Chapter 49

The blanket was lifted from one corner, revealing the child’s arms, chest, front, and back covered in bruises ranging from blue to purple. It was impossible to tell if they were from frostbite or abuse. There were only a few obvious old whip marks that had split the skin open before healing, and some fresh ones where the flesh had completely frozen solid.

Horne stood by the sofa, frowning slightly.

This child looked only eight or nine years old. Who could do such a thing? Abusing a child and abandoning him in the Frost Plains.

The pile of clothes on the floor was stained with blood. If they hadn’t been looking for Matthew today and stumbled upon this child by chance, a little later and he would have been a corpse.

“Tonight, wait for him to wake up slowly, then continue monitoring his body temperature, breathing, and mental state. If there’s any problem, send him to the doctor immediately. Even if there’s no issue, I still recommend a blood test as soon as possible to check for other complications.”

The doctor gave a few instructions and left. Not long after, Han Ya pushed the door open, slamming it with a bang.

His expression was one of clear impatience. He took off his windbreaker, shook it twice, and hung it casually by the door, as naturally as if he were at home.

His brows knotted together. “Matthew’s been found and locked up. I’m done with him—he’s always causing trouble.” He had just gotten home himself and hadn’t even sat down before being called to the Snowfield to search, only to find the guy had come back on his own to face the music.

Han Ya rolled his eyes and glanced at the child on the sofa. “Who’s this?”

“No idea. Picked him up in the Snowfield. I had Ben Yian post a notice in the City Defense District.” Horne said softly. He rubbed his temples, his head aching, and walked over to sit on the black single-seater sofa.

He hadn’t stopped from start to finish today. Now that he relaxed a bit, his whole body sank into the sofa. He was exhausted. Horne’s head tilted as he looked at the child under the blanket, his eyes half-closed.

He didn’t know when Han Ya left or when the lights went out. The living room was left with only the faint glow of the fireplace and the crackle-pop of the burning logs. Outside, the wind howled mournfully in the dark night.

Listening to these steady, ongoing sounds, Horne’s consciousness faded away.

When he woke again, it was the middle of the night. He was startled awake by a sudden shift in the air. Almost on instinct, Horne’s eyes snapped open. Before they could adjust to the fireplace light, his hand had already blocked the sharp knife.

It wasn’t a knife attacking him—it was a glass ornament from the coffee table.

With a quick twist of his wrist, the glass fell from the other’s hand with a clink, shattering into pieces on the floor. In the dead silence of the night, it rang out unusually loud.

Horne was stunned for a moment, then immediately released his grip and stood up, fully awake.

The child was awake, his face full of wariness. Because of Horne’s counter, there was now a hint of fear in his eyes. He retreated step by step into the corner of the living room, mouth slightly open, gasping in short breaths.

Horne didn’t mind the clumsy sneak attack. Worried about triggering the child, he turned on the light and walked to a spot several meters away, then squatted down on the spot. He was silent for a long time before hesitantly asking, “Are you okay?”

The child had probably been awake for a while and had put his bloody clothes back on, which made Horne frown.

“Your clothes are very dirty. Want me to get you a new one?” Horne probed gently.

The child didn’t react. His eyes were wide open, filled only with fear and vigilance. His hands clutched tightly at his filthy clothes, knuckles turning white, fabric bunching up in wrinkles. His wary gaze never left Horne for a second.

That look was like a frightened little animal, ready to go down fighting at any moment.

Horne didn’t dare make any rash moves. He stayed squatting, just watching without approaching.

Having suffered abuse and been abandoned in the Snowfield, it was normal for him to be this alert after being suddenly rescued. He needed time to lower his guard, learn his information, and then send him back.

After a moment, Horne extended a hand toward him, offering a smile. Softly, he said, “Hi. I know you just attacked me because you’re scared. It’s okay—I won’t hurt you. What’s your name? Are you hurt anywhere?”

The fireplace light flickered, casting shifting shadows and highlights on his outline. The smile never left his lips.

The icy lake in his eyes melted into water, hoping to put the little boy at ease.

After waiting a while with no response, Horne tilted his head and simply sat cross-legged on the floor, propping his head with his palm. “I’m Horne. Can you tell me your name?”

Horne’s gentleness didn’t improve things. The little boy just stared at him, silent and motionless.

After a long time, Horne withdrew his hand, sighed, and said, “Alright, if you don’t want to say, that’s fine. Are you hungry? Want something to eat, or some water?”

Silence.

Horne decided to head straight to the kitchen to boil some noodles. Whether the boy ate or not could wait.

The moment he stood up, the little boy shrank back further, but there was already a wall behind him. Only when he saw Horne heading to the open kitchen bar instead of approaching did he relax a little, his body still tense as he stared fixedly at Horne’s back, eyes swirling with wild, beast-like turmoil.

A bowl of egg noodles, a cup of hot milk, a slice of cheesecake—they were laid out side by side on the dining table. Worried the boy might not like milk, Horne also brought orange juice, plain water, and sparkling water.

He sat down on the stairs to the second floor, nearly ten meters from the dining area, and said softly, “If you want to eat, go ahead.”

The boy didn’t move. Horne felt a bit helpless and shifted up another step, putting more distance between them. “Are you afraid of me? I can go upstairs. You can be down here alone—take whatever you want, okay?”

