Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XLVI: The Broken Savior with the Novice

His breaths were shallow, ragged, each one trembling as though the air itself was a weight he struggled to bear. His broad shoulders slumped, and his hands hung limply at his sides, streaked with dirt and remnants of the chaos that had just subsided.

Still, Noumenon stood steadfast before him, her presence an unyielding anchor in the aftermath of the storm. Her eyes searched his face, hesitant yet hopeful, as though seeking some flicker of recognition.

Cross blinked, his focus slowly sharpening. His ashy blue gaze fell on her, and for a moment, he seemed utterly lost. Exhaustion and disbelief painted his features, and he swayed slightly, barely catching himself as his knees threatened to buckle.

He blinked again, shaking his head faintly as if trying to wake from a dream—or a nightmare. The realization dawned on him slowly, like the creeping light of dawn after a long, restless night. This novice, this woman who had no ties to him, had done what no one else ever could save for Doctor Dunong who always resorted to injecting him with a sedative. He sheer will had stopped him.

“Why?” he asked hoarsely, the word tumbling out before he could stop it. His eyes, though weary, searched hers for an answer.

Noumenon hesitated, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. Then she took a steadying breath and stepped closer. “Because I think you needed help,” she said simply, her voice soft but unwavering.

Her words seemed to strike him like a physical blow. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he struggled to process the moment. The vulnerability in his expression was raw, unguarded, a c***k in the armor he’d so carefully constructed over the years.

“I don’t...” he began, his voice faltering. He raked a hand through his white hair, a frustrated gesture that seemed out of place on someone so composed. “I don’t understand you.”

She managed a faint, almost apologetic smile. “You don’t have to,” she said gently. “Sometimes, we’re just meant to help each other—whether we understand it or not.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders sagging further. The weight of the night’s events pressed heavily on him, but for the first time, it didn’t feel unbearable. He looked at her again, his blue eyes meeting hers, and though he didn’t say it, there was a flicker of gratitude in his gaze.

He just stood there, staring at her with a rawness that felt foreign to him. The words she had just spoken hung in the air, fragile and yet unshakable. But the quiet between them didn’t last long.

“Well, isn’t this a touching scene,” came the sly voice from behind them.

Both Cross and Noumenon turned sharply to see the aged inventor stepping into view. His gray hair was illuminated by the moonlight, giving him an almost mystical aura. He carried a small lantern that swayed slightly with his movement, its warm glow contrasting the earlier chaos. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he studied the pair.

“I had no idea I was stepping in for a heartwarming exchange,” the doctor teased, raising a brow. “Should I give you two some more privacy, or is the show over?”

“Your timing is as impeccable as ever, doctor,” Cross said flatly, though there was no real bite to his tone. He straightened his posture, his features hardening back into their usual mask of stoicism.

Doctor Dunong chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the vigilante’s indifference. “Oh, come now, don’t give me that look. I only came out here because I thought you might be tearing half the forest apart. Glad to see Noumenon here was able to calm you down without me having to use a sedative.”

Cross’s jaw tightened ever so slightly at the mention of his outburst, but he said nothing.

The doctor’s teasing smile softened as he turned to Noumenon. “You did well,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. “It’s not easy to pull him back from... wherever he goes when he loses control.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say. Her arms still ached, and the scratches on her face stung, but there was a warmth in her chest at the doctor’s words.

“Now, let’s get you both inside,” Doctor Dunong continued, gesturing toward the mansion. “You both look like you’ve been through hell—and frankly, Cross, you’re a terrible sight right now. Wipe that bloody mess off your face.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he replied dryly. “I’ll follow suit once I get rid of the corpses here.”

The aged doctor nodded and was already walking away. Noumenon trailed behind him after giving one definitive glance behind them. The mansion loomed ahead; its gothic architecture bathed in the pale light of the moon. As they entered its shadow, the sense of calm that had briefly enveloped her began to waver.

Doctor Dunong glanced back at her with a knowing look. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly. “The worst is over... for now.”

Though his tone was reassuring, something in his eyes hinted at deeper concerns—secrets and dangers that had yet to be unveiled.

Morning dawned quietly, yet the mansion felt heavy with the weight of unspoken words and lingering tension. The sunlight streaming through the tall glass windows that cast fractured patterns on the cold, stone floor.

