Chapter 41: A Grace Period

’Don’t tell her about me.’

Ophilia’s thought slid through his mind, low and possessive, wrapping around his awareness like a warning clawed into bone.

Jagger inhaled slowly before answering, careful to keep his expression open, uncertain. “I don’t really know,” he said. “I tried to run, but something inside me told me to fight. That’s when everything went blank. When I came to… The kobold leader was already attacking me.”

He looked at Jane as he spoke, watching her face, searching for some sign that she believed him. “I remember my vision going red. After that, it’s all a blur.”

Jane studied him in silence.

It was not the casual glance of someone making conversation. It was the measured stare of a hunter assessing a potential threat. He could practically hear the calculations turning behind her eyes, suspicion weighing against what she had seen with her own.

“Porpo told me she saw your arm,” Jane said finally. “Reforming. She said your body was putting itself back together.”

Jagger’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. He kept his breathing steady, his posture loose, even as his thoughts raced.

“Regeneration,” he said slowly, as if tasting the word for the first time. “It’s a skill I got back when you found me in the supermarket pharmacy.” He paused, letting the words settle. “It’s more like accelerated healing. I can reform serious damage, maybe even limbs, but there’s a drawback.”

Jane’s gaze sharpened slightly. “What kind of drawback?”

“The worse the injury, the worse the pain feedback,” he replied. “It’s not just pain either. It’s… overwhelming. Like my body is being generated back at the cellular level.” He let out a quiet breath. “It’s like molten metal running through my veins as my nerves scream.”

That part, at least, was genuine.

Jane nodded once, her face still unreadable. “Can you trigger it on command? If someone cuts off your arm, can you… regrow it?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head without hesitation. “I’ve only regenerated three times so far. Twice when I was basically dying, and once in the infirmary after Lynis…” He hesitated, then continued. “After he smashed me with his shield.”

At the mention of Lynis, something flickered in her eyes. Guilt. The kind that came from knowing a necessary choice still carried consequences.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said quietly. “He was scared. We all were. We didn’t know what to make of you.”

“I know,” Jagger replied, lowering his gaze to his hands. They looked normal. Too normal. “And… I’m sorry about choking you.”

She stiffened slightly, her fingers brushing her neck before she seemed to catch herself and drop her hand. “It’s in the past,” she said. Then, after a beat, she added, “You hungry?”

She rose and crossed to the kitchen, the topic shift abrupt but not unwelcome.

“Starving,” he admitted, and for the first time in hours, a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

Jane opened a cupboard and pulled out two cans. One of them featured a smiling, round-faced French man with a thin moustache proudly advertising the can. She grabbed a spoon and returned to the living room, handing him one.

“Hope you like room temp, baked beans with sausages.”

“Not really,” he said honestly, prying the lid open with the spoon. “But food is food. Thanks.”

They ate in silence.

Metal scraped softly against metal. Somewhere down the hall, Lynis snored, the sound steady and oddly comforting. Outside, the city continued to die, but in here, for a few stolen minutes, it felt distant.

“You’re different,” Jane said at last.

Jagger paused, a spoonful of beans hovering halfway to his mouth. “Different how?”

“Before, you were skittish,” she said. “Scared. Now you’re calmer. More focused. Like something inside you clicked into place.”

“Anyone would change after what we went through,” he replied, keeping his tone light.

’Be careful. She’s smarter than she looks,’ Ophilia murmured.

“No,” Jane said quietly. She scraped the last of the beans from her can, slower now. “In the past six days, I’ve watched most people break. Some lose their minds. Some go catatonic.” She set the empty can aside. “Some just kill themselves.”

She looked at him fully now. “You almost died. You regenerated in a way that would shatter most people. And instead of breaking… You hardened.”

Jagger swallowed and ate another spoonful before answering. “When you kiss death as many times as I have and come back,” he said, “you either break or adapt.” He glanced up at her. “I chose to adapt. Wasn’t it the same for you?”

Silence answered him.

Her gaze drifted to the dagger resting on the coffee table. For the briefest moment, her expression cracked. Guilt surfaced there, raw and unguarded, like something she had buried and learned never to acknowledge. It reminded him of Hannah, back when she had done something wrong; it was always clear as day on her face. The way her eyes would dart down.

Then it was gone.

She stood, one finger brushing the dagger. It dematerialized into thin air. “We’ve got two hours before everyone wakes up,” she said. “Get some rest. Don’t worry about monsters. This place is mostly secure.”

“Mostly?” he said dryly. “That’s reassuring.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She dismissively waved her hand.

“Anyway, you rest as well, too,” he said, as he watched her walk away.

She paused at the doorway, nodded once without turning around, and disappeared into the master bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

Jagger finished his beans without tasting them. He leaned back against the sofa, exhaling slowly.

“Status.”

The red screen flickered into existence. His eyes moved over it briefly before settling on the stats.

“Add five points to Strength, five to Agility, and five to Dexterity.”

The sensation came immediately.

A pins-and-needles ripple surged up from the base of his spine, spreading outward through muscle and nerve. It was not painful, but it was unmistakable, like his body being quietly rewritten. He flexed his hands, feeling new density in his forearms, coiled potential in his legs.

Power, restrained and waiting.

“Hey, I have a question…” he muttered to the empty room, as he grabbed a pillow and placed it on one side of the large couch. ’Speak, toy.’ Ophilia replied, her tone laced with impatience. “I have a name…” He waited for her to answer, but nothing. He lay down on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “What is this timer in the top right corner?”

–

[1 day, 5 hours, 49 minutes, 21 seconds]

–

It was a stark, crimson countdown, each second ticking away with relentless precision.

’A grace period.’ Ophilia’s thought was cold, devoid of emotion.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep