Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce-Chapter 196: The Ancient Tribe

Wren Sutton had accidentally put her phone on silent mode, so it was two hours later when she finally saw the message from Spencer Sawyer.

[I’m leaving Aston. If fate allows, we’ll meet again. I wish you all the best.]

Wren’s gaze flickered. Her fingers gently stroked the screen as she recalled the scene a few days ago when Spencer Sawyer’s mother-in-law, Ms. Dawson, had stormed into the postpartum center to cause trouble.

The aggressive woman had come to demand justice for her daughter, Stella Sinclair. Without a second thought, she had accused Wren of seducing a married man and called her a homewrecker who destroyed other people’s families.

It would be a lie to say Wren wasn’t angry. Even though the Lancasters had stepped in to back her up and intimidate Ms. Dawson, a bitter taste still lingered in her heart.

To avoid any more trouble for herself, Wren had later told Spencer Sawyer in no uncertain terms that they should not contact or see each other unless absolutely necessary...

Soft light from the room’s lamp spilled onto the crib, where the two babies were sleeping soundly.

Wren gazed at her children’s peaceful, sleeping faces, her resolve hardening.

She didn’t need anyone’s pity, especially not this kind of ambiguous relationship that was doomed from the start.

Taking a deep breath, Wren typed a line of text into the chat box in reply to Spencer Sawyer. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

[Safe travels, senior.]

After the message sent, she opened Spencer Sawyer’s contact information and resolutely tapped "Delete Contact" and "Add to Blocklist."

Immediately after, she also blocked and deleted his phone number.

Outside the window, Aston’s night skyline glittered like a sea of stars, but Wren’s heart was exceptionally calm.

She put down her phone, walked to the window, and silently wished that this senior who had once brought her warmth would be well, no matter where he went.

...

The ancient tribe, Sarankal.

Located in a primitive jungle, it still maintained its traditional and ancient way of life, isolated from the world and almost untouched by modern society.

The river here was growing shallower and shallower. The nearly exposed riverbed was like a cracked wound on the earth, scorching the heart of every tribe member.

In the center of the tribe was a small hut where medicinal herbs burned. Nia, the daughter of the tribal chief, watched over Adrian Lancaster, who had been in a coma for nearly a year, never leaving his side.

Adrian’s eyes were shut tight. He lay on a thick animal hide, the coma having made him gaunt but failing to erase his handsome, chiseled features.

Nia brought over fresh water and, using the softest deerskin, carefully wiped his body.

Her movements were practiced and gentle as her eyes swept over the crisscrossing new and old scars on Adrian’s chest and arms.

These were the marks left from the various methods she had tried to save Adrian over the past year.

"Haven’t you slept enough yet? Please, wake up. I’ve been treating you and taking care of you day and night. If you die, wouldn’t all my effort be for nothing? How could you do this to me after all I’ve done?"

Nia grumbled, exhausted in both body and mind. But she had never thought of giving up on Adrian. She had fallen in love with him at first sight.

She felt Adrian was a gift from the heavens. Otherwise, how could he have fallen from the sky and appeared on the path she always took home?

Since this man was destined to be hers, she had to save him.

"I still don’t know your name, but that’s okay. I’ve given you a temporary one: Tarn. It sounds good with my name."

The moment Nia finished speaking, her father Barton’s voice, heavy as a mountain, sounded from the doorway.

"Tomorrow is the twelfth full moon."

"The Priest and the elders have decided. Tomorrow, this man will be sacrificed to the River God to pray for rain and appease the god’s wrath."

Nia didn’t turn around, continuing to focus on her task.

She applied a freshly pounded, emerald-green paste that gave off a bitter, clean scent to Adrian’s temples.

This was an ancient remedy she had found recorded on the murals in the forbidden Ancestral Cave, which she had risked venturing into a few days ago. It was said to awaken dormant souls.

"Nia, I’m talking to you. Did you hear me?!" Barton demanded, dissatisfied. His brows were tightly knitted, and he exuded a dangerous aura.

"Keeping this outsider until now is the utmost benevolence the tribe could show. By rights, he should have been thrown into the river to be sacrificed to the River God on the first full moon after he arrived."

"The river will rise, Father," Nia’s voice was calm, yet it carried an unshakeable certainty.

"He is not a catastrophe, he is hope. The River God told me so in a dream."

Barton heaved a heavy sigh.

Over the past year, he had watched Nia transform from a naive, carefree girl into the most determined healer in the tribe.

She had climbed cliffs on the Sacred Mountain that no one else dared to scale, dived into the Blackwood Tarn where monsters were said to live, and even entered the forbidden Ancestral Cave alone to search for cures recorded in ancient texts.

"Nia, stop deceiving yourself. You need to wake up. He’s not going to make it."

Nia turned around, her eyes burning with an unquenchable flame.

"Father, he will live.

Don’t you remember the tribe’s oldest legend? ’When a star falls from the sky, the river will be reborn.’

He’s no ordinary outsider. He fell from the sky to save the Sarankal Tribe. It is the will of the gods, and the call of the River God."

As she spoke, Nia walked to the wall, pointing at the various herbs and tools hanging there.

"This past year, I have tried every known method, from the most common fever-reducing herbs to the spiritual callings recorded in our ancestors’ legends."

Her fingers gently brushed against a string of dried purple flowers.

"This is the Dream-Return Flower. It can make a person in a coma dream of what they desire most."

She then pointed to a jar of ointment that gave off a peculiar fragrance.

"This is made from the powder of a thousand-year-old tortoise shell mixed with royal jelly. It can strengthen the soul."

"Father, please believe me. My judgment and my feeling can’t be wrong. The day I save him, the river will surely rise."

"A feeling?"

The figure of the old Priest Maka appeared behind Barton like a phantom, his Snake Head Staff striking the ground forcefully.

"Nia, how long will you remain so stubborn? It’s been a year. We’ve tolerated you for a year, letting you try every absurd method to heal him. And what’s the result? The river gets lower by the day. His arrival has angered the River God. Only his blood can appease the River God’s wrath."

The discontent and fear that had been suppressed for a year finally erupted within the tribe.

The tribespeople who had gathered around began to whisper among themselves, their eyes filled with fear of the unknown and dissatisfaction with Nia’s stubbornness.

At a nod from Maka, a few strong young men, holding vine ropes, slowly entered the hut, preparing to tie up Adrian.

The moment they stepped through the door, a cold light flashed in Nia’s hand. The dagger she used to cut herbs, sharpened to an extreme, was pressed tightly against the artery in her neck.

She moved so fast that no one had time to react.

"Stop! All of you, back away," Nia commanded sharply. The blade’s tip instantly pressed a clear, bloody line into her skin, and crimson beads of blood seeped out.

"If you want to tie him to the altar today, you’ll have to step over my dead body. Tarn is a gift from the heavens. I snatched his life back from the hands of death. If you want to take it, you’ll have to take mine with it!"

"Nia, put the knife down!" Chief Barton’s face changed drastically. He took a sharp step forward but didn’t dare get too close.

She was his only daughter, the only treasure his late wife had left him. He had promised his wife he would take good care of their daughter and never let her be harmed.

Priest Maka was also stunned. He never expected Nia to be so fiercely resolute.

Nia was his own sister’s daughter, with half of his blood flowing in her veins. He had promised his sister he would protect Nia for her entire life.

"This is blasphemy! Are you going to betray the entire tribe for a dying outsider?! How can you face your dead mother?!"

At the mention of her mother, tears streamed from Nia’s eyes, but her arm was steady as a rock, and her gaze was scorching, like a burning star.

"I haven’t betrayed the tribe, and I certainly haven’t betrayed my mother! I am saving the tribe! Look at him again, all of you."

Nia turned sideways so everyone could see Adrian.

"Does he look like someone who would bring destruction and disaster? I saw a prophecy on the murals in the Ancestral Cave: ’A star from a foreign land will bring the water of life.’ He is the one from the prophecy! Not only will I save him, but when he wakes up, I will marry him and nominate him to be the new chief of Sarankal."

These earth-shattering words were like adding fuel to the fire, instantly causing an uproar.

Marry an outsider?

And make him chief?

This completely subverted the tribe’s traditions of a thousand years!

The crowd erupted. Shocked, angry, and incredulous murmurs nearly blew the roof off the hut.

Chief Barton’s face was ashen, his chest heaving violently.

He looked at the glaring bloody mark on his daughter’s neck, then at the man on the animal hide, who was as still as if in a deep sleep. The survival of the tribe and the life of his daughter tore at him like two immense forces.

The torches around the altar crackled, as if the River God was watching this choice from the darkness.

Time passed in suffocating silence, each second stretching on for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, as if drained of all his strength, Barton waved his hand wearily. His voice was hoarse. "Everyone, stand down. Do not harm Nia."

With that, he looked at Maka, his eyes filled with a resolution that brooked no argument.

"The full moon sacrifice is postponed. For now, we will use the tribe’s reserved precious medicinal herbs and game to make an offering to the River God. As for this man..."

His gaze fell on Adrian once more.

"Give Nia a little more time. If by the next full moon the river still hasn’t risen and the outsider hasn’t woken up, I will no longer protect Nia, much less the outsider."

A long silence fell over the hut, broken only by the crackling of the torches and the faint sound of the river flowing in the distance.

Maka snorted coldly, slammed his Snake Head Staff on the ground, and left, fuming with disappointment.

The tribespeople looked at each other, then dispersed one by one, filled with immense shock and complex emotions.

As if completely drained, Nia’s dagger fell to the ground with a CLANG.

She collapsed beside Adrian, grasping his cold hand and whispering in a low murmur, like the most devout prayer.

"Tarn, I won’t give up on you. Never. Even if the entire tribe opposes me, even if I have to make an enemy of the River God, I will save you."

She took a small, bone-carved Amulet from her tunic and placed it on Adrian’s chest.

"This is carved from the bone of the Sacred Stag. I found the method to make it in the deepest part of the Ancestral Cave. Tarn, please, wake up. Show everyone that you aren’t a catastrophe. You are hope."

In the distance, the river let out a strange gurgle, as if something was stirring in its depths.

Adrian Lancaster’s finger twitched, almost imperceptibly.

Nia didn’t see it.