CHAPTER 68: A GENERAL’S LAMENT

Cassel — POV

I witnessed the transformation that took over John’s face—a sudden spasm of fear that seemed to seep from his bones.

His bravado, his arrogance that had made him so dangerous before, was vanquished in an instant. It was as if his mask had been torn off, revealing the shaking uncertainty behind it.

It seemed that deep inside, he had finally begun to understand the consequences of his actions.

The weight of what he had done and what he had intended to do.

The instant the voice of General Zan crashed through the room, John fell to his knees with terror.

It was almost as if the sound shook his body to the marrow.

The initial words which wrenched themselves loose in his throat were cries of mercy, unadulterated and unbridled.

"Please... forgive me... father I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again!"

Every syllable was filled with real fear; yet every syllable was also tainted with the selfish quality that had ever characterized him.

He repeatedly struck his forehead on the ground.

Slowly, agonizingly, he started to crawl towards the old general’s chair. His movements were so desperate, almost pitiful.

But just as he neared the chair, I moved my hand slowly and easily, then he froze him mid-crawl.

The gesture was subtle, but John felt it as an invisible chain, locking him in place.

His hands, which had begun to glow faintly with that ominous black light of his power, hovered uselessly in the air.

"I... I..." he stuttered, words breaking under the pressure of his panic.

"What’s the matter? Can’t move? Worried how to use your power against your own father?"

My voice was deceptively calm, carrying the weight of authority, but the edge in it was undeniable, slicing through the tension like a blade.

After I quietly asked those two questions, the look in General Zan’s eyes—which had softened for a moment at his son’s pitiful cries—shifted once more. After all, the one kneeling before him was his own blood.

"What have you done to me? Y‑You... release me this instant!"

John’s voice cracked, a mixture of rage and fear, shaking with the panic of a man confronting the realization of his own failure.

"Why? So you can come closer and use your power on your own father? Manipulate his mind? As if I would let you,"

Fixed his gaze on his immobilized son—hands glowing with that foreboding black light— General Zan has finally seen the harsh truth.

Finally understood the magnitude of the betrayal.

John intended not merely to kill him but to annihilate the entire family, erasing every bond, every trace of their lineage.

In that instant, it was as if the years of battle, wisdom, and leadership pressed down upon General Zan all at once.

He seemed to age decades in the span of a heartbeat, a frail figure standing at the precipice of death.

He sighed, a long, weary sound that carried centuries of burden.

"Perhaps this is the karma I must bear for the rest of my life," he murmured, almost to himself. "In my final days, God made me witness my own son, of my flesh and blood, trying to kill me. What a disgrace. I, Zan Miles, have committed no great sins—so why must I be cursed with a son like this?"

General Zan’s eyes, for all their age and hardness, glistened with a subtle sorrow, reflecting a lifetime of victories and failures, pride and disappointment, all at once.

Eventually, the old general fell silent.

As for John, my men dragged him away, his struggles pitiful and weak, to be imprisoned out of sight. The sounds of his protests faded gradually.

"Later, have your men come take your son. Interrogate him if you wish, do whatever you like. Just don’t leave this trash in my house—if he dares act foolishly, I won’t leave him a body to bury," I said in a slightly disgusted voice.

"Very well, thank you, young man. And what about We... cooperate?" The old man asked,

"Oh? Cooperation?" I raised an eyebrow at General Zan.

It seemed the old fox had seen through my ambitions with a single glance. A frightening man indeed.

General Zan gave a weary smile, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Young man, I am old and no longer able to uphold my position. Look—I cannot even control my own family. How can I remain a good leader? If you wish, we can combine our strengths. You are very capable; climbing the ladder of power won’t be hard for you. But I can shorten that path, if I help you."

"The condition?"

I couldn’t believe it. Something like this—falling from the sky? Nothing in the world is free.

But General Zan’s request surprised me.

"All you have to do is refrain from harming the weak and rule justly. I do not want to see the blood of our people, especially in a world filled with monsters."

Indeed, the traits of this general suited his position perfectly. Unfortunately, souls as good as his often end up on the losing side—failing in both life and work. Goodness is not a weapon; it is a fatal weakness.

"Very well. I promise."

With my power, I had no need for bloodshed. I could bind enemies and leave them to starve—still fulfilling the general’s wish to avoid unnecessary blood.

And so ended the Chapter of father and son.

After John’s betrayal was exposed, I suspected General Zan would reorganize his ranks and inspect his men.

A man like him cannot fall to treachery, even from his own child. In the end, his responsibilities are simply too great.

I sent several men to escort the general home, along with his sons, both unconscious.

The younger had not yet awakened, which was normal after a head injury followed by another assault. As for the elder... I truly didn’t know why he fainted. Fear? Or perhaps my men hit him?

I didn’t care.

All that mattered was staying like this.

Later, lying in Rosalia’s bed, I felt the strain of the day press upon me, the tension from the confrontation with General Zan slowly dissipating in the soft comfort of the room.

"Cae... can you tell me exactly why you’re in my bed, for heaven’s sake?" she asked, voice half-exasperated, half-amused.

"Stop moving and let me sleep a little. I’m tired," I murmured, nuzzling closer.

"Then go to your room! Why are you in my bed, holding me like this? Let me go!"

Rosalia protested, her face a ripe shade of red, like a tomato ready for harvest—a sight both aggravating and endearing.

I hugged her gently as she tried to push me away with her tiny, harmless claws. The sensation tickled more than it irritated.

"My room is crowded with Henry and Frederick. Henry snores like a monster," I murmured in explanation.

"Then I’ll go sleep with Liz instead. Let go of my hands!" she shot back, but her tone carried a playful edge that made it impossible to be truly annoyed.

"No. I want you to sleep with me. I want to feel you, smell you, or I won’t be able to sleep," I whispered, resting my head lightly against her stomach.

The large bed, soft sheets, and Rosalia’s sweet, milky scent wrapped around me. It was a fragrance that reminded me of spring mornings and gentle, fleeting warmth.

Holding her in that moment, she felt like a perfect, delicate doll crafted for comfort, for peace.

I nearly smiled at the thought.

If Rosalia knew what was running through my mind, she would probably claw or bite me in pure fury—but at that moment, I did not care.

My body was exhausted, my mind spent.

Using my powers, negotiating with the general, managing the tense aftermath of betrayal—all of it had drained me.

"Rosalia... let me sleep a little," I whispered again, surrendering to the rare, precious peace.