Shaya flinch. Bener stirred faintly, a strangled sound caught in his throat.

"It’s all right," Lara murmured, her hand resting briefly against his hair as she withdrew the blade. "The worst is over."

She rinsed the wound with what clean water remained, packed it with fresh cloth, and bound it tight with layered bandages. Her hands did not falter, not once.

Only when the last knot was tied did she finally lean back, her breath shuddering, her arms trembling faintly from the intensity of her focus. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist.

She pulled out a hypodermic from her backpack and injected at Bener’s shoulder. It was an antibiotic, discovered by one of the students in Felix’s Hope Hospital, a medical genius called Alexander.

"He’ll live," she said at last. Her voice was calm, steady, as if she had known all along.

But inside, her heart still hammered wildly, fear still clutched at her ribs. She had stared death in the eye for her brother and, for this night at least, forced it to look away.

Bener lay pale, unconscious but breathing, his chest rising more evenly now.

Shaya let out a sob of relief, Berlin bowed his head, Gideon released the iron grip he had kept on his brother’s legs, and Alaric laid a hand on Lara’s shoulder, silent but firm. Odin stood in the corner, shadowed, his face unreadable, but his gaze lingered on his daughter’s bloodstained hands with something caught between pride and sorrow.

Lara, however, did not allow herself rest. She brushed a damp strand of hair from her face, eyes still fixed on her brother. "He’s not safe yet. The wound must be watched. Infection, fever—any one of those could still take him. But I will not let that happen."

And though she spoke calmly, her heart whispered fiercely, I will not lose you, Bener. Not while there is breath in my body.

Shaya exhaled with relief. Her dark and long eyelashes were still wet from remnants of tears she had previously shed.

Lara studied her for some time. "Please take care of my brother. Let me know if he catches a fever." Then she turned around and left.

...

Outside the resting chamber, Odin’s deep voice rumbled low as he conferred with Gideon and Percival. Alaric leaned against a pillar nearby, listening in silence, his arms crossed but his gaze sharp.

"What do you think truly happened?" Percival broke the uneasy quiet, his brows knitted. "Bener is the most cautious of us all—that’s why he was handpicked for the Eagle Team. He wouldn’t fall to some wandering Zuran foot soldier."

Gideon shook his head, his tone firm. "Agreed. His skill eclipses any ordinary fighter. For him to be felled like that... he must have faced an expert."

Odin’s frown deepened, the creases in his weathered face like carved stone. "Both of you speak sense. And yet, the body found beside him was only that of a junior commander—hardly a man who could strike so deep a wound. Unless..." His eyes narrowed, dark as storm clouds. "Unless the true assailant was not that soldier."

Alaric stirred then, his voice quiet but cutting through the air like a blade. "Or perhaps it wasn’t an enemy at all. What if it was someone he knew, someone he trusted?"

The words lingered like smoke. Odin’s jaw clenched. "Someone he trusted," he echoed, as if testing the weight of the thought.

"Right," Gideon muttered grimly. "That would explain it. Bener would not have lowered his guard. That’s the only way he could’ve been struck so badly."

"But who?" Percival’s voice dropped, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "Who could get close enough?"

Before an answer could form, a voice carried across the corridor.

"Why is everyone gathered here? What has happened?"

Prince Dakota emerged from Astrid’s outer chamber, leaning on his knight’s arm. King Heimdal followed in his stately robes, though worry etched lines across his regal face.

At once, Odin and his sons bowed, their voices rising in unison. "Your Majesty, Your Highness."

Alaric did not bow—he remained at ease, watchful as ever, his silence more pointed than words.

"Bener was gravely injured," Odin explained evenly. "We are debating how such a thing could occur, unless—" His gaze flicked briefly toward Alaric. "—someone he knew, or someone he trusted, dealt the blow."

King Heimdal’s face tightened. "And how fares Bener now?" he asked, the concern in his tone undeniable.

"Lara is tending to him," Odin replied.

Dakota frowned. "Why not summon the royal physicians?"

"They are already consumed with tending Reuben, and the wounded fill the infirmary and banquet hall," Odin said calmly. "Lara’s skill rivals theirs. For now, he could be in no better hands."

Before another word could pass, a commotion erupted outside. The heavy thud of boots, a sharp snarl, and then the sound of men stumbling. The chamber doors burst open and a knight staggered in, pale and gasping.

"Generals—come quickly. You must see this."