Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 338: So Pitiful
Soren would have accompanied Riven himself—he hated letting him out of his sight—but Nicholas’ escape had to come first. That filthy snake was crawling somewhere out there, bleeding, desperate, a cornered rat. Soren had sent his men scouring the streets, searching every shadow, every alleyway.
"He couldn’t have gotten far," Soren muttered under his breath for the fifth time, though no one had asked. His voice was low, strained, the kind that made even seasoned soldiers stand straighter. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶
The first wave of scouts returned. Empty-handed.Nothing. No blood trail. No scent.
Impossible.
Soren’s jaw clenched until his teeth ached. His nails bit into the wood of the war table, leaving little crescent marks as he glared down at the men who dared bring him nothing. "Expand the perimeter. Search again. Tear this city apart if you have to," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. "Bring me his corpse. I don’t care how."
He would not—could not—let Nicholas slip away. That man had dared touch what was his. He had dared bring chaos into his world, dared make Riven bleed. The thought of it made something inside him coil tighter, darker.
When his men scrambled out, afraid to even breathe in his presence, Soren found himself walking without thinking. His boots carried him down the long, cold hallways until he stood before a door he hadn’t opened in years.
His mother’s room.
The door was locked—he had made sure of that himself, long ago. Still, his hand lifted, almost hesitantly, to rest against the wood.
The surface was cold to the touch.
When his men scrambled out, afraid to even breathe in his presence, Soren found himself walking without thinking. His boots carried him down the long, cold hallways until he stood before a door he hadn’t opened in years.
His mother’s room.
The door was locked—he had made sure of that himself, long ago. Still, his hand lifted, almost hesitantly, to rest against the wood.
The surface was cold.
He bowed his head against the wood, a twisted smile curling his lips. "This time... I’ll destroy anything that dares take from me. Nicholas, or anyone else. If I have to strangle the world with my bare hands, I will."
For a long, still moment, he lingered there, listening to the echo of his own vow. Then he turned on his heel, cloak snapping behind him, the storm already gathering in his chest.
Nicholas couldn’t have gotten far.And when Soren found him, he wouldn’t just kill him.He’d erase him. Piece by piece.
Nicholas staggered forward, every step an agony he could no longer hide from. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps that burned his lungs, and each exhale curled into the cold air in pale clouds.
His bare feet, raw and bloodied, left dark streaks on the untouched snow. The skin had long since peeled from his soles, every step tore open new layers of flesh. His toes were cracked and frostbitten, oozing blood that mixed with the biting white beneath him.
He couldn’t even curl them anymore—the cold had stolen the sensation away, leaving only the raw, screaming burn of exposed nerves. He could say the cold numbed him and helped with the pain, but that was a lie.
Yet he forced himself onward.
He had to live.
His hands hung limp at his sides, fingers crooked unnaturally. Several of them were broken, bent at ugly angles from his desperate attempt to fight back earlier. They throbbed with each pounding beat of his heart, the pulse in them so sharp it made bile rise in his throat.
His entire body screamed in protest, cuts riddled his arms, his ribs ached with what he suspected were fractures, and his head pounded with dizziness. Every snowflake that landed on his skin was another needle, another reminder of how little warmth he had left.
And yet, he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he would die here. Worse—he would die without avenging her. The thought was a fire that barely kept his frozen limbs moving. He clenched his jaw until it ached, his mind repeating the same desperate mantra: Not yet. Not yet. Not like this.
But fate was merciless.
His foot caught on the gnarled root of an oak tree buried beneath the snow, and with a sharp cry, Nicholas crashed to the ground. Pain shot through his body, and he lay there, the breath knocked out of him.
His torn skin met the ice directly, and the freezing bite of it made him jolt. He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled violently, unable to bear his weight. His chest heaved, and his vision blurred.
The snow was merciless. It clung to his wounds, digging into open flesh like shards of glass. His lips split when he gasped, blood mingling with his shallow breaths. He could feel the cold seeping deep into him now, past skin and muscle, settling into his bones. A bone-deep chill that whispered of the end.
"No..." he rasped, voice broken and raw. His throat burned with each word, but he forced them out. "I... Can’t... Die here..."
His mind replayed her face—her smile, her warmth, the cruel way she had been torn from him. His chest constricted with fury and despair. To die here, like this, unavenged, was unbearable.
He dug his bloodied fingers into the snow, trying to pull himself forward, but the strength in his body was gone. He collapsed once more, trembling violently, his consciousness fraying.
And then—
The sound of horses.
Hooves thundered across the snow, drawing closer and closer, their rhythm steady and sharp. Nicholas’ heart lurched in his chest. Was it Soren’s men? Had he been caught? Panic flared through him, but his body was too broken to flee. His eyes fluttered, heavy, his lashes crusted with frost, and his mind screamed at him to move, to run, but he could not.
He barely registered the carriage wheels stopping before him.
The door creaked open, and through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he saw her. A woman stepped out gracefully, her figure cutting starkly against the bleak winter. Her lips curled into a smirk as her gaze swept over him. "So pitiful."
