Lucian’s eyes darkened the second he saw a weapon pointed at Medeia. His voice dropped. "Put your weapon down. Now."
Lucian took a step closer, his tone sharper this time. "I said, put it down."
Before anyone could react, the door beside him swung open—another man stepping out, gun raised, this time aimed straight at Lucian.
Tension crackled in the freezing air.
Medeia’s gaze flickered between the two armed men, and she clicked her tongue in disbelief. ’Seriously? They were actually pointing a gun at me?’
All she wanted was to help them, and this was how they reacted?
Lucian, on the other hand, remained still and calm. However, Medeia knew better that he was already calculating the fastest way to take them down if it came to that.
She sighed. If Lucian decided to fight them, there was a possibility that she would lose all of her precious points.
She leaned in and whispered into Ethan’s ear, "Captain, stop spacing out and say something to them."
Ethan, finally shaking off his daze, lifted his hands weakly. "Guys, guys, it’s fine! They saved my life!"
The man in the window didn’t lower his rifle. "How do we know that?" His voice was laced with distrust. "Captain, with all due respect, there’s a possibility that they forced you to say that."
Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you serious? Look at me! Do I look like someone who’s been tortured? If anything, I’d be dead if it weren’t for them!"
The man with the bandaged head hesitated, his grip on the gun tightening. "You could be brainwashed. We can’t risk it."
Medeia rolled her eyes. "Oh, for the love of—brainwashed? Do I look like I have the time to brainwash your captain while dragging his half-frozen ass through the snow?"
Yes, of course, she had the time to do that. But of course, she wouldn’t say that out loud.
Lucian took the moment to press further. "You have two choices," he said calmly, his tone firm. "Either you let us in so we can help your dying comrades, or you keep wasting time pointing guns at us while they bleed out and freeze to death."
"But if you keep this up, we’ll leave as long as you don’t shoot."
His voice turned cold, sharp as ice. "But if you do shoot, then I’ll have no choice but to fight back."
The result would not be good and Medeia knew that.
Ethan swallowed hard, glancing between Lucian and his men. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Guys, come on," Ethan finally spoke, his voice firm but pleading. "I know how this looks, but they’re not our enemies. If they wanted us dead, they wouldn’t have dragged me out of the snow and kept me alive."
The man at the window didn’t lower his rifle. "How do we know they didn’t keep you alive for leverage?"
Ethan let out a frustrated breath. "Use your damn head! If they were planning something, don’t you think they would’ve barged in by now instead of standing out here, freezing?"
The soldier at the door wavered, his grip on the gun loosening. His gaze darted to Lucian, then to Medeia, then back to Ethan. "You’re sure?"
"Yes, I’m sure," Ethan stressed. "They saved me. And right now, we need their help a hell of a lot more than we need to be pointing guns at them."
The men exchanged hesitant glances. The one in the window exhaled sharply before finally lowering his rifle.
"Damn it, fine," he muttered.
The soldier at the door hesitated a moment longer, then sighed, stepping aside. "You better not make us regret this."
Medeia smiled. "Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be thanking us soon enough."
The moment Medeia and Lucian stepped inside, the stench of blood and sweat hit them like a wall.
The pub’s interior was dimly lit, mostly by the weak glow of candles scattered around. Wooden tables had been shoved aside to make space for makeshift beds, old mattresses, piles of coats, anything that could provide warmth.
And on those beds lay the wounded.
Some were barely conscious, their faces pale and drenched in sweat.
Others were wrapped in bloodied bandages, their injuries hastily treated but not properly tended to. The air was thick with the sound of ragged breathing, quiet groans of pain, and the occasional muffled cough.
Medeia scanned the room, her lips pressing into a thin line. Damn, they were worse off than she thought.
"Are you doctors?" The bandaged man narrowed his eyes, gripping his rifle like his life depended on it. He still didn’t trust them.
"Nope." Medeia dropped herself onto a chair, lazily tapping her fingers against the armrest as if she had no interest in helping them. "But ... my handsome husband over there happens to know a lot about treating wounded soldiers with medicinal herbs."
She leaned back, her tone nonchalant. "Well, don’t worry. This is just temporary."
Since she had prioritized carrying firewood, she only brought enough medicine for two people. However, fortunately, she still had plenty of medicinal herbs stored in her herbalist bag.
As someone who had traveled to countless places over the years, Lucian had extensive knowledge of treating wounds with natural remedies. On top of that, he had studied basic medical skills back when he was still a soldier.
After that, they’d leave the rest to the doctors at Red Star Alliance.
"What do you mean this is just temporary?" the bandaged man asked suspiciously.
"What do you think it means?" Medeia stretched her legs, her tone almost bored. "We’re taking you to our base."
The man stiffened. Without hesitation, he lifted his rifle again, aiming it straight at Medeia’s head. "I knew it! You ’rescuers’ are all the same. Save us first, then force us to work for you later!"
Medeia didn’t even flinch. Instead, she casually crossed one leg over the other and sighed dramatically.
"Lucian, I’m so scared."
Rather than fear, her voice dripped with pure mockery.
Lucian took a deep breath. Then he smiled, the kind of sharp, icy smile that sent a chill through the room.
"Soldier," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "I’ll count to three. If that gun is still pointed at her by the time I’m done, I promise you ... you won’t like what happens next."