The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He?-Chapter 376 - Looking into the dark past! (8)

Chapter 376: Chapter 376 - Looking into the dark past! (8)

The underground chamber filled with the sound of pain.

Raw. Unrestrained. Animal.

The woman screamed again, fingers digging into the healer’s robes as another violent contraction tore through her body. Her back arched helplessly against the cold stone.

"Please—!" she sobbed. "Please, at least save this child—!"

Her voice cracked on the last word.

The healer leaned over her, pressing glowing hands more firmly against her abdomen.

"Breathe," the old woman commanded, her tone sharp but steady. "Slowly. Don’t fight it. You’ll exhaust yourself."

The green light flared again, then dimmed, struggling to stabilize what was rapidly slipping beyond control.

"Listen to me," the healer said urgently, lowering her voice. "If you want the child to live, you must calm down."

The woman nodded weakly, biting down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"I don’t care about me," she whispered again, tears finally spilling from the corners of her dry eyes. "Just the child..."

Behind them, the guards stepped aside.

Two of them moved toward the darker end of the corridor, away from the healer’s glow.

One was visibly shaking.

The same one who had shoved her.

His gauntleted hands trembled at his sides, metal clinking faintly with each involuntary movement.

The other grabbed his shoulder roughly.

"You idiot," he hissed under his breath. "Look at what you’ve done."

The trembling guard swallowed hard.

"What... what do we do now?" he asked, voice barely steady.

The other glanced toward the chamber, then back at him. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"We should report it to the Lord Bishop," he muttered. "Only he can decide what to do next."

The frightened guard’s face went white.

"N-no!" he snapped immediately, panic overtaking him. "We can’t do that."

His breathing grew uneven.

"Even if the child is saved... I won’t survive this," he said hoarsely. "You know how obsessed he is about this one. If something happens before birth—"

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

The other guard frowned.

"But why?" he whispered, confusion creeping into his tone. "Why is Lord so fixated on this woman’s child? She’s practically just a whore now..."

He glanced back toward the chamber.

"...Why does he need her child so badly?"

The trembling guard lashed out suddenly, grabbing the front of his companion’s armor.

"A-am I supposed to know that?!" he hissed. "Is this the time to discuss it?!"

The second guard shoved him off.

"Then what should we do?" he pressed.

The frightened guard’s mind raced, eyes darting.

"W-we will escort them outside," he said quickly. "We should let the healer take her out. No report yet."

The other stared at him.

"And then?"

"Then we discretely bring them back in once things settle," he whispered urgently. "We handle it ourselves. Quietly."

The second guard hesitated.

"Are you sure?"

The trembling guard nodded, though his fear was still obvious.

"It’s the only thing I can do," he said. "If the Lord finds out right now, I’m dead."

A tense silence passed between them.

Then, reluctantly—

They nodded to each other.

Both turned and walked back toward the chamber.

Luca stood frozen where he was.

He had heard every word.

His mind replayed it rapidly.

Obsessed.

Fixated.

If something happens before birth—

His stomach tightened.

Why?

Why would Bishop Truce care so much about this child?

He looked at the Saintess beside him.

She was still kneeling near the woman, eyes wide with worry, hands hovering uselessly over her mother’s trembling body.

Her face had lost all color.

Her lips moved faintly—silent prayers no one could hear.

Luca swallowed.

From their conversation...

Why was the Bishop so fixated on her?

Is there something....that’s still hidden behind the curtain of the past?

The two guards approached the chamber again, their boots heavier now, no longer confident.

"We’ll take her out," the trembling one said, forcing authority into his voice.

The healer looked up at them sharply.

"Out?" she repeated.

"Yes," the other guard added quickly. "You said she can’t be treated here. We’ll escort you. Quietly."

The old woman studied them both.

One was pale. The other avoided her eyes.

She wasn’t foolish.

But she also wasn’t blind to urgency.

Her gaze shifted to the woman on the floor, whose cries had weakened into strained whimpers. Sweat soaked her hairline. Her breathing was shallow, irregular.

The healer clicked her tongue.

"...Fine," she muttered. "But move carefully. If you jolt her again, the child won’t last."

The guards nodded.

One disappeared briefly and returned with a coarse transport sack—usually meant for grain or supplies. He hesitated before kneeling.

The healer’s glare sharpened.

"Not like livestock," she snapped. "Support her back and abdomen."

They obeyed quickly.

Despite their armor and crude speech earlier, their movements now were tense, almost delicate. One slid his arms beneath the woman’s shoulders. The other carefully supported beneath her knees and the curve of her belly.

She was barely conscious now.

