The Betrayed Princess Rising Chapter 117

3rd Person's POV

Yorik did not hesitate.

At Lylah’s quiet request, the old wolf lowered himself onto the bed. His movements were slow but obedient.

As Lylah stepped closer, something warm stirred in his chest.

“You remember me?” she asked gently.

Though in her heart she knew he meant her mother, not her, she still wanted to hear the story—the fragments of memory he carried about the woman she had never known.

“I would like to hear what you remember.”

Yorik’s cloudy eyes softened, drifting somewhere far beyond the room.

“Back then… at the war camp,” he murmured. “I was sixteen. Just shifted. A low-ranked peasant who didn’t even know how to throw a proper punch.”

A faint, crooked smile touched his lips.

“The other young warriors laughed at me. Mocked me. Said a farm pup had no place among them.” His voice grew quieter. “But you never did.”

Lylah listened as she prepared the needle, her movements calm and precise.

“You treated everyone the same,” Yorik continued. “Didn’t matter if they came from a noble warrior bloodline… or from mud and wheat fields like me.”

His gaze unfocused further as the memory took hold.

“The first time I saw you running through the forest, you were fast. Faster than anyone. Like the wind itself had chosen a form.” A breath of quiet awe escaped him. “I was just standing there, staring like a fool. Then you and your friends noticed me watching near the bonfire that night. Instead of chasing me away… You invited me over.”

A faint chuckle left him.

“You pulled me into your circle. And for the first time… I found a family.”

Lylah smiled softly.

In her mind, the scene came alive—crackling firelight, young Whitepine warriors gathered beneath the moon, and at the center of it all, a woman she had never met but somehow knew. Her biological mother.

Vala Stillward.

Her chest tightened.

“This will hurt a little,” Lylah warned quietly as she positioned the needle.

“I trust you, my lady,” Yorik said without hesitation. “You would never harm another.”

Lylah inhaled slowly, steadying her hand.

Then she began.

Holding the needle firmly, she guided it into the Fengchi point along Yorik’s wrist, just above the crease of the joint. Her movements were careful but decisive as she rotated the slender metal between her fingers, gradually pushing it deeper.

The needle slid further in.

She continued twisting, guiding its path with controlled pressure.

Slowly—impossibly—the tip pierced through to the underside of Yorik’s wrist, emerging on the other side.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Alexander snapped, his voice sharp with confusion.

“This technique is called the Bridge of Life. The needle passes through the Neiguan point,” Gwyn explained. “It’s an old method often used to bring down severe fevers. Extremely effective—but sadly, most modern Healing students don’t bother studying it anymore.”

When Lylah finally withdrew her hand, Yorik remained conscious—but the light in his eyes had grown heavy and distant.

“Are you feeling sleepy?” Lylah asked softly. “Don’t fight it. Just close your eyes.”

Yorik obeyed without question.

Within seconds, sleep claimed him.

As Lylah turned away from the bed, a sudden burst of applause from Gwyn filled the room.

The healer stood there, clapping excitedly, her face glowing with admiration.

“Thank you! Truly, thank you!” she exclaimed, even dipping into a small bow. “You found a way to calm him without pumping him full of tonics again. That was incredible!”

Lylah offered a polite nod.

But across the room, Alexander’s expression had darkened into something far colder.

His fists clenched tightly at his sides.

This had not been how things were supposed to unfold!

His entire plan—volunteering to treat the sick stray—had been meant to intimidate Lylah. To demonstrate his superior skill. To remind her just how insignificant she was here.

Instead…

He was the one left standing in humiliation.

While the Traditional Class student he had never considered worthy of standing beside him now held the room’s attention—chin lifted, calm and confident.

'This little leech…' Alexander’s eyes darkened.

'She must be a witch,' he thought bitterly.

'How else does she keep slipping out of every scheme we set for her?'