Chapter 22
Across the length of the table, Elyra sat with her sapphire eyes narrowed into lethal slits, staring daggers at the thirty-seven-year-old warrior as he bellowed another punchline into the air.
The little girl's expression soured further with every passing minute. The shimmering appeal of the luxurious banquet spread out before her steadily evaporated, replaced entirely by a burning desire to disappear from the acoustic radius of the man shouting at the top of his lungs.
This, Elyra concluded bitterly, stabbing a piece of roast duck with excessive force, is exactly why I don't like this person.How can someone possibly talk this much? she thought, a wave of profound fatigue washing over her. Even back during her past life, she had never been particularly conversational. She barely spoke a word to her former comrades, preferring the cold comfort of absolute silence. Compared to the human tidal wave sitting across from her, she felt like a mute marble statue.
As the dinner finally wound down to a merciful close, Cecilia pushed back her chair and rose smoothly from her seat. Elina followed suit a moment later.
"We'll leave the children with you gentlemen for a little while," Cecilia said, offering a polite nod.
The two women drifted away together, seamlessly picking up the thread of a complex conversation that had somehow originated over the appetizer course.
Left behind at the table, Derrick suddenly shoved his chair back and stood up. He jerked his chin toward Damnern.
"Come on. Let's get some fresh air."
Damnern frowned, his icy blue gaze instantly snapping toward his children. It was glaringly obvious he had zero intention of abandoning them unsupervised in the company of strangers.
Derrick sighed, his playful facade slipping away to reveal a rare glint of gravity. "Don't be like that. Come here."
The unusual seriousness in the veteran's tone struck a nerve. Damnern's brow furrowed deeper. "What is it?"
"It's important," Derrick answered flatly.
After a heavy, lingering pause of mutual assessment, Damnern finally gave a short, sharp nod. The two formidable warriors turned and walked away together toward the glass balcony doors.
The exact second the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, an awkward, suffocating vacuum settled over the remaining occupants of the private dining hall.
Ryker swallowed hard, his throat dry as bone. This is my chance.
He lingered for several long minutes with his eyes fixed on Elyra, marshaling every ounce of bravery a three-year-old could manage. Yet the moment her gaze locked onto his, he abruptly looked away in panic before taking a shaky step forward.
"M-My name ish Wyker Bewwyn," he stammered, thrusting a trembling, small hand directly toward Elyra. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. "N-Nice to meet you."
Elyra stared down at the extended hand.
Silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable.
As she looked at the nervous toddler, a sudden, calculating thought flickered across her sharp mind. This kid... in the future, he's slated to become an influential figure. Someone tied to high power. All critical intelligence will eventually pass through his hands.
A very useful chess piece to cultivate early on.
A small, thin smile slowly crept onto her lips. Unfortunately, given her innate resting expression and the complex machinery turning in her head, the smile looked suspiciously, chillingly evil.
Yes, she concluded. I should recruit him into my orbit right now.
Her smile widened just a fraction. "My n-na—"
Before she could utter another syllable, a pair of tight, desperate arms whipped around her waist.
Eldern yanking her backward into an unyielding, protective hug.
The silver-haired boy glared directly across the table at Ryker, his green eyes burning with sudden, unadulterated hostility.
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Ryker's extended hand remained frozen mid-air, trembling slightly under the icy glare.
Elyra blinked, entirely bewildered by her brother's sudden territorial display. Eldern only tightened his grip, his fierce gaze never breaking away from the terrified orange-haired boy for a single second.
Out on the balcony, high above the glittering sprawl of Valdwess City, the cool night wind whipped through the open air. Countless crystalline lanterns transformed the streets below into a sprawling, inverted sea of stars.
For several minutes, neither man spoke, letting the hum of the metropolis fill the void.
Then Damnern broke the silence, his voice flat and unyielding. "So. What was so urgent you had to drag me out here?"
Derrick exhaled a long breath, keeping his eyes locked on the horizon. "In three years..." A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "...I'll be stepping down. Retiring from my position as one of the Strongest Warriors."
"I don't care," Damnern replied instantly. Without missing a beat, he turned on his heel and began marching back toward the doors.
A vein throbbed violently on Derrick's forehead. "Oi!" He lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of Damnern's shoulder. "Will you wait a second, you insufferable idiot?!"
Damnern stopped, pivoting slowly. His face remained a mask of complete indifference.
Derrick massaged his temples, feeling a severe migraine brewing behind his eyes. I swear, this bastard was carved out of pure stone. "Can we manage a five-minute conversation without you attempting to flee?"
Damnern offered no response, which Derrick wisely chose to interpret as affirmative consent.
"Besides," Derrick continued, leaning back against the cold stone railing, his gaze turning distant. "You're heading back to Willowess tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Short. Concise. Classic Damnern.
Derrick let out a dry chuckle. "You know... I still remember the very first time I laid eyes on you."
Damnern raised a single silver eyebrow, unimpressed.
"It was twelve years ago," Derrick murmured, lost in the recollection. "At the royal palace of Valcreat. The exact day I was officially inducted as the Tenth Strongest Warrior."
The memories dragged themselves up from the past. Back then, Derrick had been overflowing with raw ambition—proud, loud, and blindingly eager to conquer the world. Then, wandering through the palace gardens, he had spotted a fourteen-year-old boy standing entirely alone beneath the arbor.
