Don’t Tame It!

Chapter 37

A lowly voice crept into her ears, trying to coax her into something.

“Hah!”

Irene, only then did a sigh of relief escape her lips. The tightness in her chest loosened, and her lungs expanded with a deep breath.

It’s not him. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Irene twisted her wrist out of the grip, but the man only laughed at her weak resistance. She struck the back of his hand with a sharp slap.

“Ow!”

The man rubbed his stinging hand and glared at her.

“You’re acting all high and mighty. Isn’t that why you’re here anyway? Don’t play hard to get—just pick me. I’m not that bad, am I? Come here.”

As he reached for her again, Irene swung her medical bag with all her strength.

Thud.

“Ugh.”

The man clutched his chin and glared at her menacingly.

“Damn it! I was trying to be nice.”

Irene Rios often found humans hard to understand. No, if she were being honest, it happened more often than just occasionally.

She hated cnidarians—primitive sea creatures that hadn’t evolved properly. They had no distinction between mouth and anus, so they defecate through their mouths. Irene despised filth.

And sometimes, some humans acted no better than cnidarians—like the soldier in front of her.

His clothes were still stained with blood from battle. Dried blood clung to his hair and neck.

With an indifferent expression, Irene spoke.

“You seem to have hit your head. You need treatment.”

Even Irene knew she didn’t have to be polite to people like this.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? Treatment… Ah, now I see. You’re the new doctor His Highness brought in.”

That should have been his cue to step back. But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he spat on his fingers and rubbed the dried blood on his neck.

Irene’s brows furrowed in disgust. Once again, she hated filth.

The thought of those filthy fingers having touched her shoulder made her stomach churn.

“This isn’t my blood. It’s from those Alvar soldiers I killed. Do you know how many I took down? How about we have a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it? By the end of the night, you’ll be begging me to keep talking.”

“No. What you need right now is treatment.”

The man smirked, his eyes gleaming with dirty intentions.

“If the doctor insists, I’ll let you treat me. Where should we go? There’s a quiet forest nearby…”

“If you had a brain in that skull of yours, you wouldn’t be acting like this. There’s a skilled medic in the medical tent. You should ask him to remove that useless head of yours—it’ll save you the trouble of carrying it around. And while he’s at it, he might as well cauterize the wound.”

“…What?”

The man frowned, not quite processing what she had said. Then, he noticed the laughter around him.

Soldiers had gathered, watching the scene with amusement.

“Damn, you got put in your place.”

“You always get like this when there’s a woman around.”

The man’s face turned red with embarrassment. Losing his temper, he raised his hand in anger.

“You damn—!”

But before he could strike, someone grabbed his wrist.

It was a strong, unyielding grip, impossible to break free from. A towering shadow loomed over him.

“Who the hell—?”

The man turned, scowling—only to freeze.

A familiar figure stood there. His eyes widened in shock.

“U…Uno?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Uno’s deep, rumbling voice silenced the entire area.

The man smirked, playing dumb.

“What does it look like?”

“You bastard.”

Uno cursed without hesitation. The soldier’s smirk vanished.

Then, in a booming voice, Uno shouted.

“Of all the things to do! And after this woman saved your brother’s life today? You worthless piece of—!”

“…Petyo?”

The man blinked in confusion.

“Petyo? You took care of him, didn’t you? Not that it matters—he’s got a scar on his face now, so his chances of getting married are gone. Poor bastard has the worst luck.”

“Shut up and go see your brother. Then you’ll be on your knees thanking her.”

The man looked between Uno and Irene in disbelief.

Uno then turned to the gathered soldiers.

“What are you all staring at? Got nothing better to do? Hey, you over there! You’re bleeding from the arm, but instead of heading to the medical tent, you’re standing around here?”

The soldier he pointed at hesitated.

“I-It’s just a scratch…”

“A scratch? That’s a lot of blood for a ‘scratch.’—Your Highness.”

Uno suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

The soldiers, sensing something, stiffened.

One by one, they noticed the newcomer.

With the same reaction as startled cockroaches, they quickly stepped aside, making way.

“Y-Your Highness…”

The man who had harassed Irene turned pale.

Duke Divoa stood before him, watching with a faint smile.

A gust of wind blew through. The torchlight flickered wildly, alternating between casting his face in light and shadow.

Divoa tapped his fingers against his thigh, seemingly in thought.

He had seen countless soldiers fail to control their post-battle adrenaline. Some drank, some fought, some sought comfort in others. Normally, he would have just given a warning.

But this time, he was furious.

Why?

Why was this making his blood boil?

Divoa kept his gaze locked on the soldier. The way the man had disrespected Irene made his stomach churn. His filthy words, his disgusting smirk—Divoa found it unbearable.

The longer Divoa started, the more the soldier’s face drained of color.

“…Your Highness?”

Divoa slowly shifted his gaze.

His eyes met Irene’s.

She was calm—too calm.

She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t pleaded for help. She hadn’t sought his protection.

That irritated him.

She didn’t need saving.

And then, there was Uno.

Divoa’s gaze dropped to where Uno still held the soldier’s wrist.

That annoyed him too.

Uno looked like a knight in shining armor, stepping in at the perfect moment.

Maybe the one struggling with leftover battle adrenaline wasn’t the soldier—it was Divoa himself.

A dark emotion stirred inside him.

“Niceto.”

His deputy commander stepped forward immediately.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Divoa smiled.

“It seems discipline has gotten a little lax in my absence.”

“I apologize, Your Highness.”

A heavy silence fell. Even the spectators held their breath.

“My physician was disrespected in my camp by my soldiers. How embarrassing.”

Divoa’s voice remained lazy, his tone soft—yet it sent a chill through the air.

“I will remove him from the army immediately,” Niceto declared.

“Your Highness, please!”

The soldier panicked, stepping forward. But before he could move any closer—

Shing.

A sword left its sheath, blocking his path. The gleaming blade reflected the flickering firelight.

The man fell silent.

“Take him away,” Niceto ordered.

A guard seized the soldier’s arm and dragged him off.

“Your Highness, forgive me! I didn’t know! I won’t do it again!”

His cries faded into the distance.

Divoa, however, was already looking at someone else.

“Irene.”

She finally lifted her head.

With a gentle smile, Divoa extended a hand.

“I came to get you.”

“…”

“I thought you might be lost.”

Irene stared at his outstretched hand, unsure how to react.