Chapter 23: The Reluctant Caretaker
As Percy left the room, his rationality got the best of him. He couldn't just leave him there—wounded, alone, and surrounded only by beasts. He needed someone to help lift him up, prepare the decoction, and feed it to him. None of that could be done by the beasts, no matter how loyal they were to their master.
He knew very well that the Shrouded One understood this too. But this prideful son of the Master would never lower his ego to ask for help, even though he desperately needed it.
"Forget it. I'll be the bigger person and bear with his temper until he gets better. Otherwise, I'll be in for a hard time from the Master for leaving his son in such a sorry state with no help," Percy muttered under his breath. With that thought in mind, he decided not to show himself to the Shrouded One, but he would not leave this place until he was back on his feet.
That evening, when it was time to give the wounded man his decoction, Percy delivered the medicine—only to be met with a mocking gaze from the patient.
"I never knew you to be the caring type. Or are you that idle that you'd stick around even after I sent you away? Back then, I could get injured from training, ask you for help to move around, and you'd always give me the cold shoulder. What's changed now?" the Shrouded One asked with a mocking smile.
Percy decided to ignore the taunt. He knew exactly what this guy was trying to do—provoke him into leaving. And Percy swore inwardly: were it not for fear of the Master's wrath, he wouldn't have bothered with this arrogant brother at all.
As if reading his thoughts, the Shrouded One added with a teasing smile, "You don't have to worry about Master finding out. You can stay around, go about your business, and once I'm better, we can head back together. He doesn't have to know you weren't exactly taking care of me."
For a moment, Percy almost considered the offer. But at the last minute, he decided against it. Nothing could be hidden from the Master. Somehow, he would find out that Percy had left his brother alone, unattended. So, Percy made up his mind:
Bear with the awful temper of the Shrouded One—just for a little while longer. Once he was better, they would settle the score.
With that thought, Percy glanced at the wounded man on the bed—clearly too weak to care for himself, yet still managing to run his mouth, pushing away the only help he had. Percy said nothing. Sometimes silence was the best response.
Back in the village, things were calmer. The threat of the Shrouded One had faded. Days had passed with no word of him. It was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
And before anyone realized it, six months had passed since the Shrouded One's defeat.
One fine evening, deep in the woods, a man was seen jogging—his pace slow, yet steady. Behind him, a group of beasts followed loyally, stopping beside him whenever he paused to rest.