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ArabicArknights: The Holy Son's Leisurely Life — Chapter 8
Chapter 8: Texas’s First Time (?)
“It’s not that bad, right?” Lucian asked, genuinely a little surprised.
Despite the habitual chill in Texas’s voice, her words carried an unmistakable weight of concern. She had actually kept track of his missing hours of sleep, a detail that left him feeling rather flattered. He brushed it off with an easy smile. “Croissant is exactly the same. She even went out to set up her stall today. I have no idea where she gets all that boundless energy.”
“…You are different.” Texas raised her gaze, her long eyelashes fluttering briefly.
She set her bowl and chopsticks aside, wrapping both hands around her warm cup. “You do these things every single day. You cook for us, run the morning tea shop, craft tools, and synthesize bullets. When the Emperor is away, you handle all the client interactions. On top of that, you deliver food to the Slums every day… and you give them your blood.”
Her amber eyes drifted down to Lucian’s arm.
Because his wounds healed at an abnormal rate, the skin remained smooth and unblemished. But given the sheer frequency of his blood draws, his arm by all rights should have been a bruised canvas of needle marks. Lucian drained a full bag of his own blood every few days. Let alone an ordinary civilian, even a highly trained frontline soldier would collapse from that kind of sustained physical toll.
The fact that he appeared completely fine was an anomaly in itself.
The members of Penguin Logistics operated on a strict code of mutual respect. They rarely pried into each other’s hidden pasts, maintaining a comfortable distance to ensure their long-term cohabitation remained peaceful.
But there were limits to looking the other way.
Texas took a slow, deep breath. Her furry triangular ears twitched atop her head. “When Exusiai left, she told me to look after you. She said if no one kept an eye on you, you would quietly wear yourself down to nothing. Now I understand exactly what she meant.”
“Oh dear… she actually said that?” Lucian awkwardly scratched his cheek.
Within the walls of Penguin Logistics, he essentially played the role of a live-in caretaker for a group of girls with notoriously terrible self-management skills. Yet, it seemed the dynamic went both ways. They all kept an eye out for him. Even the carefree Croissant threw herself into her work to save him the extra headache.
There was no getting out of this one.
Grateful for the quiet kindness, Lucian raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, a relaxed smile on his face. “Alright, alright, I will tell you everything. What do you want to know, Texas?”
“Your blood,” Texas said, setting her coffee down on the table. “I originally assumed it was tied to your Originium Arts, that you needed to draw blood as a catalyst for combat. But that is not it. The blood-replenishing sugar you make, you distribute it to Oripathy patients. Can your blood cure Oripathy? The Holy Son of Laterano.”
“Tsk, did Exusiai let that title slip?” Lucian let out a dry, wry laugh.
It had been a very long time since he last heard anyone call him that.
Texas remained silent, her expression unreadable as she waited for his explanation.
Lucian sighed, dropping his hands. “When I lived in Laterano, I was indeed called that. The higher-ups claimed my blood could save the world, so I spent my entire childhood getting poked and prodded with needles.”
It was far from a pleasant memory.
Shortly after he was born, his very existence caused a massive upheaval within his clan. Following a chaotic chain of events, he was inexplicably crowned as the Holy Son.
Lucian recounted the past with a self-deprecating smirk. “I was locked up inside the Grand Cathedral. Every single day, crowds of complete strangers would show up just to worship me. When I grew a little older, the priests cautiously drew samples of my blood for clinical experiments. Once they confirmed that it actually had a neutralizing effect on Oripathy, their fanatical worship went completely off the rails.”
Texas blinked slowly. After a long pause, she let out a quiet sigh. “…The Sankta are truly an extraordinary people.”
“Right?” Lucian nodded vigorously. “Do not let Exusiai and me fool you. The vast majority of Sankta are deeply, terrifyingly fanatical. The priests at the Grand Cathedral were the worst. They were incredibly overprotective and refused to let me step foot outside. If I made a casual joke about being unhappy, they would genuinely attempt to commit suicide out of pure guilt.”
