Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce-Chapter 198: Destroy It All, This Life Is Worse Than Death

Chapter 198: Chapter 198: Destroy It All, This Life Is Worse Than Death

The air was filled with the bitter scent of medicinal herbs.

Adrian Lancaster’s eyelashes fluttered. He struggled to open his heavy eyelids. After a moment of blurriness, his vision cleared.

It was the same primitive, crude hut, filled with an unpleasant odor.

He remembered making his intentions to leave clear, his words sincere, even bordering on a plea.

But Nia had refused. Her eyes, filled with anger, had stared at him.

Then, a sharp pain had exploded at the back of his head. If he wasn’t mistaken, Nia must have knocked him unconscious.

Adrian Lancaster’s gaze turned cold. He pushed aside his muddled thoughts and tried to sit up.

As realization dawned, his heart sank. He whipped his head around and found a thick, vine-like iron chain clamped firmly around his right ankle.

The other end of the chain was locked to a massive wooden post supporting the bed.

This crude yet effective restraint made Adrian Lancaster instantly understand his situation. He had lost his freedom.

"Tarn, you’re awake."

A clear, crisp voice, tinged with delight, came from the doorway.

Nia walked in, carrying a bowl of a pitch-black, goopy herbal concoction.

She wore a colorful, woven skirt unique to her tribe. The bone ornaments on her wrists and ankles clinked softly with each step, a sound that grated on Adrian Lancaster’s ears, sounding exceptionally jarring, dangerous, and eerie.

Nia ignored the fury practically erupting from Adrian Lancaster’s eyes. She walked straight to his side and skillfully examined the wounds on his body that had not yet fully healed.

"It’s healing well. No inflammation."

Nia’s tone was as calm as if she were discussing the weather. She reached out, intending to change his dressing.

"Don’t touch me." Adrian Lancaster swatted Nia’s hand away, his eyes frigid, his voice hoarse with anger.

"Yes, you saved me. You’re my benefactor, and I’m grateful. I will definitely repay you in the future.

But what gives you the right to lock me up like a prisoner? You’ve gone too far."

Nia’s hand froze mid-air. Her gaze dimmed for a second, but that alarming stubbornness quickly returned.

"Because you want to leave, and I don’t want you to leave. So I had no choice but to lock you up."

Her way of thinking was simple; once she made up her mind, she wouldn’t easily change it.

Beyond her feelings of affection, she had a stronger belief in the ancient prophecy, in the will of the River God.

"Tarn, I’m the one who brought you back, and I’m the one who saved your life. You belong here. You belong to me."

Nia lowered her head and continued her work. Regardless of whether Adrian Lancaster accepted it, she gently wiped the area around his wounds with a soft cloth dipped in clean water, then applied the black paste.

"I’ve been experimenting for almost a year and finally formulated the best medicine for you. As long as you cooperate, your wounds will definitely heal completely. Please, trust me. I won’t hurt you. I’ll only ever be good to you."

As the dark ointment seeped into his skin, Adrian Lancaster felt a searing pain. He gritted his teeth, forced to endure it.

’No matter how good the medicine of a primitive tribe is, it can’t compare to what you’d get in a modern hospital.’

’Relying on this black, stinking medicine, it’ll take forever for me to recover.’

"Nia, I understand your feelings, but..."

Nia interrupted him. "Tarn, I’m sincerely asking you to stay. You’ll become the next chief of The Sarankal Tribe. I’ll help you, and my father will recognize your abilities too."

Adrian Lancaster almost let out a cold, bitter laugh. He was furious and despairing, his chest heaving with agitation.

"I have no desire to be the chief here! I have my own world, my own life. I don’t belong in this isolated tribe at all.

Everything here makes me uncomfortable. I’d rather you kill me now than be trapped here for the rest of my life.

Nia, you can’t force love. You can chain up my body, but can you chain my heart?"

"I don’t care!" Nia lifted her head, tears welling up in her eyes again, a mixture of feeling wronged and a possessiveness that was almost tyrannical.

