The Trash Guide Awakens: The Youngest General's Hidden Wife

The ancestral vault had finally fallen silent as the lingering tension began to clear. High-grade security mechs hummed in the background, securing the damaged perimeter.

The assassin’s body had been removed by the medical unit for forensic analysis. Dark scorch marks stained the ancient stone walls where the energy blasts had detonated moments earlier.

The remaining attackers had been restrained by the Rythundeir security forces, their weapons confiscated and their neural implants neutralized. Damaged sections of the ancient chamber were quickly sealed off for further investigation.

Yet nobody in the family had forgotten what had just happened. The lingering threat hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the invisible enemies moving in the shadows.

Especially Rhaevia. Her mind was racing, connecting the fragments of the attack to memories she was still trying to fully understand.

She sat on the edge of a reinforced medical platform inside the temporary recovery chamber, her boots swaying slightly above the polished floor. Her eyes remained fixed on the tall man standing several meters away near the diagnostic array.

It was Raevor. He stood with his back partially turned, reviewing the readout on his wrist display with an unreadable expression.

His military uniform was torn across the left side, exposing the dark protective under-armor beneath. The high-grade fabric had been sliced by a mono-molecular blade.

A thin line of blood ran from beneath his shoulder armor, disappearing down his arm and staining the dark material. The wound was slow to close despite his Sentinel conditioning.

Rhaevia frowned, her Guide core pulsing with a subtle wave of annoyance. She stood up from the platform, her steps echoing against the metal floor.

”You’re injured,” Rhaevia said, stopping a short distance from him with her arms crossed.

Raevor glanced down at his shoulder, his dark eyes brief and indifferent as he inspected the damage.

”It’s superficial,” he replied, his tone as even as if he were reporting the weather.

”That wasn’t what I asked,” Rhaevia retorted, her azure eyes narrowing slightly as she held his gaze.

He looked at her then, the faint flicker of an unreadable emotion crossing his usually stern face.

”I know,” Raevor said softly.

Rhaevia gestured toward the edge of the medical platform she had just vacated.

”Sit,” she commanded, leaving no room for argument.

His eyebrow lifted slightly at her sharp tone, unused to anyone giving him orders so casually.

”Rhaevia--” he began, raising a hand.

”Sit,” she repeated, stepping closer and locking her eyes onto his.

For several seconds, the youngest Major General in the Empire simply stared at her. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the low hum of the room’s environmental controls.

Then he obeyed. Without another word of protest, Raevor moved across the small room and lowered his imposing frame onto the edge of the platform.

Rhaevia retrieved a trauma medical kit from the wall recess, her hands moving with efficient, practiced ease. She opened the kit and pulled out a sterile cleansing field and a rapid-regen applicator.

She carefully removed the damaged section of his shoulder armor, unbuckling the scorched metal plates to reveal the wound underneath. A shallow but ugly cut stretched across his skin, inflamed by residual energy from the assassin’s weapon.

Her expression immediately darkened as she inspected the laceration.

”You call this superficial?” she muttered, her fingers hovering just above his skin.

”It isn’t serious,” Raevor insisted, sitting rigid beneath her touch as her warm fingers brushed his shoulder.

”You were standing between me and a blade,” Rhaevia reminded him, her voice dropping into a dangerous register.

Raevor’s gaze remained steadily fixed on her face, unbothered by her harsh tone.

”That was my job,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Rhaevia stopped moving entirely, her eyes snapping up to meet his.

”Your job?” she repeated, her brow furrowing.

”Yes,” he answered without a hesitation.

She looked at him, searching his stoic features for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

”That isn’t a reason to let yourself get injured,” she said quietly.

Something shifted in his expression, the cold barrier he usually maintained softening just a fraction. He didn’t break eye contact as she resumed her work.

Rhaevia carefully cleaned the wound using the thermal cleansing spray, wiping away the dried blood. The localized sting of the antiseptic was intense, but Raevor didn’t flinch or emit a single sound.

”You should have moved,” she muttered under her breath, focusing intently on sealing the damaged tissue.

”I couldn’t,” Raevor replied smoothly, his dark eyes following her every movement.

”Why?” she asked, applying the regen-gel over the tear in his flesh.

”You were behind me,” he said simply.

Her fingers paused against his skin, the warmth of his body radiating against her palm. The quiet weight of his words settled over the small room.

Raevor continued calmly, his deep voice carrying an undeniable certainty.

”If I moved, the blade would have reached you,” he explained.

Rhaevia stared at him, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

”You could have been killed,” she pointed out, her voice barely above a whisper.

”So could you,” Raevor countered instantly.

”That isn’t the point,” Rhaevia argued, trying to maintain her practical, military mindset.

”It is to me,” Raevor said, his gaze locking onto hers with focus.

The words silenced her. She stood there, her hand hovering near his chest, unable to find a quick retort for once in her life.

For several seconds, only the soft, rhythmic hum of the medical equipment filled the quiet space. The ambient light reflected off the sleek metal surfaces of the chamber.

Rhaevia resumed treating the wound, her actions deliberate and steady. She applied a micro-thin layer of bio-dermal film over the burn. Her movements became noticeably slower, gentler than before. She was surprisingly meticulous for someone who had spent decades on brutal battlefields.

She wrapped the elastic medical bandage securely around his shoulder, securing the end with a magnetic clasp.

”There,” she said softly, stepping back half a pace.

Raevor looked down at the neatly applied bandage, testing the mobility of his arm with a subtle flex. The dressing held perfectly without restricting his motion.

Then he looked back up at her, his dark eyes softening slightly.

”Thank you,” Raevor said.

Rhaevia gave a short nod, packing away the remaining medical tools back into the kit. She knew she should have stepped away and returned to her own station.

Instead, she remained standing right there beside him, anchored by the strange atmosphere in the room. The silence stretched, but it was no longer tense.