CHAPTER 193: CHAPTER 192 - “HE KEEPS TRYING.”

The golden light of the dying sun cast long shadows across the palace gates as Raven’s group approached.

The entrance had changed.

Gone were the familiar palace guards in their polished bronze and navy. In their place stood a new formation—two rows of soldiers in black-and-gold plate, faces covered, spears etched with faint enchantments that made the air hum subtly.

Their auras rippled like a storm barely held in check. Raven slowed his pace, hands still in his pockets, as if strolling toward a tea shop and not a battalion of high-tier knights ready to flex.

"Let’s play a game," he murmured to the group behind him. "Guess how long it takes for the first one to say something dumb."

Jessy cracked her knuckles. "Five seconds."

"Three," Siris whispered, practically vibrating.

"Squeak," Nibbles squeaked with utter certainty as he raised one paw.

As they neared the threshold, one of the black-and-gold knights stepped forward.

His armor bore a crest unfamiliar to Raven—some hybrid symbol between the royal insignia and something more arcane. His helmet hissed softly as he spoke, his voice magically amplified.

"Halt. The royal court is currently being reconstructed. Entrance is restricted to authorized personnel."

There was a brief silence.

Then Raven tilted his head.

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"...One second," Jessy mumbled. "Nibbles wins."

The squirrel raised both tiny arms in victory.

Clara sighed.

Meanwhile, Raven blinked at the knight. "Huh. That’s cute. Did you rehearse that line in front of a mirror?"

The knight tensed. His fingers curled slightly around his spear. "We are under orders not to permit unknown individuals entry without royal clearance."

"Unknown?" Clara asked, stepping forward, voice tight. "We’re the Vaise family’s children who came here to meet the princess—"

"—Clara, mention our achievements," Raven muttered under his breath, but Clara heard him.

"—And who stopped a demon horde from eating half your population. Check again."

The knight didn’t flinch. "Your deeds are not in question. Your intentions are. The court has deemed it prudent to verify—"

"Oh gods," Siris groaned. "He’s still talking."

"I swear," Jessy muttered, "if he says one more word—"

"...—your identities," the knight finished, drawing a scroll.

That did it.

Raven turned around calmly, eyes scanning the group. "Go ahead, Siris."

Siris didn’t need to be told twice.

In a flash of movement, she was already in front of the knight, blade drawn in a reverse grip and pressed gently—but very firmly—against the gap in his armor at the base of his neck.

He froze.

"So," she whispered sweetly, eyes wild and smiling, "what’s your name, brave guard?"

The knight hesitated. "...Erick."

"Nice to meet you, Erick." Siris leaned closer, voice a sing-song purr. "I’m Siris. I like sharp things and long walks through screams. Now, Erick—do you feel like you have to check our IDs now?"

Behind her, the rest of the guards raised their weapons—only for Raven to raise one hand lazily.

The pressure that flowed from him was invisible but immense, like an entire storm had paused mid-air above their heads.

Weapons wavered.

"No one," Raven said, "draws anything unless you want to spend the next week as a smear on the floor."

Clara crossed her arms. "Was that the diplomatic approach?"

"That was diplomatic," Raven replied. "I didn’t let Siris start humming."

Siris beamed. "Should I start the stabbing party now?"

The moment Siris’s words fell, the air grew taut—like a pulled bowstring aimed straight at chaos.

Siris still had her blade pressed against the knight’s throat, her eyes wide and utterly unbothered. Raven’s group stood in formation behind her, crackling with tension.

The guards on the other side—black-and-gold, disciplined, well-trained—stood ready to retaliate, their weapons trembling slightly under the pressure Raven released.

Everything was about to explode.

Raven would about to nod at Siris, giving her a go, but then—

A voice, deep and resonant, rang out like a war drum wrapped in velvet.

"Hmm. So... are you not going to let me in either?"

All heads turned.

A man stood just beyond the threshold of the courtyard. He was tall with a sword strapped to his back that looked like it had decapitated mountains in its spare time.

His armor, a rugged mesh of battle-worn silver and muted crimson, practically exhaled killing intent. Scars mapped his exposed arms, and his aura was not subtle—it was dominance forged into flesh.

His expression was cold. Icy. Merciless.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked the nearest knight in a tone so emotionless it could file taxes.

The knight, Erick, the poor soul still pinned under Siris’s blade, blinked rapidly and nodded with the desperate energy of a drowning man reaching for air.

"Y-Yes! Yes, sir! You’re Lord Argon Von Vaise! You are the strongest man alive! You are the Dragon Duke! Scourge of the—!"

"Then, move," Argon said, cutting him off. He stepped forward.