The Sankta, commonly known as angels, were one of the few races across the continent of Terra bound by a unified, tangible faith. Their glowing halos and wings were already peculiar racial traits, but Lucian’s birth as the Holy Son provided living proof of their divine mandate, driving their religious fervor to dangerous heights.
Oripathy was the ultimate scourge of Terra, a relentless plague universally accepted as an incurable terminal illness.
Yet Lucian possessed the literal cure flowing through his veins.
However, calling it a cure was a slight oversimplification. A single drop of blood did not miraculously purge the disease instantly.
Lucian leaned back against the sofa. “I ran my own experiments too. If I drop my blood onto surface Originium lesions, it rapidly dissolves the crystals and restores the tissue back to normal skin. But that is only a surface-level fix. The active Originium within the patient’s bloodstream still remains. They have to consume my blood over a long period. Only then will the density of Originium crystals in their body eventually drop below the critical danger line. That is the only way to achieve a complete cure.”
“That is already a miracle,” Texas stated with rare, absolute frankness. “A method that can effectively alleviate Oripathy, let alone eradicate it, simply does not exist anywhere else in this world. But you can do it. You truly are the Holy Son.”
“Please do not call me that, it gives me actual goosebumps.” Lucian shivered, rubbing his arms as if a cold draft had just swept through the room.
Holy Son or not, his physical constitution defied all medical logic. His blood actively hunted and eradicated Originium. Because of this, he was completely immune to infection, and he could systematically lower the crystal density in others.
If he ever decided to weaponize this trait for religious gain, he could establish a massive, cross-racial cult across Terra in a matter of days.
But he was currently hiding out in Lungmen, which said everything about his true desires.
“Anyway, a lot of complicated things happened,” Lucian continued. “I had an entire city of angels worshipping the ground I walked on, but I had absolutely no desire to spend the rest of my life as a caged exhibit in a cathedral. So, Exusiai and I planned a jailbreak. We escaped together and eventually drifted all the way here to Lungmen. I have no intention of playing the saint. If a faction like Rhine Lab ever caught wind of my physiology, I would be strapped to an operating table and dissected for the rest of my life. So, I keep my head down. I just do small favors. Handing out blood-replenishing sugar to sick kids in the Slums is my absolute limit.”
“…Small favors?” Texas repeated, her tone laced with quiet disbelief.
Self-mutilation through constant blood draws and running a free underground charity did not qualify as small favors. Lucian was not just helping out; he was burning himself at both ends to save lives. He claimed he had no desire to be a saint, but in Texas’s eyes, his daily routine was already the definition of martyrdom.
She sighed silently, her fluffy ears drooping just a fraction. “Is it really okay to tell me all of this? Your condition is incredibly dangerous, no matter who you share it with.”
Lucian looked at her and replied with three simple words. “I trust you.”
“…Is that so.” Texas said nothing more. She merely lowered her gaze and took a slow sip of her coffee.
A quiet, slightly awkward silence settled over the living room, lingering in the warm air. Lucian eventually stood up to clear the empty dishes, carrying them to the sink and washing them with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned househusband.
Texas sat on the sofa, watching his back. A silent internal struggle played out behind her cool amber eyes.
Just as Lucian finished wiping down the counter and turned to head back to his bedroom, Texas suddenly spoke up. “You need to rest.”
She stood up, closing the distance between them, and grabbed his arm with surprising force. “You can play the good person all you want, but sleep is mandatory. Croissant and I will manage the tea shop tomorrow. You are taking the entire day off. I gave Exusiai my word that I would look after you.”
“It is really not that serious,” Lucian said, habitually reaching up to scratch his cheek. “My body is built differently. Wounds close up in minutes, I barely feel fatigue even if I skip sleep, and losing a little blood is not enough to drain me. You know about the Sarkaz, right? The demon race? They have ridiculously resilient bodies and a natural affinity for Originium Arts. My constitution is actually pretty similar to theirs in that regard. I promise I am fine, I know my own limits…”
“You. Must. Rest.”