Silver hair. Piercing blue eyes. A face utterly, terrifyingly devoid of human warmth. Even among the pampered nobility and elite guards, the boy had stood out—not because of status, but because he looked like a ghost existing in a parallel dimension.
"The moment I saw you standing there like a statue, I walked right up and introduced myself," Derrick recalled, a nostalgic grin tugging at his mouth. "And you completely ignored me."
Damnern stared straight ahead. The historical accuracy of the statement was undeniable.
"You didn't even blink in my direction. You just turned around and walked away," Derrick laughed softly, shaking his head. "Back then, I couldn't wrap my head around it. Something about you felt fundamentally wrong. Not dangerous, exactly... just hollow. Like an empty shell."
The night breeze swept across his orange hair. "Even then, a part of me hoped our paths would cross again."
Damnern frowned, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. "Why are we reminiscing about my childhood?"
Ignoring the complaint, Derrick pressed on. "Then, four years later... we met a second time. At the Valcreat Colosseum."
His smile faltered, the memory turning sharp. The arena had been packed to suffocation with thousands of screaming spectators. The final, brutal match had just concluded. An eighteen-year-old Damnern stood alone in the crimson dust of the center stage, chest heaving slightly, while the undefeated reigning champion lay broken and unconscious at his boots.
The entire colosseum had plunged into a terrified, dead silence. Nobody could process what they had just witnessed. An eighteen-year-old upstart had torn through the brackets to claim the crown.
Standing in the VIP box, Derrick had finally connected the dots. That boy from the garden... it's him.
"The rumors about you were deafening," Derrick murmured. "'A prodigy born once a century.' 'The undefeated anomaly.' But I never imagined the monster everyone was whispering about was that same empty kid."
Damnern averted his gaze to the city lights below.
"When I watched you standing in that arena," Derrick continued, his voice dropping into a somber register, "I genuinely believed you had been manufactured solely for slaughter. A weapon. A living instrument devoid of a soul."
The cold air bit at their skin.
"I tried initiating contact with you dozens of times after you earned your seat among the Strongest Warriors," Derrick laughed bitterly. "You always looked at me with those dead eyes, like you were calculating the fastest way to sever my throat."
Damnern briefly contemplated defending himself, then remembered he had mentally mapped out how to kill half the roster during his first year. He kept his mouth shut.
"Then came your inaugural solo mission," Derrick's expression hardened into granite. "The Fallen Warriors."
The name alone carried enough weight to choke a room. Seven disgraced combatants, cast out from the Colosseum, each possessing enough apocalyptic power to level a province. Together, they had consolidated into the most dangerous syndicate in the kingdom.
"When the command came down that you were being dispatched to deal with them alone... I panicked," Derrick admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I dropped everything, sprinted to Valcreat, and practically put a dagger to Quares's throat to force him to use his Teleportation Sigil."
The scene remained burned into his retinas. The moment he materialized at the coordinates, the battle was already over. Seven legendary, monstrous criminals lay dead across a shattered landscape, not a single survivor among them.
And right in the center of the carnage—
Damnern. Unblinking. Pristine. Completely unbothered by the cosmic scale of the violence he had just unleashed.
"The structural fallout of your little skirmish permanently altered Valcreat's geography," Derrick pointed a finger toward the southern horizon. "A massive trench was carved into the earth, filling with runoff until it became a literal river. They named it the Solv River after you."
Damnern blinked, completely indifferent. "I merely engaged my Semi-Angel sigil at 100% capacity."
Derrick stared at him, then let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "See? Normal human beings do not say things like that with a straight face."
Damnern offered no counter-argument.
"I remember standing over those bodies," Derrick muttered, his eyes shadowing. "And then looking at you. You had just massacred seven elite killers. And yet... you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing."
A heavy, suffocating pause settled between them.
"You had just taken human lives for the first time on a massive scale," Derrick whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "And it didn't even alter your pulse. That terrified me. I spent years wondering what kind of existence could forge a creature like that."
Damnern stood like a statue, his expression locked behind impenetrable walls.
Eventually, Derrick let out a long, shuddering breath, shaking his head. "So, eventually, I gave up. I made peace with the fact that you were a permanent fixture—a cold machine that would never change."
A genuine, warm smile broke across his weathered face. "And then, I bumped into you yesterday."
He let out a short, genuine laugh. "You're married. You have two kids. You actually show emotion. You... you even laugh. On rare occasions."
The smile widened, softening the harsh lines of his face. "And honestly? Seeing that... it makes me glad."
Damnern froze. The uncharacteristic sincerity caught him entirely off guard, sending a rare jolt of awkwardness straight through his chest.
Before he could formulate a retreat, Derrick's eyes sparkled with sudden, mischievous malice.
"So," Derrick leaned in, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "Tell me. How did you meet Elina?"
Damnern's eyes dilated.
"Cough!"
"Cough!"
He violently choked on his own saliva, his face instantly flushing a violent, humiliated shade of crimson.
Derrick's jaw dropped, followed immediately by a roaring explosion of laughter. "Oh? Oh, gods, Here I was thinking your marriage was some kind of political arrangement—"
"WAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
A high-pitched, terrified child's scream suddenly tore through the quiet luxury of the dining hall behind them.
Both men snapped upright.
Damnern's face transformed in a fraction of a second from embarrassed husband to lethal protector. Derrick's laughter vanished into thin air.
Without exchanging another syllable, the two fathers whirled around and slammed through the balcony doors, charging back inside.
To be Continued...