No one argued.

Weapons lowered. Their knees buckled slightly. The line split like water around a boulder.

This was the man who once raised his sword against the king.

And no one here wanted to test if he’d do it again.

He strode forward, the weight of his steps pressing down on the courtyard. The others watched in stunned silence as Argon approached—not saying a word to Raven or the group, not even looking at them.

His gaze remained forward.

But anyone paying close attention would see it.

The smallest hesitation in his steps.

The way his jaw clenched, just once.

He was avoiding Raven’s eyes.

The guilt hung over him like a second sword.

He’d never been there for Raven. Not when Raven had lost his mother, nor when his friends all met their parents while he stared at them from afar.

He regretted those moments so much that no matter how much he tried to turn toward Raven, something in him recoiled from that meeting gaze.

He realized he wasn’t ready.

Until—

"Father," Raven said, calmly, as if they’d spoken just yesterday. "It’s good to finally have you back."

Argon froze mid-step.

Slowly—too slowly—he turned.

Their eyes met.

Looking into his eyes, everything Argon had prepared—the speeches, the justifications, the shame—melted away like ice under sunlight.

Raven wasn’t bitter.

He wasn’t cold.

He was welcoming him home.

It was as if Raven never cared about anything. Or maybe Raven had always been waiting for his father.

Argon’s mouth opened—but no words came.

He realized that he didn’t need words to make up to Raven. He needed to show it with actions instead.

So, he nodded, his voice quiet.

"...It’s good to be back, son."

Silence followed, reverent and fragile.

Then Clara blinked. "Wait... what just happened?"

Jessy turned to Siris. "Did... that man just emotionally short-circuit?"

Siris nodded solemnly. "He’s powerful. But clearly squishy inside."

"This is some Shakespearean forgiveness arc stuff," Omni muttered from Raven’s tattooed hand. "I’m not crying, you’re crying—nah wait, I’m definitely crying, hold up—"

Omni knew everything that was happening, so he felt it more than others.

He knew how big a moment this was.

Argon cleared his throat, quickly shifting back into that ever-composed general’s mask.

"We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s move."

He turned back to the path ahead and began walking. The others, still slightly dazed, fell in step behind him.

Clara edged closer to Raven. "You... expected that?"

"He’s always been that kind of man," Raven replied softly. "He just forgot for a while."

"This whole family’s built different," Omni whispered. "Like, ’emotionally-repressed-warrior-poets-who-cry-on-the-inside’ different."

As they strode through the palace corridors—lined with towering statues and the eerie echoes of past grandeur—Argon broke the silence again.

"Master contacted me. Told me my daughter-in-law was in danger."

"So you left the matter related to Damien?" Raven asked, amused but eyes cold as he mentioned Damien.

"I finished everything with Damien," Argon corrected, voice grave. "Then I left. There’s a difference."

"And the demons?"

"Can wait. Priorities."

The seriousness in his tone didn’t match the words. He paused, then added, "You know... when I told the Crisaius I had to leave, I said it was because I had family matters to attend to."

Silence.

"...Because I was going to cut through the family tree of demonkind."

Deadpan.

Blank faces.

Even Nibbles blinked.

Omni, in Raven’s hand, whispered, "Bro just dropped a dad joke like a hammer, and nobody picked it up. Legendary."

Jessy cleared her throat.

Clara offered a polite "heh."

Siris slowly sheathed her blade in secondhand embarrassment.

Argon glanced over his shoulder, puzzled.

"...Nothing? That one was thematic."

Raven smiled faintly.

"They’ll get used to it."

Argon nodded seriously.

"Good. Because I have at least three more locked and loaded."

Omni groaned.

"My dude, you’re lucky you look like a walking death machine, or I’d stage an intervention."

Still, something in the mood had shifted.

Despite the solemn palace walls and the uncertainty ahead, a strange warmth lingered around the group.

The once-distant patriarch now walked with them.

Not as a figure of command.

Not as a Vaise warrior.

But as a father.

A quiet one.

A serious one.

But unmistakably—finally—present.

And as they neared the throne chamber, Raven glanced up at the great golden doors and said, without irony, "Let’s see who’s dumb enough to try stopping us now."

Argon cracked his knuckles.

"I hope they do."

Pause.

"...I’ve been meaning to knight someone with the back of my sword."

Clara closed her eyes.

Jessy pinched her nose.

Siris whispered, "He keeps trying."

Omni wailed internally.

"Someone please tell him that wasn’t even a joke. That was just a violent pun wearing a bad disguise."

Raven didn’t say anything.

He just smiled and kept walking.

Because he finally had a father.

He didn’t feel like an orphan for the first time.