"I like you. I’ve liked you since the first moment I saw you. You’re different from everyone else. I was drawn to you, captivated by you. I instinctively wanted to be near you, to heal you.

Why do you have to go back? What’s so great about the outside world? Tarn, stay here. I’ll be so, so good to you—better than anyone out there could ever be!"

Looking at her stubborn yet fragile expression, Adrian Lancaster was filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

He was truly grateful to Nia for saving his life, and he wasn’t entirely unmoved by the girl’s fiery, wildfire-like passion.

If she hadn’t saved him, he would have died a year ago.

But Adrian Lancaster knew in his heart that his gratitude toward Nia was not the same as love. His love belonged only to Wren Sutton.

"I told you before you knocked me out," Adrian Lancaster said earnestly, trying once again to persuade Nia.

"I have a family in Aston. A wife, and..." He paused, then added without batting an eye, "children."

"If you imprison me here, what will happen to my family? My children are so young. Can you bear to let them grow up without a father?

Nia, you’re such a kind person. I know you couldn’t bear to do that."

Nia blinked, then lowered her gaze and smiled, misunderstanding his meaning.

"Tarn, I can give you children, too. I’ll have as many as you want."

Adrian Lancaster’s composure shattered. He nearly coughed up a mouthful of blood.

’Was that what I meant?’

"Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."

Nia didn’t understand. She asked curiously, "What does ’talking to a brick wall’ mean?"

Adrian Lancaster: "..."

’Just kill me. This is worse than death.’

"Tarn, why are you closing your eyes?" Nia asked again.

"Because he doesn’t want to see you." The voice of the tribe’s chief, Barton, echoed from the doorway.

His mountain-like figure blocked the light from the doorway, radiating an intense pressure. He stood there, his face livid, having overheard the entire conversation between Adrian Lancaster and Nia.

"Father!" Nia spun around in a panic.

Barton didn’t look at his daughter. His sharp, hawk-like eyes were fixed on Adrian Lancaster.

It was one thing for Nia to be forbidden from marrying an outsider. It was another thing entirely for an outsider to reject Nia.

The former violated the customs of Sarankal; the latter trampled on Sarankal’s dignity.

"My daughter, the pearl of Sarankal, set aside her pride to beg you to stay, and you dare to humiliate her like this." Barton’s voice was a low, thunderous rumble, filled with rage.

Adrian Lancaster calmly retorted, "I didn’t humiliate Nia. If I hadn’t told her the truth and had instead deceived her with sweet talk, *that* would have been a humiliation."

"Outsiders are silver-tongued and utterly deceitful."

Barton had no patience for Adrian Lancaster’s explanations. With a wave of his large hand, he roared at the two brawny warriors behind him, "Tie up this ungrateful bastard who insulted my daughter, drag him to the sacrificial altar, and we’ll use his blood to appease the River God today!"

"No, Father! Don’t!" Nia screamed and lunged forward, but Barton ruthlessly shoved her aside, nearly making her fall.

"Nia, even now, you’re still so deluded. You disappoint me greatly."

"Father..."

Barton stood his ground, radiating authority.

"The pride and dignity of Sarankal will not be trampled on by anyone, especially not an outsider. Nia, remember who you are. If you continue to side with him, the River God will not forgive you."

"Father..." Nia knelt on the ground, pleading with him. "Tarn is the man I like. He can’t die."

"He is unworthy of your affection." Barton’s mind was made up.

Before Adrian Lancaster could put up any effective resistance, the two warriors bound his hands with a thick rope and roughly dragged him out.

The sunlight stung his eyes. He was dragged all the way through the center of the tribe toward the sacrificial altar.

On both sides were the watching tribespeople. Their expressions were complex—a mix of curiosity, indifference, and awe for the sacrificial ritual.

The sacrificial altar stood by the river at the edge of the tribe. It was constructed from massive, natural boulders, their surfaces covered in ancient totemic patterns.

The center of the stone platform was a dark, dull brown, stained by years and years of sacrifices.

The river wind blew, carrying with it a mist that smelled of blood.