Chapter 28: The Bloodstained Road Home
The sky had barely begun to lighten in the east, and the smoke still hadn't cleared from the ruins. The stench of char and blood hung thick in the air, so acrid that every breath scraped down the throat like swallowing sand. Furina crouched on the ground, watching as Madame Hevmayer drifted over with the children cocooned in her water bubbles. The smallest one was curled into a tight ball, eyes wide open but utterly hollow—as if her very soul had been frightened right out of her.
Huo Yuhao stood at the side, his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze darting between the children and the charred, collapsed roof beams. His fists were clenched so hard they trembled.
Furina said nothing. Her stomach was still churning violently. She'd vomited until nothing but bitter bile came up, and her throat burned raw. She reached out, wanting to wipe the little one's face, but the moment her fingertips brushed that ice-cold cheek, her mind went buzz—flooded with images. The length of intestine swinging from the eaves. The cackling infant face on that evil soul master's tentacle... She yanked her hand back as if scalded. Her fingers shook uncontrollably.
"Sis?" Huo Yuhao looked at her with worry.
Furina drew a deep breath—and immediately choked on the stench, coughing hard. She forced herself to look away, sweeping her gaze across the dead, silent, scorched earth. Houses had collapsed into shapeless heaps. The livestock shed was nothing but a blackened skeleton frame. The ground was sticky and dark, indistinguishable from mud or blood. A gust of wind sent ash-and-ember eddies swirling upward, like paper money burned for the dead.
Send these little ones to an orphanage? Her mind suddenly dredged up memories from a past life—news reports about orphanage scandals, child abuse, trafficking... No. Absolutely not. Besides, this was the Douluo Continent. Who knew if there even were any reliable welfare institutions? Most of them probably considered a mouthful of food sufficient charity. Who'd bother with psychological trauma?
"We're taking them." Furina's voice came out hoarse, but her tone was crisp and unyielding. "Back to Fontaine City. To the church."
Huo Yuhao blinked, then nodded firmly. "Alright! I'll help!"
Furina glanced at him, then at Huo Yun'er, still asleep in the bubble palanquin in the distance. "Just look after your mother and yourself." She paused, recalling how he'd run off on his own earlier. "And don't go making decisions on your own next time. It was dangerous."
Huo Yuhao quickly assured her, "Understood. It won't happen again."
The road home felt impossibly long. The moon hung pale and ravaged in the sky, like a half-eaten flatbread. The night wind cut cold, and Furina couldn't shake the feeling that the stench of char and blood had latched onto her like a stubborn plaster—no matter how she tried, it wouldn't come off.
She walked at the very front, clutching the hilt of the Splendor of Still Waters. The azure water-patterns along the blade were dimmer than usual, quiescent.
The children, wrapped in their bubbles, made no sound the entire journey. Only the smallest occasionally let out a sob, thin and faint as a kitten's mewl. Huo Yuhao stayed beside the bubble palanquin, glancing worriedly at his mother from time to time, then at Furina's ramrod-straight back.
Furina's mind was a tangled mess. One moment, it was the evil soul master's twisted, savage face. The next, the cackling infant on that tentacle. Then it morphed into the bowl of plain meat porridge she'd complained was too bland that very morning... Her stomach lurched again.
She forced herself to think of something else. That crooked tree in the Water God Church's rear courtyard—nice to lounge under it in the summer. That Fontaine flower tea Neuvillette brewed—tasted odd, but it kept you alert... She stole a glance back at the older child with the wound on his face. Hmm, I can try using my soul skill on that later. Don't want it to scar... And that smallest one, hair all matted into knots—she'll need a good, thorough wash...
By the time the sky began to brighten, the outline of Fontaine City finally came into view. The city gates had just opened. Early-rising hawkers were pushing their carts inside. At the sight of Furina's party—especially the floating water bubbles and their bedraggled, disheveled state—passersby turned their heads, pointing and murmuring.
"Look over there... isn't that the Lady from the Water God Church?"
"What's with those children? Wrapped up in water?"
