CHAPTER 37: NOT THOSE EYES

With the dark came the immeasurably slow passing of time. In there, looking into that deep, vast emptiness, the veins that ran through Elmah’s head were on their last legs—the amount of bulging was almost enough to tear through the binding clothings.

What sort of binding restricted him so much that he couldn’t even sit up?

From where Liah sat, he seemed to be a model patient, taking his treatment without complaint.

She wasn’t sure if he could really speak through all that, yet he hadn’t made the slightest attempt to muffle a sound.

The doors parted to reveal a compact man stepping inside, his head rounded and his beard very noticeable—quite easy to tell extra care had been poured into it. A medical bag hung at his side. Noticing that the palace maids followed him without additional luggage, Liah deduced he likely wouldn’t need it for whatever he intended to do.

"Physician Otoma." Liah rose and offered a slight bow, which he returned with equal grace.

"How is he?" he asked, his gaze drifting toward the wrapped form resting on a long, soft cushion in the room’s shadowed corner.

Liah followed his gaze, uncertain how to respond. "It’s hard to say," she admitted. There wasn’t much more she could offer. Concern lingered in her chest, but all she could do was observe from afar. It was torn muscles after all—trying to touch him might only make things worse. Besides, the Young Ecnes, like His Highness, detested skinship.

"His only movements were an initial struggle, then his head tilting. That means he’s alright... right?" she asked, turning back to him.

"Hm..." Physician Otoma stroked his beard thoughtfully before speaking. "So he hasn’t said anything?"

Liah shook her head slowly in response. Whether he could speak through all that, she wasn’t sure. Still, she had expected something—he rarely spoke, yes, but in such a situation, surely he would.

"He can, though?" she asked, to be sure.

"Not exactly," Physician Otoma replied casually. "I meant, if he tried. A muffle still counts, doesn’t it?"

It was subtle and went unnoticed, but the wrapped body twitched faintly at those words.

"He still didn’t," she said.

His brows drew together. "Really? The ingredient I used only induces stiffness. It shouldn’t have stopped him from making any sound." With that, he walked toward Elmah.

Liah stood close behind him, her eyes slightly widened. She had thought Elmah couldn’t move because the pain wouldn’t allow it. To think he couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to—it was already out of his hands.

At the cushion’s edge, Physician Otoma set his bag down and began examining Elmah. Noticing the steady rise and fall of his breathing, he knew there was no immediate danger. The lad had probably chosen silence to conserve his strength. He was likely asleep—his breaths were calm.

Deciding the bandages needed to come off, he called for assistance. Within moments, the maids gathered around Elmah.

The sturdiness of the bandages was puzzling. They felt heavy and murky. Each wrap taken from his body had lost the blue hue they held earlier and were replaced with the natural white the bandages once had, and now they had had gained weight.

Physician Otoma nodded, satisfied. Elmah’s body had absorbed the medicine soaked into the wrappings, leaving them stripped of color. What weight remained was expelled damage—ruptured fibers and dead strain drawn from the body and trapped within the fabric. Such weight would naturally make speech difficult.

Like an inventor witnessing his creation stretch out its legs for the first time, the excitement on the physician’s face was unmistakable. He made no effort to hide it. He was ecstatic—perhaps a common triat among physicians, Liah mused.

Once the wrappings were removed, the lad’s skin appeared smooth, almost infant-like. His eyes remained closed, lifeless at first glance, save for the gentle rhythm of his breathing that proved he still lived.

It was only natural to expect some reaction—if nothing else, an opened eye would have sufficed. But like the truly dead, he simply lay there.

There was no passing wind, but in the silence of the room, under the weight of so many expectant eyes, it felt as though one had passed.

As time passed with no change, everyone’s eyes turned to the physician, whose had now tightened into a frown—he seemed just as uncertain as the rest.

