The 24th Century Warrior Became a Fake Heiress novel Chapter 369

er 369 The Silent Current

Initially, Caleb and the squad assumed Ethan was spinning tall tales.

Yet reviewing the declassified operational debrief, every word proved entirely accurate.

The officers had long harbored immense curiosity toward Isabella.

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Joining Ethan to greet her, they hadn’t expected to find the girl being cornered by spoiled trust- fund heirs.

Naturally, they were ready to step in and shield her.

The Kellers? Who the hell are the Kellers?

Caleb and his comrades appraised Damian’s entourage with cool detachment.

Pampered playboys caked in designer cologne–clearly useless deadbeats.

Having assessed the room, Caleb took his position before Damian with an impassive face, resolved that regardless of whether the machine functioned, he would declare it mediocre to ensure the girl was not bullied.

With that in mind, he prepared to unbutton his cuff.

Just then, Isabella stepped forward with a gentle smile, “Caleb, let me help you roll up your sleeves.”

Isabella recognized Caleb’s rank from Noah’s earlier introductions.

She offered a warm smile, and Caleb gave a stiff nod, “Thank you.”

His features remained stern, yet mild bewilderment stirred in his thoughts: Didn’t Ethan say Isabella grew up in the rugged mountains?

Her presence and posture are remarkably commanding.

Had he not known Ethan was incapable of fabrication, he would have assumed Isabella was an heiress bred within an old–money dynasty.

Caleb didn’t decline her assistance, as his opposite arm was severely compromised from trauma, currently resting in a brace.

As both sleeves were pushed past his forearms, a clean, jagged surgical scar was exposed across his flesh.

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Chapter 369 The Silent Current

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Though healed, the gruesome tissue stood as a testament to the savagery of the combat he had survived, showing just how close he had come to losing the limb entirely.

A fraction of an inch deeper, and amputation would have been unavoidable.

“Let’s test this arm first. The fingers have no grip strength, incapable of bearing weight.”

Speaking in a flat cadence, Caleb attempted to flex his hand, cold sweat beading along his temples from the visible strain.

“Caleb sustained this trauma during a foreign peacekeeping deployment, returning stateside only a week ago,” Ethan explained from the side.

To be medevaced home under emergency protocols meant he had narrowly escaped the clutches of the grave.

“Yes,” Caleb grunted in brief confirmation, treating the life–threatening ordeal with complete indifference.

Damian swallowed hard, his arrogant bravado wilting slightly before the decorated combat

veterans.

He was reckless, but not stupid enough to posture before senior military officers.

Given Ethan’s rank, anyone sharing his unit was a hardened veteran, likely holding the rank of major or above.

Keeping his head down, he instructed his lackeys to affix the bio–conductive gel pads to Caleb’s. wrists before flicking the master power toggle.

“Major Cross, how does it feel?” he inquired tentatively.

According to the technical brief Andre provided, Caleb should be experiencing a mild tingling sensation as neuropathic pain vanished, allowing him to flex his fingers and lift heavy weights with restored sensory control.

In reality, the underlying structural trauma remained unhealed, meaning forceful exertion would only shred his damaged nerves and worsen the injury.

Damian had no intention of mentioning that risk.

As long as the hardware appeared effective, his objective was achieved.

Dampening pain in the present was all that mattered; long–term degradation was the patient’s problem.

Once the demonstration succeeded, Andre’s medical brilliance would be verified beyond

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