~ Cairo ~
A sharp pain surged from my left shoulder, as if a red-hot iron was being pressed repeatedly against it. That wretched ogre was far stronger than I had anticipated. Even though I deliberately failed to dodge in time, its claws still tore open a wound deeper than I had planned.
Good.
The pain could make my complexion paler, my cold sweat on my forehead more realistic, and the words I was about to utter all the more convincing.
I lay on a crude cot, calmly watching the medics bustling around me. They nervously cleaned the wound, sprinkled it with hemostatic herbs, and bandaged me with trembling hands. I even had the leisure to correct a young medic's bandaging technique.
"Wrap the bandage like this," I said in a weak yet clear voice, "Start below the joint and wind upward. This way, you can stop the bleeding without hindering arm strength. On the battlefield, every detail can determine life or death."
The young medic froze for a moment, then showed a look of immense admiration and gratitude.
See, it's that simple. Winning people's hearts only requires showcasing your professionalism and care at the most opportune moment.
Inside, I was as calm as a frozen lake. The so-called intelligence failure was merely a ruse. I had ordered my subordinates to clear out most of the bandits in the area, leaving behind the strongest ogre nest on purpose, and then fed the regular army false information claiming the area was safe. The so-called rescue of the new recruit? That "rescued" soldier had been handpicked by me, my most loyal confidant, whose mission was to spread my heroic deeds across the camp in the most exaggerated and moving way possible.
This was a perfect *Self-inflicted Pain Strategy* orchestrated by none other than myself.
With a trivial wound, I gained three things: First, the regular army, under Ellarik's jurisdiction, would be disgraced by the intelligence failure, their incompetence highlighting the valor of my Royal Blade Guard. Second, my self-sacrificial act of saving lives would firmly win over the hearts of this new battalion, making them utterly loyal to me. Third, and most importantly, I would soon welcome my most esteemed guest and the moment of performance I had been eagerly anticipating.
When the sharp cry of a griffin slicing through the skies echoed outside the camp, I knew she had arrived.
I immediately closed my eyes, adjusted my breathing, and made myself appear even weaker, as if battling death itself. I heard the tent's flap being yanked open, and an urgent gust of wind carrying the queen's unique presence swept in.
"Everyone, leave!" Selene's voice carried a slight tremble borne of anxiousness, one she herself likely hadn't noticed.
The medics and guards instantly fell silent, respectfully exiting the tent.
I slowly opened my heavy eyelids and looked at the figure rushing to my bedside with an expression blending pain, surprise, and indescribable joy.
"My queen," I struggled to rise and pay my respects, but she immediately pressed me down.
"Don't move!" Her hand rested firmly on my right shoulder, warm and strong. Her face was filled with worry, guilt, and a rare, almost panicked emotion I had never seen before. Her emerald eyes reflected my pale face, like two pools of green water disturbed by ripples.
"It was my poor command. It was the regular army's fatal intelligence failure," she said hurriedly, as if trying to shoulder all the responsibility. "Rest assured, Cairo, I will thoroughly investigate this matter and give you and all the injured soldiers an explanation."
I looked at her, weakly shaking my head, the motion pulling at my wound and triggering a violent cough.
"No, Your Majesty, this isn't their fault," I said between gasps. "I was too hasty. It was my failure to eliminate all threats that endangered my soldiers. Please punish me."
I saw her eyes redden slightly. My refusal to blame others and my self-reproach undoubtedly stirred her guilt more than any complaint could.
As she turned to instruct the medics to prepare more medicine, I feigned unconsciousness from pain, my right hand "accidentally" disturbing the pillow to half-reveal a parchment map hidden beneath it.
It was a map I had painstakingly drawn over several nights—detailing my razed homeland, the *Shadow Wolf Pack Territory*. Mountains, rivers, and the cursed king's core stronghold, marked in red ink, were prominently featured.
Sure enough, Selene's gaze was drawn to it.
"What is this?" she asked softly, picking up the map.
"Nothing, Your Majesty..." I immediately feigned panic and tried to snatch it back, but the motion once again pulled at my wound, eliciting a muffled groan of pain.
"Don't move!" she commanded, gently but firmly unfolding the map.
She studied the map in silence for a long time. Under the guise of pain, I let out a few murmured, dream-like whispers: "Father... Mother... Revenge..."
At last, she raised her head, her gaze filled with compassion, pity, and a certain resoluteness as she looked at me. "Is this why you're so reckless, Cairo? For your people, for revenge?"
I didn't respond, meeting her gaze with a look of profound sorrow and indomitable resolve instead.
I knew she had found the noblest, most reasonable justification for all my recklessness and desperation. I was no longer just a commander serving her; I had become a tragic hero driven by a *Blood-deep Feud*, risking everything for a grand cause.
And she, as the destined queen who had catalyzed it all, naturally bore an inescapable divine responsibility toward me.
Between us, this "shared secret" forged a deeper, stronger bond, intertwining sympathy, guilt, and a righteous sense of duty.
She carefully folded the map, placed it back under my pillow, and gently adjusted my blanket, her movements tender as if handling a rare treasure.
"Recover well, Cairo," she said, with a hint of a promise in her voice. "I swear, your *Blood-deep Feud* will not be forgotten. One day, I will personally lead *The Silver Moon Wolf Pack's* army to flatten that cursed land and bring justice to you and all the fallen *Shadow Wolf Pack* people."
As she finished tucking me in and prepared to leave, I mustered every ounce of strength to extend my uninjured right hand and grasp her wrist.
Her hand trembled slightly but did not pull away.
I raised my head, speaking with a voice both frail and resolute, each word meticulously enunciated:
"To die for you is my honor, my queen. But promise me, before I die, do not frown for anything."
My gaze locked with hers. In her emerald, queenly eyes, I saw something completely melt in that moment.
I released her hand, letting her retreat hurriedly from the tent as if escaping.
I lay back on the cot, listening to her fading footsteps, the corners of my mouth curling into a cold, victorious smile.
I need not touch her, nor pursue her. All I had to do was bleed for her, sacrifice for her, time and again. Blood is the finest ink, and tragedy the sharpest blade. They would etch my name, stroke by stroke, deep into her heart, her guilt, and the weighty sense of queenly responsibility she bore.
One day, my name alone would fill every line.
As for Ellarik, my pitiable prince, all his efforts would be nothing more than a futile breeze trying to erase carvings on stone. In the end, he would exhaust himself to no avail.
I closed my eyes, finally able to rest and heal in peace. I knew the queen's defenses had opened a door for me, one that could never again be shut.