He stared intently at Elmah, his frown deepening. Why wasn’t the lad opening his eyes? He gave a light poke, careful not to apply too much pressure, unsure where pain might lie. Still—nothing.

His face tightened further. What could be wrong? He reached out for another poke—then it struck him.

"Oh." He slapped his forehead, revealing a sheepish smile. "I forgot about the stiffness." He truly had. He’d been so carried away by how perfectly the treatment appeared to have gone that it slipped his mind entirely.

Taking out a flask, he brought it close to Elmah’s nose. Its scent was supposed to do the trick. After ensuring the lad had sniffed the right amount, he withdrew it—after all, only a sniff was needed.

He capped his flask and waited to see the young lad gracefully open his eyes.

The lad did not move—if anything, he looked more lifeless than before. Now it was becoming disturbing.

The excited anticipation drained from his face, replaced by a deepening frown.

After the sniff, the medication’s effects should have faded, allowing movement. Now that he thought about it, the stiffness shouldn’t have prevented him from opening his eyes or shaking his head. So why was he still motionless?

He leaned closer to Elmah’s face, hands clasped behind his back, intent on examining him.

SLIT!!

The instant he leaned close enough, the young lad’s eyes flew open—fast as a blade cutting air. He couldn’t tell whether the slicing sound came from Elmah or from his own heart, which lurched painfully.

Before he could even react, the scene transformed.

In less than a blink, Elmah was upright, fingers locked around the physician’s throat, a slender blade poised against his face, with a look savage enough to frighten a night wolf.

While mummified and trapped in relentless pain, Elmah lost all sense of time. When the doors finally opened and the physician stroded in, he assumed this was the one responsible.

That alone was a gigantic offense—he had no idea what had even led to this. As the physician spoke, it became clear that even sealing his mouth had been intentional. The final blow came with the truth: his immobility hadn’t even been caused by the bindings, but by drugs? If that wasn’t reason enough to tear this man’s eyes out, then what was? Why had he drugged him?

No one in the room expected the lifeless, gleaming lad on the cushion to suddenly spring to life, gripping the physician by the neck with one of his own tools, poised as if to gut him.

Elmah’s hand couldn’t fully wrap around his neck, yet the grip was terrifyingly firm. The physician was still frozen by the sudden snap of those eyes open—he hadn’t even registered when his scalpel had been stolen, how those hands had reached his throat, or the burning glare in that stare.

The bulging veins along Elmah’s temples couldn’t be concealed by skin alone—they stood out too clearly. His eyes burned with raw, unmistakable killing intent.

Physician Otoma’s eyes widened in pure panic as he met that gaze.

"What are you doing?!" His voice echoed through the room, surprisingly loud despite the grip on his throat. "Don’t look like that—your eyes just got repaired!"

"Huh?" The entire room froze with the same expression. That was his concern?

"Why did you spring up like that? Why are you gripping things so tightly with your hands? Ahh—those hands!" He reached for Elmah’s hands, his face on the verge of tears.

It was clear the physician was suffering from some... peculiar issues. Elmah couldn’t allow him to touch him—it felt unmistakably lewd.

His glare sharpened into an arched glint as he retreated, pulling his hands away from the lewd physician, the weapon still firm in his grasp and unwaveringly pointed.

Like someone desperately trying to keep a fragile vessel from toppling, Physician Otoma stretched out his arm, face pinched in a painful wince as he attempted to stop the lad from retreating further.

"Would you stop all these movements?!" The tone alone was disturbing. Elmah wasn’t tolerating it. This man needed to explain himself—but first and foremost, he needed to keep his distance. What was wrong with him?

Seeing that the lad still tried to move, he barked, "Sit!" as though commanding a lackey.

That was it. Elmah’s eyes hardened, his glare snapping back into full force as he lifted the scalpel, ready to drive it into the man’s skull. Who did he think he was barking at?

"Ah— not the eyes again!" Physician Otoma cried out in sheer frustration, his voice cracking with panic.