"No time," Viktor muttered. His hand moved to his belt—to a small pouch hanging there. His fingers fumbled with the clasp before finally getting it open.

He pulled out a handful of crushed herbs, the green and brown mixture looking like something scraped off a forest floor.

Without hesitation, he shoved his hand under his shirt, pressing the herbs directly against the stab wound in his belly.

"Ghh—fuck—" The curse tore out of him, his body going rigid.

"What are you doing?!" Mira grabbed his wrist. "You can't just—"

"Stops... bleeding..." Viktor's jaw clenched. "Trust me..."

His hand moved in small circles, rubbing the herbs into the wound. Blood mixed with the crushed plants, creating a dark paste that looked absolutely disgusting.

But Kaida noticed something. The bleeding was slowing. Not stopping, but definitely slowing.

'What the fuck kind of herbs are those?'

Mira and Helena hovered on either side of the bed, both crying, both useless in their panic.

Kaida stood at the foot of the bed, her hands still covered in Viktor's blood, feeling like the worst kind of shit.

Viktor's eyes found hers again. "Kaida..."

She flinched.

"The one... in my back..." He took a shaky breath. "Pull it out... then leave."

The words were quiet. Not angry. Just... tired.

Kaida's gaze shifted to Mira. Her sister's green eyes were red and swollen, tears still streaming down her face. And the look she gave Kaida—fuck, it hurt more than any blade could.

Pure accusation. Pure grief.

'You did this. This is your fault.'

Kaida looked back at Viktor. "You sure?"

"Do it." Viktor's hand found Mira's, squeezing weakly. "Just... do it fast."

Kaida moved to the side of the bed. Her hand closed around the hilt of the dagger—'her' dagger, the one she'd thrown with perfect accuracy, the one that had buried itself between his shoulder blades.

She took a breath. "On three—"

"Just do it," Viktor cut her off.

Kaida pulled.

The blade came free with a wet, sucking sound that made her stomach turn. Blood welled up immediately, spilling over Viktor's back and soaking into the sheets.

Viktor's entire body arched, a strangled sound ripping from his throat that wasn't quite a scream but close enough.

"I'm sorry," Kaida whispered. The dagger hung from her hand, dripping red. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Viktor didn't respond. He was too busy trying to breathe through the pain.

Mira's glare could've killed. "Get out."

The words were ice.

Kaida opened her mouth—to apologize again, to explain, to something but she gulped down her words.

Kaida's hand tightened around the dagger hilt. Then she turned and walked toward the door, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Behind her, she could hear Mira and Helena fussing over Viktor, hear the rustle of fabric as they tried to treat his wounds, hear the quiet sobs that neither woman was bothering to hide anymore.

The door clicked shut behind Kaida.

Viktor groaned, his head dropping back against the blood-soaked pillow. His whole body throbbed—belly, back, everywhere. Fuck, even breathing hurt.

'That was messy as hell.'

His mind replayed the last few minutes. The assassin lunging. Kaida's dagger flying. His own body moving on pure instinct, throwing himself into the crossfire like some kind of suicidal idiot.

But damn if it didn't work.

A pained smile tugged at his lips despite the agony radiating through his torso. Three birds, one stupid-ass plan. Kaida thought he was dying—good. The assassin was confused as fuck—even better. And Mira...

His eyes shifted to the woman kneeling beside the bed, her face streaked with tears, her hands trembling as they hovered uselessly over his wounds.

Mira was breaking down completely.

'Why does it hurt watching them cry?'

He'd planned this. Calculated it. Used Mira as bait without telling her, positioned himself perfectly to intercept the assassin while making it look like a desperate rescue.

It was working.

So why did his heart feel like someone was squeezing it?

"Helena," he rasped. "Thread... needle... bring them."

Helena's head snapped up, her tear-filled eyes wide. "Y-yes! Yes, young master!"

She scrambled off the bed and sprinted toward his desk, yanking open drawers with shaking hands.

Mira pressed a cloth—torn from her own dress—against the wound in his back, trying to staunch the bleeding. But the herbs had already done most of the work. The flow had slowed to an ooze, the green-brown paste mixing with red.

"Young master..." Mira's voice cracked. "There's so much blood... you need a real healer, you need—"

"I'm fine," Viktor muttered. "Just... need to stitch it."

"You're NOT fine!" The words came out as a sob.

Viktor's hand found hers, squeezing weakly. "Trust me."

Helena returned, clutching a spool of thread and a curved needle in her trembling fingers. "I-I have it! What do I—how do I—"

"Put them here." Viktor gestured to the bed beside him. "And help me... sit up."

"What?! No! You can't—" Mira started, but Viktor was already moving.

He groaned through clenched teeth as he forced himself upright, both women rushing to support him. Slowly—so fucking slowly—he managed to sit.

Viktor grabbed the fabric and pulled.

The shirt came off with a wet sound. Fresh blood oozed, and both women gasped.

The stab wound in his belly gaped open—deep enough that the torn flesh was visible, red and raw.

Mira's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh gods..."

"Why?!" The word burst out of her. "Why did you save me?!"

Her voice broke, her whole body shaking.

"You didn't have to—you could've just—why would you throw yourself in front of a blade for me?!"

Viktor looked at her. Really looked at her.

She genuinely didn't understand. Didn't realize that he'd used her as bait—positioned her perfectly so the assassin would focus on her while he set up his counter.

His eyes flicked to the translucent screen only he could see.

[Mira - Loyalty: 72% → 78%]

[Helena - Loyalty: 89%]

It was working. The plan was working perfectly.

'One stone, three birds,' Viktor thought. 'Messy as fuck, but effective.'

"Because you're mine," Viktor said simply. "And I protect what's mine."

Mira's breath hitched. More tears.

Helena sobbed beside her, her hands clutching at Viktor's arm.

Viktor reached for the needle and thread.

His abilities kicked in automatically.

[Skill Activated: Herb Master]

[Skill Activated: Med-Aid Pro]

[Skill Activated: Craft King]

Information flooded his mind. Precise. Clinical. How deep the wounds were. What angle to stitch at. What tension to use.

Viktor threaded the needle with practiced ease.

"Young master, what are you—" Helena's eyes went wide as Viktor brought the needle to his own belly wound.

"Don't move," he muttered. "This is gonna hurt a bit."

He pushed the needle through his own skin.

The pain was immediate. Sharp. Burning.

But Viktor's hand didn't shake.

He pulled the thread through, then looped it back, creating the first stitch. Then another. Another.

Both women watched in horror and fascination as Viktor calmly sewed his own wound shut, his face twisted in pain but his movements precise and controlled.

"Young master, stop!" Mira grabbed his wrist. "You can't—this isn't—"

"I can." Viktor's voice was strained but calm. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

He kept stitching. Five. Six. Seven stitches closing the gaping hole in his belly, pulling the torn flesh together bit by bit.

Sweat dripped down his face. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps. But he didn't stop.

Finally, he tied off the last one and bit the thread to cut it.

"Helena," he breathed. "The back. You'll have to do it."

Helena's face went pale. "M-me? Young master, I don't know how to—"

"I'll guide you." Viktor handed her the needle. "Just do exactly what I say."

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