Across the entire living room, the little boy looked at him, squeezed his eyes shut in pain, then snapped them open almost instantly. Seeing Horne sitting motionless on the stairs, not sneaking up while his eyes were closed, he slowly stood and shuffled toward the dining area one tiny step at a time, his vigilance ramping up with each one.

He hadn’t had a drop to drink in so long. He was starving.

The bowl of noodles vanished in the blink of an eye, the cake too. Though he ate like a whirlwind, with every bite, the little boy stole two-second glances at Horne. Seeing him keep his distance, he continued to the next.

Horne sat there, head tilted. “Is that enough? Want more? I can make something else.” As soon as he spoke, the boy trembled all over, immediately grabbing the glass nearby and tensing up completely—an attack stance.

After a moment, he relaxed slightly.

Horne stood up, and the little boy shot to his feet too. The chair screeched screeech across the wooden floor from his sudden movement. He quickly backed up two steps.

Horne found it a little amusing. He pointed upstairs and said softly, “Don’t be scared. I’m going to the top-floor attic to tidy up. If you want, there’s a bed up there. You can rest here tonight.”

The attic bed was usually for guests staying over, but his home rarely had overnight visitors.

Horne led the boy up, keeping several meters between them the whole time. If he got too close, the boy went fully defensive, grabbing the nearest thing that could serve as a weapon. Horne had to stay back and guide him upward.

Fortunately, though vigilant, the little boy wouldn’t raise a weapon as long as Horne didn’t approach.

This state lasted for several days.

Horne would bring him meals up to the attic, clear the dishes at the next mealtime, and not try to get closer. Each time their eyes met, he’d smile and leave. Midway, Horne had told him once that he could come downstairs if he needed anything, but there was no further interaction.

“No replies to the notice yet?” Horne asked while cracking eggs in the kitchen. He glanced at the empty stairs—the kid was probably still in the attic and wouldn’t come down.

That evening, after training ended, the three of them came over. Only Han Ya sprawled across the long sofa, taking up space for four people.

The Resident Chip Reader sat on the coffee table, brought by Ben Yian at Horne’s request.

The kid refused to give any information. They needed to read his chip to find out who he was.

Ben Yian shrugged. “No replies. I checked the missing persons list. Based on the photos from the families, the one you picked up doesn’t match any missing kids in the city. No one recognizes him.”

“That’s really strange.” Han Ya lounged comfortably. “Can’t find the missing kids, but mystery kids keep popping up. Your City Defense District’s not very efficient.”

Ben Yian spread his hands helplessly. They were all busy with this lately, but still no leads.

Han Ya sat up and craned his neck to look at Horne’s busy back. “If you can’t find anything, just send him to the Warfallen Asylum?”

It housed children, elderly, and disabled people who had lost their families for various reasons—a large shelter with a complex mix of residents.

Horne flipped the egg. “Let’s wait a bit more. Best to find his family. This kid’s got a strong attack instinct. I’m worried he’ll suffer if we send him there.”

Ben Yian chuckled twice. “With his attack instinct, it’ll be the others suffering.”

That was true. Horne poked a hole in the yolk, letting the liquid flow evenly over the white, then sprinkled some black pepper. The aroma wafted to the living room.

Horne wasn’t entirely sure. Abandoned in the Snowfield in that state—finding his family might not even be good. They could be the cause. In the end, the Warfallen Asylum was still the most likely option.

Han Ya stretched lazily and teased, “Major, when are you going to drop that do-gooder habit? Same with Matthew—his parents died on the migration from Langdao to Loch, right at the city gates, and you just happened to be there that day. They just happened to say to hand their son to the military before dying, and you took it all on. Silly or what?”

Horne turned off the heat and plated the golden egg with slices of ham and cheese. He turned and headed upstairs, his voice and the ham-egg scent fading up the stairs. “Doing good isn’t silly. Silly are the ones who, after doing good and getting burned, start avoiding good deeds thinking they’re dumb.”

Han Ya watched the figure disappear up the stairs and muttered, “Avoiding harm and seeking gain—isn’t that normal?”

Ben Yian nudged Han Ya and said with a soft laugh, “Bandit leader, you can’t criticize the major like that. After all, my sister and I are just two of the countless people he’s helped.”

Han Ya pursed his lips and didn’t reply.

The attic door was pushed open. When Horne entered, the boy was lying on the bed by the window, looking outside. Hearing the sound, he flipped over and shrank back. Seeing it was Horne, he stopped.

At least he’d spent a few days safely here.

Horne set the tray on the table without a word and turned to go downstairs.

The wooden stairs creaked underfoot. Before Horne even reached the bottom, his voice carried down. “I’m heading to training tomorrow, and it’s my turn for Control Tower duty at night. I don’t feel right leaving him alone at home overnight. Whoever’s free, take him to the hospital for a checkup and keep him a few days until my shift ends. Then we’ll decide what to do next.”

The three downstairs exchanged looks.

Han Ya shook his head like a rattle. “No, no, no. I don’t babysit kids. No patience for it. And if this kid pulls something, it’ll be the same wherever he is.”

“Wen Yu?” Horne’s gaze shifted to her.

Wen Yu refused flatly. “I don’t like kids.”

All three gazes landed on Ben Yian.