The Demon Queen's Royal Consort
Chapter 149 – Calm Days – IV

Chapter 149: Chapter 149 – Calm Days – IV

Out of the corner of her eye, Hera caught a flicker of movement. A figure dressed in white had stepped out from the flickering shadows, and the pale light cast a warm glow on the curtain surrounding their improvised love nest. A healer, no doubt, making her rounds. Hera’s heart pounded in her chest, but even overcome with pleasure, she acted quickly.

The figure approached, the soft sound of her steps nearly drowned out by the cacophony of Hera’s own heartbeat. The curtain was drawn back with a whisper, and the healer’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight before her.

Glenn lay still, peacefully asleep, his breathing regular and deep. Hera was lying beside him, her chest rising and falling in a perfect imitation of rest, her hand clutching the sheets as if she hadn’t just been writhing in ecstasy moments before.

The healer’s eyes swept over them, lingering briefly on the state of the bandages wrapped around Glenn’s body. They were slightly askew, with a few strands of hair stuck to the sticky residue of the alchemical salve applied to his wounds, along with faint bloodstains in peripheral areas but nothing urgent that required immediate attention. A strange scent mingled with the familiar smell of herbs, healing balm, recovery lotions, and the musk of an occupied bed.

Her gaze scanned the room, pausing for a moment on the rumpled bed and the crooked bandages.

With a subtle nod to herself, the woman in white turned away, apparently satisfied with her own conclusions. As the curtain closed, tension melted from Hera’s body. Her grip on Glenn relaxed, and she released a silent sigh of relief. They had been so close to being caught publicly. But somehow, they had managed to maintain the illusion of innocence. It was paper-thin, but just enough to shield them from the consequences.

**

Another day bid farewell to the skies of Atlas. The translucent curtains of the infirmary swayed gently, stirred by the warm breeze of late afternoon. The amber sunlight kissed the mosaic floor, lending the hospital room an almost sacred tranquility a stark contrast to what was going on in Glenn’s mind.

Aster and Hera remained at his side, unwavering in their quiet vigil.

Hera, especially, seemed to instinctively avoid the young master’s eyes. Whenever their gazes met, a faint flush would bloom across her golden cheeks. The memory of their forbidden night still lingered between embarrassment and desire.

Aster, on the other hand, remained her usual energetic, charming self yet even she seemed to sense that something inside Glenn had shifted deeply. There was more silence in his presence now, less room for playfulness.

That afternoon, a new visitor arrived.

He approached with calm steps, carrying an arcane clipboard. When he stopped beside the bed, he observed Glenn in silence for a moment before speaking.

"You’re recovering better than we expected... much better, to be honest."

He was a middle-aged man in the simple robes of the order of healing mages, deep shadows under his eyes, but with the steady gaze of someone who had brought many back from the edge of death. As he stepped closer to the bed, he politely asked to speak with Glenn alone for a few moments.

Glenn nodded. Hera and Aster stepped out, hesitating slightly.

The healer pulled up a stool and sat, fingers interlaced over one knee.

"I imagine you want some answers... and I think you’ve earned them."

Glenn stared at him in silence. His eyes were deeper now, more severe.

"You were saved but it wasn’t simple. Or clean. Your condition was grave, Glenn. Far more serious than your mind might be ready to accept, even now."

The man drew a slow breath before continuing.

"The main issue was your own level of power. Being a low-ranked awakened restricts how much your body can be healed at once. Healing magic is like a river trying to fill a very small, fragile crystal cup. Pour too much, and the cup shatters. Too little, and it stays empty. Finding the right balance takes precision and talent."

He paused and raised a finger.

"Even with an anomalous healer like Dália and yes, she’s an anomaly in the best sense — your body simply couldn’t keep pace with the healing. Imagine trying to feed a child the meal of a giant... it chokes, suffocates, and eventually everything collapses."

Glenn held his gaze, feeling a tightness forming in his throat.

"That’s why we had to resort to more... invasive measures. Bones broken and realigned. Veins rebuilt from scratch. Burnt tissue replaced with living flesh from other parts of your body. Even your ligaments had to be redesigned to allow regeneration. And of course, the mental damage... that takes longer to heal."

Silence.

"And my companions?" he asked, his voice still hoarse, but firmer than in previous days. "How is Dália? Where are Aeloria, Dórian, Seraphine?"

