[BL] Accidentally Becoming the Healer of the Deranged Archduke-Chapter 224: Punching The Archduke

The cold gnawed at Xion’s skin as he stepped back into the snow, but he welcomed the numbness. It was better than the suffocating heat inside.

Ten of them stood outside the cave now. They were all cloaked in the Holy Order’s insignia, forming a rough circle that kept tightening like vultures scenting death.

Their presence was heavy, righteous even, as if justice wore armor and ignorance held a blade.

With his head hidden beneath a white robe, the man spoke loudly, "Surrender and you shall not suffer in vain." His voice dripped with self-righteousness.

Xion exhaled lightly. His breath curled in the air like smoke, misting his view. "You speak as if I were some sinner. Who gave you that courage?"

His words hit them hard. No one would dare to talk to them with such disgrace and blatant hostility.

"We are only here for the goodness of Eldoria-"

Before he could finish whatever bullshit sermon he’d been trained to preach, Xion struck without warning.

His fingers twitched, threads of pale mana gathering at his fingertips.

They were thin as spider silk, looking soft but when they moved toward the speaker, they sliced through his wrist.

The man looked at his fallen hand in disbelief. The crimson trailed down like paint from the artist’s brush and painted the pure white ground a gorgeous red.

Behind him, Noxian had one arm in front of Serena. He was ready to push her deep inside if anything became out of control.

Just as he had feared, something indeed happened.

Xion was standing there silently, while the flicks of white mana danced around him.

"Brother?" His voice trembled, and soon it was drowned by the late scream.

"My hand!" the man yelled, finally grasping that it was indeed his own limb on the ground.

He was hastily dragged to the back, and if Xion weren’t wrong, the person with him must have been the holy healer.

He didn’t get the chance to take a proper look when the second attacker lunged at him.

A holy blade raised high as if divine light would protect the wielder.

But Xion didn’t flinch. With a flick of his wrist, a single thread snaked through the air, wrapping tightly around the man’s sword arm. A second thread found his leg.

With a subtle pull, Xion broke both limbs like snapping twigs.

The man’s scream hadn’t even finished before a third thread cut across his throat, silencing him forever.

More hot blood spilled onto the snow, and steam rose from the crimson stains like some cursed incense.

The rest finally hesitated as they watched two of their comrades collapse in twitching agony. That was all the time Xion needed.

He stepped forward, the silver-white threads coiling behind him like phantom wings. Mana hummed in the air and to Noxian it looked like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.

With another move, the third person fell to the ground. Xion had hit the back of his neck paralyzing him instantly.

With more people injured or dead, the rest of the group got angry.

"How dare a mere filthy bastard has the audacity to hurt us?!"

As if receiving a secret command, they approached Xion in a group.

Xion’s breath came in harsh, ragged pulls. The control required for precision like this was very draining.

His pulse was roaring loudly in his ears. Despite the freezing air, beads of sweat slid down his nose and the back of his neck.

The thick, fur-lined coat felt unbearably heavy on his shoulders. So, he directly threw it to the side.

His blue eyes, which always held a smile, looked too deep as if no light could reach their depths.

Another man charged from the right side with twin daggers.

Xion half-turned, and at that moment, his threads reshaped midair. They transformed into blades, glinting sharply under the sunlight.

They slashed in a single arc, slicing through those daggers, cloth, and then at the bones. The man fell in the pool of his own blood.

Xion himself wasn’t entirely unaffected either. Amid the rush of adrenaline, he heard Noxian’s voice calling out to him.

He also seemed to hear his own heartbeat. Thump. It was there, still keeping him alive.

He hadn’t fallen into the hands of some beast, nor had he let anyone harm his family.

That was good.

Even when his hands trembled, even when the mana threads dug into his fingers and made them a bloody mess, it was still fine.

As long as he could protect them, it was fine.

The threads moved again. They weaved around one attacker’s shield, wrapped themselves around another’s sword, twisted around throats and limbs with the elegance of a dancer and the cruelty of a reaper.

Screams echoed through the snowy pass, but they were soon cut short one by one.

No matter what kind of holy weapon they used or how much mana they pushed into attacking them, none of them went past his shield.

Five. Then six.

A woman raised her blade high in desperation, only to have three threads pierce through her chest like stakes driven into ice.

Seven.

Xion stumbled. There was a fishy scent rising in his throat. He gulped harshly, pushing it all down his stomach.

Suddenly his legs buckled, and his knees hit the snow hard.

Gasping, he hunched over, one hand pressed to the ground, the other trembling on his knee.

The flickering threads dimmed for the first time. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath more ragged than the last.

The remaining four saw their chance and moved as one.

Xion didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.

After all, this was what he had been waiting for.

Even if he had the advantage of having more mana and better control, there was a limit to the area he could cover. Not to mention the serious toll it was taking on his weak body.

Taking in harsh breaths, he focused on the three bodies closing on him from all directions.

Just so that Noxian wouldn’t jump in, he had placed an extra shield on the cave’s entrance.

However, something unexpected happened.

No longer calm, the cold air thrummed with a pressure so dense, so deadly that... even the three enemies, who were in the middle of incantation, faltered.

Their spells died on their tongues as their eyes widened, sensing something far more dangerous than Xion’s outburst.

Amidst the shouting from Noxian and voices muttering some spells, Xion felt it too.

A new presence... right behind him!

Panic surged through his battered body. With no real weapon on his body, his instinct overrode reason.

He pushed himself upright. With mana flaring to life around his knuckles, he lashed out with a heavy punch.

His fist connected with flesh.

Pain exploded across his already raw hand, and a strained groan slipped from his lips.

Blood from his own wounds smeared the target’s face. The sensation jolted something in him, and he forced his eyes up to see who he had hit.

And he froze. His heart stopped beating, all the blood drained from his face.

Then... Thump! Thump! Thump!

The beast in his chest galloped like a wild horse loosed into open fields.

Pale green eyes stared at him unblinkingly. They were cold, venomous, and... unmistakably familiar.

The face he had struck, now half-coated in red, belonged to none other than the Archduke of the Northern Dominion.

Darius Rael Darkhlem.

The realization sent a crack through the fragile wall holding Xion upright. His body swayed under the weight of disbelief and horror.

He would’ve collapsed right on the bloodied snowy grounds if not for Darius catching him.

One strong arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against a broad chest clad in wind-bitten armor.

Everything fell silent.

Ah. Xion blinked, dazed, at the dangerously beautiful man before him.

I’m done for.