The Bigshot's Superstar Wife

Chapter 25: Deeply Wounded

Athena awakened earlier than Mors, the faint light of dawn filtering through the woven bamboo walls. It’s still early in the morning...

She instinctively reached to wipe the strands of hair clinging to her face but froze when she noticed her hand streaked with dried blood. Where did this come from?

Her heart skipped a beat. The sharp, metallic stench of blood filled the air, making her stomach churn.

Alarmed, she sat up and scanned the dimly lit room, following the overpowering scent to its source. Her gaze landed on Mors.

He lay motionless beside her, his broad form draped in a black military jacket. Huh? Why did he smell like blood?

At first glance, he appeared to be sleeping soundly, but as her eyes adjusted, she noticed the dark patches staining the fabric.

Blood.

It clung to the jacket and dripped faintly onto the bed. A wave of panic surged through her. How could he be injured?

"Mors, wake up!" Athena said urgently, gently shaking his shoulder. He didn’t stir, his body unnaturally still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

She touched his forehead, and her heart sank, his skin was burning hot, fever raging through him. "So hot..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

Swallowing her hesitations, Athena unzipped the jacket with steady but urgent hands. What she uncovered left her breathless. So big...

A long, deep slash marred his back, crudely wrapped in what appeared to be strips of white cloth, now saturated with blood.

"Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you wake me up?" she muttered, anger and worry twisting in her chest. He must have fought something, or someone last night.

The image of Mors returning to their bed late, insisting she rest, replayed in her mind. He had hidden the truth, pretending he was fine, despite such grievous wounds.

She cleared the bed swiftly, moving him as gently as possible to avoid aggravating the injury.

Athena assessed the gash, her stomach knotting at the jagged edges and the sheer depth of the wound. He had lost a dangerous amount of blood.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Athena got to work. She cleaned the wound carefully with water, her hands deft yet gentle as she wiped away the dried and fresh blood.

When I was an assassin, seeing blood was not enough to make my heart race. Because... I was rarely wounded even when I suffered torment.

The urgency of the situation left no time for rest. Athena immediately began her preparations.

She sorted the herbs, separating those meant for internal medicine from those for external application.

Using a flat rock she had cleaned earlier, she pounded fever-reducing herbs into a thick green paste, mixing in a few drops of water to create a smooth consistency.

This would serve as an ingestible remedy to help lower Mors’s fever.

For the healing potion, she crushed the roots and leaves with a mortar-like tool she had fashioned from bamboo and stones.

She strained the liquid through a woven bamboo sieve, collecting the potent extract in a hollowed-out gourd.

Its bitter scent reminded her of the life-saving concoctions she had relied on in the past.

She added a pinch of finely ground bark from another plant, known to speed up tissue regeneration.

The external application required meticulous preparation. She pounded antiseptic herbs into a paste, blending it with the sap of a rubbery plant she had found earlier.

The mixture was sticky and thick, perfect for sealing wounds and stopping further bleeding.

She warmed the concoction slightly over the fire to activate its properties, ensuring it would adhere properly to Mors’s skin.

Once everything was ready, Athena returned to Mors’s side. His fever hadn’t subsided, and his breathing was shallow.

She gently lifted his head, coaxing him to drink the fever-reducing medicine. Though he was barely conscious, he managed to swallow small amounts.

She then moved to his wound. Removing the soaked bandages, she cleaned the area again, working carefully to avoid causing him unnecessary pain.

The antiseptic paste was applied generously, forming a protective layer over the gash.

She bound the wound with fresh strips of cloth she had sterilized earlier, ensuring the dressing was snug but not restrictive.

Exhausted but determined, Athena finally sat beside him, her hands trembling from the effort.

She placed the fruits within reach, should Mors wake and need sustenance. Leaning back against the wall of the hut, she allowed herself a moment to breathe.