Noumenon awoke with a start, the events of the previous night flashing in her mind like fragmented dreams. Her muscles ached from the strain, and the small cuts on her skin stung as she moved. Yet, her mind was clear, focused on a single purpose.

After her usual morning prayer, she pulled out a yellow frock from the cabinet and put it on. It was an old dress. As to the owner, she had no clue, but surely, this was owned by a girl very special to Doctor Dunong.

Just a few days here and she had seemed to be one of the official residents.

Cross had saved her countless times. But the time had come for her to step out of his shadow—to take action for herself. She could no longer run nor wait for fate to unfold. Today, she would confront him.

She found him where she expected: in the underground chamber of the mansion, a dimly lit space that served as his training area. The room was spartan, with nothing more than a few worn mats and an assortment of weapons neatly displayed on one side of the wall.

He stood at the center, his back to her. His white hair caught the soft glow of the dim overhead light, and his broad shoulders were stiff, as if he sensed her approach.

He turned slightly as she entered, his ashy blue eyes scanning her briefly before returning to the blade in his hand. He appeared calm, methodical as he cleaned the weapon, but she could see the strain in his jaw, the heaviness in his movements. Last night had taken its toll on him too.

“You’re up early,” he remarked, his voice cool but softer than usual. “Most people would still be resting after what happened.”

She stepped closer, crossing her arms as she spoke. “I couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

In one swift motion, she lunged at him, her movements driven by raw determination. The blade glinted in the dim light as she closed the distance between them, aiming directly for his chest.

But he was faster.

He twisted out of the way with almost inhuman speed, the blade missing him by inches. In the same breath, he grabbed her wrist, halting the momentum of her attack. The kitchen knife trembled in her grip as she struggled against his hold.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, his ashy blue eyes narrowing in surprise. Then, to her astonishment, his lips curved into a faint smirk. It wasn’t mocking or cruel—it was almost amused, as though he hadn’t expected her boldness but respected it, nonetheless.

“Well, that’s one way to make your point,” he said, his tone as calm as ever. He released her wrist, stepping back to give her space. “Care to explain what brought that on?”

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, the knife still trembling in her hand. “You told me to prove I was ready,” she said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “If I’m going to kill my father, I need to be willing to kill you too.”

His smirk widened ever so slightly. “You surprise me every day.”

She tightened her grip on the knife, her determination blazing anew. “Then let me try again.”

Cross raised a brow, a flicker of intrigue dancing in his eyes. “Alright, novice.”

He stepped back into a defensive stance, his movements fluid and effortless. For a fleeting moment, she hesitated, her mind racing with doubts. But then she pushed them aside, focusing entirely on the man before her. This was her chance to prove that she could stand on her own, that she was more than just someone to be protected.

Noumenon lunged again, aiming for his side this time. Cross sidestepped her attack with ease, his reflexes honed to perfection. He didn’t counterstrike—he was testing her, gauging her resolve.

“Your form’s a mess,” he commented, dodging another strike. “You’re telegraphing your movements too much. I can see where you’re going before you even move.”

His words only fueled her determination. She adjusted her stance, her strikes becoming quicker, more precise. Still, he evaded each one effortlessly, his smirk never fading.

After a particularly bold attempt, he caught her wrist again, disarming her in a single fluid motion. The kitchen knife clattered to the ground, and he twisted her arm just enough to immobilize her without causing pain.

“Not bad,” he said, his voice low and measured.

Cross released her arm and stepped back, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. “If you’re going to fight, you need to understand one thing,” he began, his voice sharp and deliberate. “Your body is your weapon. Every part of it. If you can’t use a blade, you use your hands. If you can’t use your hands, you use your legs, your knees, your feet. Whatever it takes.”

Noumenon straightened, her chest still heaving from the exertion. She nodded, her resolve unwavering despite the ache in her limbs. “Show me.”

Without warning, he lunged at her, his movements a blur. She barely had time to react as he grabbed her wrist and twisted, forcing her to drop the knife. Before she could recover, he swept her legs out from under her, sending her sprawling onto the mat.

“First lesson,” he said, standing over her. “Never let your opponent control the fight. If they grab you, you break free. If they knock you down, you get back up. Always.”

He extended a hand, pulling her to her feet. “Now, pay attention.”