Texas enunciated every single syllable, her grip on his wrist tightening like an industrial vice.
Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. The deadpan, killer glare radiating from Texas was enough to freeze a man in his tracks.
Unsure of how to defuse the situation, Lucian’s eyes darted around the room. Then, driven by pure, unfiltered male instinct, his gaze drifted downward, landing squarely on Texas’s pale, exposed thighs.
She was wearing nothing but an oversized nightshirt that draped loosely over her frame, leaving her smooth, toned thighs completely bare. It was the kind of outfit that practically begged the question of what, if anything, she was wearing underneath. It was a dangerous, tantalizing sight, the absolute pinnacle of a late-night fantasy.
Lucian let out a long breath and muttered, “If Texas gives me a lap pillow, I will go to sleep.”
‘Oh no, I am definitely going to get punched for that.’
The moment the words left his mouth, his survival instincts kicked in. He knew he had pushed his luck way too far. He had teased the stoic Lupo one time too many.
Right on cue, the temperature in Texas’s eyes plummeted to absolute zero. She stared at him with the exact look one might reserve for a piece of trash on the side of the road.
“…Alright.”
And then, against all laws of nature, she agreed.
Texas sat back down on the sofa. She casually adjusted the hem of her oversized shirt, smoothed out the fabric, and patted her lap. “Come here. Lie down.”
Lucian froze, suddenly filled with immense trepidation. “Ah, wait, no, Miss Texas… are you actually being serious?”
“I am always serious.”
Her fluffy wolf tail swayed lazily behind her, though her expression remained completely impassive. “I promised Exusiai I would look after you. A promise is a promise. But I refuse to step foot into your messy room. If you find the sofa too uncomfortable, we can go to my bed.”
“No, no, the sofa is perfectly fine!”
Despite his verbal panic, Lucian’s body was incredibly honest. He immediately shuffled over, lowered himself onto the cushions, and rested his head directly on Texas’s lap.
The young Lupo’s smooth thighs offered a faint, soothing coolness against his skin. More, she smelled incredibly good.
Wait, why was this specific scent so familiar? It was not just the clean, sharp scent of Texas. There was also a distinct, buttery aroma of fresh pastries mixed in…
Right. Croissant had been rolling all over this exact spot on the sofa earlier today.
Lucian’s mind briefly conjured the image of the plump, energetic Croissant thrashing around on the cushions. Honestly, even with the lingering scent of bread, this was still an absolute win.
Texas remained completely oblivious to his chaotic inner thoughts. She shifted slightly, allowing her massive, fluffy tail to drape over his chest like a warm, heavy blanket.
She reached down, her cool fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. “You have worked hard. Go to sleep. Do you want me to sing you a Siracusan lullaby?”
“That might be a little too embarrassing for both of us. Let’s skip the singing,” Lucian murmured, his eyes already growing heavy. “Thank you, Texas.”
“Mm.” The famously cold Lupo softened, the corners of her lips curving into a faint, beautiful smile that was worth more than its weight in gold.
…And then, dawn broke over Lungmen.
“I am back!”
The front door swung open violently as a red-haired Sankta burst into the safehouse, radiating boundless energy and a bright, sunny smile.
Then, she stopped dead in her tracks.
There, on the living room sofa, was a man and a woman, tangled together in a deep sleep.
Maintaining a lap pillow position for an entire night was physically impossible. At some point after Lucian had drifted off, Texas had spent too long watching his peaceful sleeping face. The quiet rhythm of his breathing had hypnotized her, and without realizing it, she had slipped down and laid beside him.
The direct result of this midnight shift was that Texas was now completely disheveled, her oversized shirt riding up dangerously high as she snuggled deeply into Lucian’s arms. The two of them looked exactly like a pair of fiercely devoted, sickeningly sweet lovers, painting a picture that would make anyone burn with envy.
“…Ho ho. Ho ho ho… ho ho ho ho.”
Exusiai’s mouth remained stretched into a bright, radiant smile.
But her eyes were completely, terrifyingly dead.