Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce-Chapter 201: The Search and Rescue Team Returns Empty-Handed
Confirming he was alone in the room, Adrian Lancaster opened his eyes fully. They were clear and alert, nothing like the cloudy gaze expected of a comatose patient.
He slowly moved his stiff body, feeling the pain and weakness in every joint. His eyes grew cold, reinforcing his resolve to escape Sarankal.
The rain pattered endlessly outside the window. In the darkness, Adrian’s mind raced.
He needed time to recover his strength. More importantly, he needed to understand Sarankal’s layout, the guards’ patrol schedules, and the surrounding terrain.
’Perhaps I can use the opportunity when the tribal chief inspects his territory to scout the area and plan an escape route.’
A preliminary plan began to take shape in Adrian’s mind.
Until he recovered, he had to continue playing the part of a severely injured, unconscious man to lower everyone’s guard—especially Nia’s.
...
「On the other side of the tribe.」
Barton sat alone in a dark room, a pot of cold tea on the table before him.
A complex light glinted in his eyes—anger, sorrow, but most of all, resentment.
Several of his loyal old subordinates came quietly to see him. Barton allowed them in but remained silent, unwilling to say a single word.
For this once-mighty chief, the change in power was a humiliation harder to accept than death.
The night deepened, and the entire tribe fell into absolute silence.
Just then, the sound of footsteps approached.
Barton recognized them as his daughter Nia’s and immediately ordered his men to stop her, refusing her entry.
Stopped by the warriors outside, Nia dropped to her knees with a THUD. She knelt ramrod straight on the cold stone slabs, letting the rain soak her.
"Father, I’m sorry. I came to apologize. Please, see me."
Her voice, choked with sobs, was swallowed by the sound of the rain.
No one inside answered.
Barton sat with his back to the heavy wooden door, enthroned in the main seat covered in animal hides, his face ashen.
He caressed the bone staff that symbolized his power, his chest heaving with rage.
As a father, and more so as the tribal chief, Barton could not forgive the mistake Nia had made. In his eyes, it was an act of outrageous defiance.
"Go away. I won’t see you. You are not my daughter. I have no daughter as unfilial and foolish as you."
Nia’s heart shattered. Tears mixed with the rain, blurring her vision.
"Father, I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have contradicted you in public. Punish me however you want for your anger, just don’t disown me."
"Father, please open the door. Let your daughter in. I have so much I want to tell you."
Barton remained unmoved. "I don’t want to hear a single word you have to say. Leave, now."
"Father..." Nia cried out, refusing to leave her kneeling position, her clothes soaked through. "Please open the door. Let me in."
Barton did not respond.
Before long, the Priest, Maka, approached with a grave expression.
He frowned tightly upon seeing the scene before him.
The warriors outside did not stop him; they even opened the door for him.
Maka glanced back at Nia, then entered the room with a complicated mix of emotions and sat down alongside the clan elders.
The room remained pitch-black, unlit, and the atmosphere was oppressive.
After some time, the sound of the rain lessened, and the air filled with the scent of damp earth and grass.
Maka broke the silence with his deep voice. "The night dew is cold, and there’s a wind. If Nia keeps kneeling like this, her body won’t be able to take it."
Barton snorted irritably. "She’s the one who chose to kneel. I certainly didn’t ask her to."
’Maka rolled his eyes internally but said placatingly, "The one you truly resent is that outsider, not Nia."’
Barton refused to admit it, his voice turning cold. "Do not mention that person, or I’ll throw you out."
...
Maka sighed and said no more. He walked out silently and draped a thick fur cloak over Nia’s trembling shoulders.
Nia looked up, her tear-filled eyes gazing at her uncle, Maka, full of grievance and pleading.
"Uncle, please plead with Father for me. Let me go in."
Maka’s heart ached for her. He patted her shoulder, signaling for her to be patient, then turned and re-entered the room without a word.
Barton turned a blind eye, pretending not to have seen anything.
Maka sat down and said calmly, "Nia has a bit of a fever. She’s about to collapse."
Barton’s heart skipped a beat. No longer able to hide his deep affection for his daughter, he shot to his feet and ordered the warriors outside.
"Take Nia back to her room at once. Make sure she gets some rest. Tell her I will go see her after the rain stops."
Maka breathed a sigh of relief and got back to the matter at hand.
"It’s time we had a proper talk. This concerns the future of Sarankal."
Barton wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose, his mind elsewhere. "Say what you want to say."
After careful consideration, Maka began. "That outsider named Tarn... perhaps he truly is a gift to Sarankal from the heavens. The River God favors him. No matter how much we resent it, we cannot defy the River God’s will."
"But..."
His tone shifted.
"To let an outsider rule Sarankal... how can we, the native people who have lived here for generations, bear it?"
"Sarankal is ours. Every inch of land, every one of our people, even every tree, every blade of grass, every flower—none of it can be tainted by an outsider."