A faint moan escaped her lips as they lifted her.

Her hand twitched weakly over her stomach even in unconsciousness.

The healer wrapped a thick cloth around her midsection before nodding.

"Go."

They moved.

Up the stairs.

Each step measured. Controlled.

The trembling guard swallowed repeatedly, his breathing audible even beneath the clink of armor.

As they entered the courtyard, several patrolling knights turned.

"What’s going on?" one demanded.

"Transfer," the second guard replied stiffly. "Bishop’s orders."

The question lingered in the air.

"Since when does she get transfers?" another muttered suspiciously.

The trembling guard straightened abruptly, forcing steel into his voice.

"Do you want to be the one to question Lord Bishop’s instructions?" he shot back.

Silence.

The other knights looked at one another.

No one pressed further.

The carriage was prepared quickly.

They laid the woman inside with more care than before. The healer climbed in after her, kneeling beside the unconscious body, hands already glowing faintly again.

The trembling guard mounted the driver’s seat, hands tight on the reins.

His knuckles were white.

"Move," the other muttered.

The carriage rolled out through the gates.

Luca and the Saintess followed silently.

The manor receded behind them—tall walls, holy sigils, statues of virtue hiding rot beneath polished stone.

The streets grew narrower.

The grandeur faded.

They turned into quieter districts where stone gave way to modest homes and uneven paths.

Finally, the carriage stopped before a small house.

Plain wood. Faded paint. A modest herb garden by the window. Bundles of dried plants hung beneath the eaves.

The healer’s dwelling.

The guards climbed down quickly.

One opened the carriage. The other helped lift the woman again—more carefully now, fear sharpening their movements.

"She’s losing blood internally," the healer muttered as they moved. "Inside. Quickly."

They carried her through the door.

The room within was simple but clean.

Shelves lined with jars of herbs and salves. Mortar and pestle on a wooden table. Dried roots hanging from the ceiling beams. The scent of medicinal plants filled the air—strong, grounding.

A single narrow bed stood against the far wall.

They placed her there gently.

Her body lay still now.

Too still.

The healer immediately set to work, pushing the guards aside.

"Boil water," she snapped. "Now."

The guards scrambled.

Luca stood near the doorway.

Silent.

Beside him, the Saintess stared at the unconscious woman on the bed, her hands trembling faintly at her sides.

The air in the small house felt heavy.

Not with divine pressure.

But with something far more fragile.

Hope.

And the terrifying possibility of losing it.

The old healer didn’t waste a second.

She tore open bundles of herbs with swift, practiced motions, her expression carved from stone.

Then she turned sharply toward the two guards.

"Out."

They blinked.

"What?"

"I said get out," she snapped. "I need to concentrate. You will only get in my way."

The trembling guard hesitated. "We have orders—"

The healer’s eyes flashed.

"Get. Out." she said again, voice colder now. "Or I won’t heal her at all."

That did it.

The two guards exchanged a tight look.

Their jaws clenched.

They stepped backward.

One muttered under his breath, but neither dared argue further.

The door shut.

The latch clicked.

And they were left outside.

Silence swallowed the small corridor.

For a while, there was nothing.

No screams.

No instructions.

No sound of movement.

The trembling guard shifted his weight, boots scraping softly against the floor.

"...The child will be fine, right?" he asked quietly.

The other stared at the wooden door.

"...Let’s hope so," he muttered. "Otherwise..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

They both knew what otherwise meant.

They began pacing.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Their armor no longer clinked confidently—it scraped nervously. Their breaths were shallow. Every time the wood creaked from inside, both men stiffened instinctively.

Time dragged.

Minutes stretched.

Then hours.

The light from the small window at the end of the hall shifted gradually from pale afternoon to amber dusk. Shadows lengthened along the walls. The air grew cooler.

Still—

Nothing.

The trembling guard wiped sweat from his brow.

"...It’s been too long," he whispered.

The other checked the sky through the narrow window.

"Five hours," he muttered.

The corridor had grown dim.

Evening had arrived.

They looked at each other.

A silent understanding passed between them.

"Should we... take a look?" the trembling one asked. "It shouldn’t take this much time, right?"

The other hesitated.

Then nodded.

Slowly.

They approached the door.

One placed his hand on the handle.

For a brief second—

He almost changed his mind.

Then he pushed it open.

The door creaked.

The room beyond was dim.

The bed—

Empty.

The healer’s table—

Empty.

The blankets—

Disturbed.

The window at the far end—

Open.

Cold evening air drifted in.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then—

The trembling guard stumbled forward.

His voice cracked into a scream.

"Where are they?!"