An Understated Dominance Novel (Dahlia & Dustin) by Marina Vittori updated 2025-26 - An Understated Dominance Chapter 2637

Chapter 2637

Nathaniel’s face was grim. He dared not linger and quickly led his men away until they reached a safer clearing. Only then did the survivors dare to exhale, the tension leaving them in heavy sighs.

A single careless touch—a flower—and the entire jungle had erupted into chaos. The chain reaction was beyond belief. Now, at last, they understood.

This place, with its dazzling beauty, was a death trap at every turn.

“Rest here. Stay alert,” Nathaniel ordered, panting as he leaned against his sword. The wound on his back throbbed, sweat soaking through his tunic. His vision swam with the pain, but he forced himself steady.

Two personal guards took positions as sentries. Around them, the medical officer worked swiftly, binding torn flesh and dousing vine wounds with bitter-smelling powder. Smoke hissed up as the medicine touched corrupted skin, drawing pained cries from hardened soldiers.

Nathaniel closed his eyes briefly. In minutes, more than a dozen of his best men had fallen. The loss weighed heavily on him.

“Your Highness, look—over there!”

A soldier’s sharp cry cut through the silence.

Nathaniel raised his head. From beyond the misty valley rose a slender wisp of blue-gray smoke, curling steadily into the damp air. Unlike the fleeting sparks of wildfires, this smoke was calm, constant—like something that had endured for ages.

“Smoke from cooking?” Nathaniel straightened at once, pain forgotten. His eyes burned with sudden light.

If this truly was Fairyharbor Island, then perhaps immortals dwelled here. That smoke might be proof of it. All their losses, all their suffering—it might finally lead to something greater.

“Form ranks!” Nathaniel’s voice was sharp, almost exultant. He raised his sword and pointed toward the drifting smoke. “Stay vigilant and follow me. We will seek the immortal!”

Fatigue vanished from the soldiers’ faces. Weapons tightened in their hands, and the promise of immortality hardened their steps.

They followed a winding stream. Here, the forest seemed to bow back. The hostile ferns shrank to the roadside, and the vines hung limply, like harmless plants. It was as if even the jungle feared what lay ahead.

Through thickets heavy with purple fruit, a bamboo grove emerged. The towering stalks shimmered faintly, their joints glowing with threads of gold. When the wind stirred, the rustling leaves chimed like jade beads striking a dish.

Deep within, Nathaniel caught sight of a blue-gray roofline. The smoke rose from there.

“Slowly,” he ordered, adjusting his blood-stained robe to hide his wounds. He tried to compose himself, to look less like a weary commander and more like a supplicant worthy of audience.

They moved along the bamboo path until a courtyard appeared, ringed by a simple fence entwined with morning glories, their dew still clinging to pale blue petals.

Inside, a swing hung from two bamboo poles. A small child sat upon it, rocking gently.

The boy could not have been more than five. His hair was tied in two pigtails, his bare feet resting lightly on the swing’s boards. His skin was pale as jade, his eyes dark and bright, fixed on the clouds above while he hummed a wordless tune.

A basket of wild fruits lay piled in a corner. Several coarse shirts hung drying in the yard. Everything was ordinary—yet cloaked in an unnatural tranquility.

Nathaniel’s heart stirred. This child, in such a place, could only be the disciple of an immortal.

He stepped forward and bowed deeply, his voice measured and reverent.
“I am Nathaniel. By chance I have reached Fairyharbor Island. Little one, may I ask if this is the dwelling of an immortal?”

The boy did not look at him, did not pause his swinging, as though Nathaniel were no more than the wind.

Nathaniel tried again, softer, humbler:
“If you know where the immortal resides, we beg you to guide us. We ask with utmost sincerity.”

This time the boy gave only a short snort, still staring at the sky.

Behind him, Captain Gonzales’s face twisted in anger. His arm, burned by poisonous sap, still throbbed with pain. Seeing a child treat his prince so contemptuously snapped what restraint he had left.

“How dare you!” Gonzales bellowed, striding forward. “The prince asks, and you dare ignore him?”

Nathaniel raised a hand to stop him, but Gonzales was already seizing the boy by the collar, lifting him off the swing.

The child’s feet dangled above the ground. His face was unreadable, only his obsidian eyes turning, slowly, toward Gonzales.

“You insolent brat—” Gonzales spat, but his words ended in a strangled scream.

The boy’s tiny fist tapped his chest. It seemed almost gentle. Yet Gonzales’s massive body flew backward like a broken kite, crashing into the bamboo fence.

The snap of breaking ribs echoed in the courtyard.

He crumpled on the ground, black blood at his lips, chest caved in. Life drained from him in seconds.

Silence gripped the yard. The soldiers stood frozen, staring at the small figure still seated on the swing.

The child swayed once, dusted his hands against his legs, and finally spoke. His voice was clear, youthful—yet carried a weight that brooked no defiance:

“You intruders… are disturbing my rest.”