"Don't tell me they ran into an evil soul master..."
Furina ignored it all. Right now, all she wanted was to get back and soak in a hot bath.
She stepped into the church's front courtyard and spotted Neuvillette immediately, standing beneath that crooked tree, seemingly inspecting its leaves. At the sound of her approach, he turned. Those calm blue eyes paused for a fraction of a second upon seeing her, then swept over the water bubbles behind her, the children within, and finally settled on her pale, drawn face.
"Lady Furina," Neuvillette's voice was as steady as ever, "it would appear your 'outing' did not go smoothly."
Furina's mouth twisted. "Don't even ask... We ran into a mad dog." She gestured at the bubbles. "A whole village... these are all that's left."
Neuvillette's gaze lingered on the children for a moment. He inclined his head slightly. "Understood." He asked no further questions, turning instead to his attendants and issuing orders without pause. "Prepare rooms, hot water, and clean clothes. Summon a physician to examine them for external injuries and severe shock. Prepare bland, easily digestible food."
The attendants moved at once.
Watching Neuvillette handle everything with such methodical calm, the wire-taut tension inside Furina finally—finally—snapped loose. An indescribable wave of exhaustion swept through her. She barely had the strength to remain standing.
Neuvillette's gaze returned to her face. "Lady Furina, leave matters here to me. You need rest."
That single sentence. Furina felt like a balloon pricked by a needle—utterly, instantly deflated. She nodded vaguely and fled, almost at a run, toward her room.
She slammed the door shut behind her and slid down against it, her back pressed to the wood. The sounds of the outside world were cut off. Only her own ragged breathing remained. She looked down at her hands. Dark reddish stains still seemed to linger beneath her fingernails. The stench of blood seemed to curl back into her nostrils.
She bolted upright and rushed into the bathroom. She wrenched the tap open, and cold water gushed down. She thrust her hands under the stream and scrubbed furiously, scraping with her nails as if she could scrub a layer of skin clean off. Not enough! With trembling hands, she turned on the hot water. Scalding water poured down, turning her hands bright red. As if she felt no pain at all, she squeezed out a palmful of soap and continued scrubbing manically—her arms, her cheeks... especially that scrape on her face where the tentacle had cut her. She scoured it until it burned and throbbed.
Steam filled the bathroom. Furina lowered herself entirely into the tub, now filled to the brim with hot water, sinking beneath the surface. The scalding water wrapped her body, reddening her skin, stinging—but only this could somewhat suppress that icy, bone-deep nausea coiled in the pit of her stomach.
She closed her eyes and sank to the bottom. Images flashed through her mind: the burning village, the "scythe" of twisted human heads, the cackling infant face, the sky-spanning blood spikes, and finally—that massive blood sphere she had manipulated with her own hands... She burst from the water, gasping for air, and bent over the edge of the tub, dry-heaving once more.
So those superheroes in the movies who always take a bath after a fight—it's not just about looking cool... The absurd thought flitted through her mind.
Hot water couldn't wash the blood from her memories, but at least it could loosen her taut nerves, just enough to breathe.
She didn't know how long she soaked. The water cooled, and she heated it again. Her skin grew wrinkled and pruned. Only when she felt that bone-deep chill finally recede for the most part did she drag herself out, utterly drained, and wrap herself haphazardly in a bathrobe.
She pushed open the bathroom door. Outside, the day was fully bright. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting bright, warm patches across the floor. The room was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. She walked to the window and looked out at the orderly scene in the Water God Church's courtyard—attendants moving about in quiet efficiency, flowers and greenery stretching in the morning light.
Everything had returned to calm. As if that crimson nightmare of the night before had been nothing more than a hallucination born of staying in the bath too long.
But she knew it wasn't. She raised a hand and touched the scrape on her face—now raw, red, and swollen from her scrubbing. The stinging ache reminded her, thread by thread, that everything had truly happened.
Furina gazed out at the blinding sunlight, narrowing her eyes.
Evil soul masters deserved nothing less than death.