Barton’s eyes lit up, his spirits suddenly reviving.
"Maka, are you saying...?"
Maka leaned closer and lowered his voice so that only the few people present could hear.
"What we should be considering now is how to eliminate this hidden threat without angering the River God."
He deliberately emphasized not angering the River God, leaving room for maneuvering in his words.
It was as if a light had switched on for Barton. His attitude softened considerably as he agreed with Maka.
"Since the River God has temporarily chosen that outsider, Tarn, I will respect the River God’s will."
"As for whether he can lead Sarankal out of its predicament, I will wait and see."
"If one day he drags Sarankal into the abyss, I will absolutely not stand by and do nothing."
Maka closed his eyes and nodded. "I will not stand by either."
...
「Seven days later.」
Adrian Lancaster finally "woke up."
Under Nia’s meticulous care, his wounds gradually healed, and his complexion improved significantly.
The tribespeople brought food and gifts every day, expressing their reverence for The Chosen One.
Adrian remained humble, unfazed by the honor.
That evening, the afterglow of the sunset bathed the land.
Nia insisted on personally taking care of Adrian—changing his dressings, feeding him, and washing his body.
In his heart, Adrian pretended she was Wren Sutton. Otherwise, he would find it truly unbearable.
"The River God chose to send rain, but he did not choose me as chief. I believe your father, Chief Barton, is the one truly fit to lead Sarankal. I never intended to take your father’s place."
His gaze was sincere and frank, without a trace of desire for power.
Nia didn’t stop what she was doing, only letting out a soft sigh.
"This was the River God’s choice, not something you or I can decide. Sarankal needs to change, and you are the catalyst for that change."
She looked up, meeting Adrian’s eyes directly.
"My father is too stubborn. He has always refused to communicate with other tribes, causing our people to become increasingly isolated and backward."
Adrian shook his head. "Even so, you should be the one to lead the tribe, not an outsider like me."
Nia was silent for a moment. The bitter smell of the ointment filled the air.
Suddenly, she took Adrian’s uninjured left hand and pressed it against her cheek.
"I won’t be the chief. I will only be the chief’s wife. When you’re fully recovered, we’ll get married. You’ll like it here, trust me."
Adrian’s right hand clenched into a fist. He suppressed the tremor in his left hand, letting Nia hold it in her grasp.
’I have to commit to the act. I can’t shatter this illusion and let her see the truth.’
’A temporary measure...’ Adrian chanted to himself. ’It’s all for the sake of returning to Aston.’
...
「Aston.」
An oppressive silence hung over the Lancaster family home.
The search and rescue team Theodore Lancaster had sent out had once again returned empty-handed.
He stood at his desk, holding the latest search report. The edges of the paper were wrinkled from his grip.
The report’s conclusion was identical to the previous ones: no primitive tribe matching the description had been found, nor had Adrian Lancaster’s remains.
"Still no news?" Claire Sterling asked nervously as she walked into the study, her voice trembling slightly.
"None." Theodore Lancaster shook his head, gently placing the report on the desk.
Claire’s eyes grew moist. She clutched at her faintly aching heart and staggered back a few steps.
"It’s been a year, and still no news... Adrian, where on earth are you? Mom misses you so much."
Suppressing his own heartache, Theodore stepped forward and pulled his wife into a comforting embrace.
"As long as we don’t give up, I believe we’ll find him."
Claire clutched her husband’s collar, sobbing uncontrollably.
Hearing that the search team had failed again, Wren Sutton was also deeply distressed. She hadn’t been eating or sleeping well for days and had grown much gaunter.
Lucia Lancaster and Isla Griffith took turns comforting and encouraging her, trying to prevent her from developing postpartum depression.
Caleb Caldwell and Sean Sterling weren’t idle either. They used their connections to actively contact more professional search teams, sometimes even joining them, unafraid of the hardship and exhaustion as they gave their all to find Adrian’s whereabouts.
Wren Sutton herself was trying hard to adjust her mindset, thinking positively. Just because they hadn’t found Adrian yet didn’t mean they never would, and it certainly didn’t mean he was dead.
Ever since she’d had that dream, her subconscious and intuition both told her Adrian was still alive. He had to be trapped somewhere, waiting to be rescued.
Wren walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, her thoughts drifting back to a year ago—to the day she learned of Adrian’s plane crash. She had fainted on the spot in the courtroom, nearly suffering a miscarriage.
Unconsciously, two cold tear-streaks slid down her face.
Wren had thought she hated Adrian with every fiber of her being, but the moment the terrible news arrived, the pain in her heart was so intense she could barely breathe. It was as if her very soul had been ripped out.
She couldn’t even imagine how she had managed to survive this past year.
No one knew how many pillowcases she had soaked with her suppressed sobs in the dead of night, or how many times her eyes had been swollen from crying.
With a deep, sorrowful sigh, Wren murmured to herself through her tears, her eyes red, "Adrian Lancaster, where in the world are you?"