The question made the man swallow hard. His expression shifted subtly, and he let out a long, deep sigh before answering.

"You... all of you... arrived here at death’s door, Glenn. Each of you came with wounds that... well, frankly, we don’t often deal with injuries of that scale. Our team is specialized in magical trauma and life-flow instability. But what you all endured... bordered on the irreversible."

He looked down for a moment, as if still trying to grasp his own limitations.

"Some injuries were beyond our capabilities. And continuing to insist on experimental procedures here would have only accelerated your deaths. So we had no choice but to transfer them."

Glenn straightened in the bed, eyes wide.

"Who?"

"Aeloria and Dórian were in critical condition. They were sent to other families who specialize in trauma of that nature. Dórian is with the Plumbarius family. As for Aeloria, Adriel her father took her himself, and no one knows exactly where to."

"So far, we haven’t been granted detailed updates on their conditions."

The answer fell like lead.

Glenn clenched his fists against the sheets.

"And Seraphine?" he pressed.

"She survived. She was stabilized quickly, and she woke up long before you. She tried to reach out countless times. Over a hundred. But... her family didn’t allow her to visit you. And frankly, that’s understandable. She... she was completely drained. It’s rare to see someone of her rank nearly die from blood loss, but she crossed the line and barely made it back. Still, the worst damage wasn’t physical. It was emotional, mental, and magical."

Glenn drew a slow breath, as if trying to absorb the weight of it all.

Then the healer hesitated. He glanced at his clipboard again, as if trying to delay what came next.

"As for Dália..."

Silence.

"...I’m the one responsible for her treatment," he finally said, his voice low.

Her name seemed to echo against the infirmary walls.

"She also arrived in critical condition. And she’s still under observation. Unlike the others, she couldn’t be transferred... because there’s no other specialist in internal structure regeneration better than me here. But even so..."

He closed his eyes for a moment, the burden of his own limits briefly overwhelming him.

"She gave everything she had, Glenn. More than any healer would ever dare to use. She pushed past the limit. And because of that, she hasn’t woken up since."

The information hung in the air like an invisible blade.

The room fell silent.

Glenn closed his eyes for a moment not to rest, but because he needed to.

Because sometimes, facing the truth hurts just as much as the wounds that nearly killed him.

He took in the words with growing unease. He was grateful to be alive.

He was grateful to Dália, even without having seen her yet. But something felt off.

A whisper in the back of his mind was beginning to grow into a roar.

"You’ll be discharged tomorrow morning. So get some rest and take care."

Just as he had arrived, the healer left slow steps, tired body, dragging down the infirmary wing.

**

The moon didn’t shine that night. The stars were hidden behind a veil of heavy, ominous clouds. A cold wind howled through the mountains, heralding the arrival of a great storm.

Glenn stood on the balcony outside the infirmary ward. Hera and Aster clung lightly to his arms, supporting him. Together, they silently watched the monumental view of the royal castle.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse but steady:

"...Why did we end up in that dungeon?"

Hera and Aster arched their eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" Aster asked.

"Phew..." Glenn exhaled.

"We were dropped straight into the deepest part of a dungeon. One I’m sure wasn’t in its normal state. And no matter how much it seems like a massive accident... I still can’t stop wondering."

Tension thickened in the air.

"Did Selene know? Did Lesley agree? And Elian... did he allow it too?"

The two attendants swallowed hard. But they said nothing.

"Why haven’t any of them come to visit me?"

Glenn took a deep breath, feeling his chest tighten.

"What if all of this was just... part of a plan?

What if, in the end...

I’m just a piece they move around the board when they want to test something?

If the whole goal is to keep pushing me to the absolute limit—what kind of cursed life is that?"

His eyes glimmered in the darkness.

Sadness... and a trace of despair.

"I nearly died. We all nearly died. Why?"

Hera and Aster sighed but gave no answer.

Maybe because they weren’t allowed to.

Maybe because they had no answer.

Maybe because, deep down, they shared the same doubts.

Glenn was guided back to bed by the two attendants. He lay down, staring at the infirmary ceiling as if it might offer answers the world refused to give him.

His body was healing.

But his spirit?

It still burned with a question too troubling to ignore:

’This damn transmigration. What’s the purpose of being reborn into this world?

Am I the hero of this story...

or just a tool in the hands of the real players?’