Chapter 211: Injuries

When Luo Ning arrived at Black Earth Town, Ridal was lying in bed, unconscious.

Always a knight with fiery orange hair and an imposing, rugged presence, his face was now as pale as paper, utterly devoid of his usual vigor.

Though his left arm was bandaged, the cloth was soaked crimson—ten days had passed, yet the wound still bled.

No wonder Ridal had collapsed from exhaustion, unable to walk without being carried.

Luo Ning gently lifted the arm and unwound the bandages.

Tom had been right—the wound had begun to fester.

“In normal circumstances, such an injury should already be healing.”

The puncture had not struck bone; with a Silver Knight’s formidable regenerative power, it should have posed no issue whatsoever.

Though his movements were delicate, they still roused Ridal.

“Lord… you’ve come.”

He tried to push himself up, but his right arm refused to obey.

“Lie still.”

Luo Ning patted his hand and unrolled a healing spell scroll.

A gentle light bathed the wound—but no change occurred.

What manner of weapon had inflicted this?

Luo Ning leaned closer. The wound’s edges were faintly black. “Could their blade have been poisoned?”

“No,” Ridal denied. “It’s not poison. I feel it’s a peculiar martial aura—it corrodes my flesh and blocks my own aura from stimulating healing.”

As the wounded, Ridal knew his condition better than anyone.

Hearing this, Luo Ning thought of Rulans’s injury—the same insidious energy that had consumed his entire body, refusing to heal.

“When you channel your aura into the wound, does that peculiar aura consume yours and grow stronger?”

He couldn’t help asking.

If Ridal, too, had been afflicted by the Soul-Eating Surge, it would be dire.

“No,” Ridal insisted again. “It doesn’t consume my aura. Precisely—it petrifies the flesh around the wound, turning it into a block of stone immune to any aura.”

In short—it had become insulating.

Luo Ning exhaled softly in relief. As long as it wasn’t the Soul-Eating Surge, it was a mercy amid misfortune.

“And the wound on your chest?” Luo Ning lifted the blanket to inspect.

“The chest wound began similarly to the arm, but by the third day, it improved. Once my aura could flow through, it healed completely.”

Luo Ning saw it—a twenty-centimeter gash near the abdomen, now crusted over.

One wound healed. One did not. A strange thing indeed.

Why was this valley so full of oddities?

“Lord, I suspect the difference lies in their strength,” Ridal said, having analyzed the matter carefully during his return.

“The wound on my chest was from a Bronze Knight. The puncture on my arm was from a Silver Knight. Their power levels differ.”

“Also, depth of the wound may be critical.”

Luo Ning nodded. The logic was sound.

Greater strength meant greater potency of the peculiar aura.

Deeper wounds allowed more aura to penetrate the flesh, worsening the injury.

Thus, Ridal’s arm remained unhealed.

“Lord… I suspect… within that cave, there exists not only a Silver-level being, but one of equal—or even higher—rank.”

“Because during the battle…”

Ridal’s breathing grew heavier, his exhaustion more pronounced.

“Save your analysis for when you’ve recovered. Rest now.”

Luo Ning halted his words and ordered Tom to bring fresh bandages, rewrapping the wound.

“George has already gone to Marsh Town to notify Elron. He should arrive tonight.”

As the sole chief physician in the Northern Wastes and a Light-element mage, only Elron could handle and study such a perplexing case.

Fortunately, though weak, Ridal’s condition had not deteriorated beyond redemption.

Given that the abdominal wound had suddenly improved, perhaps the arm would, too—eventually.

But when?

Luo Ning finished bandaging and withdrew from the room.

“Woton, Dandi—you two stay here. Notify me immediately if anything changes.”

“Yes, Lord!”

“Tom, tell the Black Earth Village cook to prepare barley porridge tonight—and plenty of meat broth, something easy to swallow.”

“I’ll see to it at once!”

Having arranged Ridal’s care, Luo Ning rode his Cloud-Treader northward to patrol.

How could such a bizarre place exist behind his own territory? It defied belief.

From Tom’s and Ridal’s accounts, these people were clearly not like Joffrey, Jenny, or others of their kind.

And with Bronze, Silver, even Gold-level beings among them, they could not be fugitive nobles.

Worse—they couldn’t be killed…

“Not entirely unkillable.”

Luo Ning frowned. Ridal’s Inferno Slash had reduced one to dust.

He sensed, keenly, that Inferno Slash alone could not reduce a human to powder—there was something deeper to ponder.

“A sword cannot pierce them… yet a martial technique turns them to ash.”

“Could their bodies be uniquely constructed—so that when vast external aura invades, they explode?”

The transformation into powder resembled an internal detonation. Thus, Luo Ning deduced.

“Should I go to that mysterious valley?”

Returning to Black Earth Town, Luo Ning summoned a squad of infantry to reinforce northern patrols—especially at night.

Throughout, he wrestled with how to handle the valley’s mystery.

He would go. His territory could not harbor such an unstable threat.

The threat posed by these entities far eclipsed any peril the magical beasts could ever present.

For Ronin, it was no longer a question of whether he would venture forth, but merely when.

Presently, the elite martial might of the North Wold comprised two Silver Knights, a High Mage, and Ronin himself, a Bronze Knight and Grand Mage.

Beyond this, he possessed a tier-six spell scroll, 'The Fire Dragon's Heaven-Devouring Wrath,' a force potent enough to repel even a Gold Knight.

With such formidable strength at his disposal, Ronin felt entirely confident in his ability to delve into the mystery and investigate.

Yet, for the sake of absolute certainty, he chose to bide his time for another ten days or so.

This delay would allow Rydal's wounds to mend completely, and furthermore, a dozen more days would grant him enough attribute points to ascend to the rank of Silver Knight and High Mage in a single stroke.

By then, the certainty of his expedition's success would be vastly magnified.

Time flowed languidly, until the midnight stillness of the Black Soil Town was shattered by the rhythmic thudding of approaching hooves.

Elrond came into view, holding a torch aloft as he galloped swiftly into the settlement on his warhorse.

Following closely in his wake were George, Jenny, and Clamy.

The wounding of Commander Rydal was a matter of grave import; they had ridden hard not only to pay their respects but to discern whether Ronin had new directives to command.