"Who dares impersonate my hero of a father?!"
The furious roar echoed across the entrance of the Maqaue Clan nearly forty minutes after the guard had hurried inside with Servos’ message.
The peaceful atmosphere surrounding the gate instantly shattered.
Heavy footsteps thundered from within the fortress before a broad-shouldered Maqaue warrior stormed into view, followed closely by twelve armed clansmen.
Every one of them carried a polished katana at their waist, hands already resting on the hilts as they spread into formation around their leader.
The moment they emerged, countless curious eyes turned toward the commotion.
Villagers paused their conversations. Apprentices stopped training.
Even merchants along the nearby streets craned their necks toward the gate.
It wasn’t every day someone dared claim to be the father of one of the clan’s most respected instructors.
The man leading the group radiated the pressure of a seasoned Tier Seven warrior.
His sharp features closely resembled Servos, though he looked decades younger. A scar ran across one cheek, while years of relentless training had carved his body into solid muscle.
This was Dorn Vion.
Chief instructor of the Maqaue Clan’s Sword Training Grounds.
More importantly... he was Servos’ only son.
Two years ago, during one of the kingdom-wide invasions into Bark, Servos had chosen to remain behind so the clan’s newly advanced Demi-God, Davos, could escape safely.
Against overwhelming odds, he held the battlefield alone.
By the time reinforcements attempted a rescue... he had already disappeared.
The clan searched relentlessly for months.
Scouts crossed the border again and again. Bribes were offered.
Prisoners exchanged. Rumors chased.
Nothing.
Eventually word arrived that the captured elder had died in human territory.
The Maqaue Clan mourned him as a fallen hero.
The clan leader personally presided over his funeral despite never recovering a body.
His name was engraved upon the Hall of Eternal Honor.
Statues were erected. Stories of his sacrifice became mandatory lessons for every child entering the sword dojo.
To Dorn... his father wasn’t merely dead. He was one of the clan’s greatest heroes.
Now... someone had the audacity to impersonate him.
"Which brain-dead beast dares pull such a stunt?!"
Without waiting for an answer, Dorn unsheathed his katana in one smooth motion.
The blade flashed beneath the afternoon sun as murderous intent spread across the courtyard.
"I’ll cut the fool down myself!"
Behind him, the twelve swordsmen also reached for their weapons.
Although none of them moved first, they remained ready to charge the moment their instructor gave the order.
Watching everything unfold from the side, Ethan couldn’t suppress a faint smile.
He slowly glanced toward Servos.
"So... you forgot to mention your son enjoys putting on a show."
Servos’ face twitched, his expression darkening considerably.
"That idiot..."
Before anyone could react—
Bang!
The old Maqaue disappeared from where he stood.
The ground beneath his feet cracked apart as his body shot forward with astonishing speed.
Dorn’s pupils contracted.
He barely had enough time to widen his eyes before a familiar hand smacked directly against the back of his head.
Boom!
The force drove him face-first into the stone pavement.
Dust exploded into the air.
The courtyard fell completely silent.
Every sword froze halfway out of its sheath.
Nobody understood what had just happened.
Even Ethan blinked.
Servos stood over the crater with one hand resting casually behind his back.
"You little bastard!"
His voice exploded across the courtyard.
"Don’t you recognize your own old man?!"
Dorn groaned before slowly lifting his head.
His vision remained blurry. His ears rang from the strike.
Instinctively he looked upward toward the elderly Maqaue standing above him.
One second. Two seconds.
Recognition slowly appeared.
The familiar facial features. The old scar beneath one eye.
Even the way the man stood with both hands behind his back...
His breathing suddenly stopped.
"F-Father...?"
His voice trembled.
"That... that can’t be..."
Panic flashed across his face.
He hurriedly scrambled backward several steps, staring at Servos as though he had just witnessed a ghost climb out of its grave.
"Father?!"
Servos folded both arms.
"Oh? So now you recognize me?"
"I thought I was an imposter."
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Wasn’t it you who came charging out here swinging your sword around?"
"I swear... if I get my hands on you again—"
The old man lunged forward once more.
"Run!"
Dorn instinctively turned and fled.
The scene instantly descended into complete chaos.
One of the Maqaue Clan’s most respected instructors sprinted through the courtyard while a furious elderly man chased after him, shouting every insult imaginable.
"You unfilial brat!"
"I should’ve left you in your mother’s belly!"
"How dare you point a sword at your father!"
The surrounding guards stood frozen.
Several apprentices awkwardly looked away, while others struggled desperately not to laugh.
Ethan simply watched with folded arms.
"This..." he muttered, "...is painful to watch."
After nearly ten minutes of shouting, arguing and several more well-deserved smacks to the head, the situation finally calmed down.
Questions were asked. Memories shared.
Old family matters brought up that nobody besides the two of them could possibly know.
Bit by bit... Dorn’s final doubts disappeared.
The impossible truth settled before everyone present.
Servos had returned.
The hero of the Maqaue Clan... was alive.
Word spread through the surrounding district almost immediately.
People emerged from nearby buildings hoping to catch a glimpse of the legendary elder whose funeral had been held years earlier.
By sunset... nearly the entire training district had already heard the news.
...
Once the commotion subsided, Dorn personally escorted his father back toward the Sword Training Grounds.
Rather than a single building, the complex resembled an enormous traditional dojo occupying nearly an entire courtyard.
Multiple training halls surrounded an open square where hundreds of disciples practiced beneath towering bamboo trees.
Wooden walkways connected long residential halls built around carefully maintained gardens.
The moment Servos stepped inside... his face darkened.
"Why is this place so dusty?"
He immediately bent down, rubbing one finger across a wooden railing before holding it up.
Dust clung to the tip.
His expression became one of complete disappointment.
"You don’t take care of the training grounds anymore?"
"What have you been doing all these years?"
"Useless boy!"
Dorn’s shoulders instantly slumped.
"But Father..."
"No excuses!" Servos barked.
"The dojo reflects its master."
"If this place looks neglected... so do you!"
Dorn could only lower his head while quietly accepting the lecture.
After venting his frustration, Servos finally remembered Ethan.
"Oh."
He turned around.
Pointing toward the young human, he addressed everyone gathered inside.
"This is my slave protector."
"Don’t order him around. Don’t make things difficult for him either."
"He’s Tier Six... just like me."
His tone suddenly became serious.
"So don’t overstep yourselves."
The surrounding disciples immediately straightened their backs.
Although they found the relationship somewhat unusual, none questioned Servos’ decision.
His authority alone silenced any objections.
"Refer to him as Protector Kilian."
Servos nodded once.
"Prepare a private room for him."
With those final instructions given, the old Maqaue turned around and continued deeper into the sprawling residence beside his son.
He never once looked back.
A young disciple quickly stepped forward before respectfully bowing toward Ethan.
"This way... Protector Kilian."
Ethan quietly followed.
The bustling atmosphere gradually faded behind them as they entered a separate residential corridor built for visiting guests and retainers.
Compared to the lavish rooms occupied by senior instructors, this wing appeared considerably more modest.
The disciple eventually stopped before a narrow wooden door.
Opening it revealed a simple room containing little more than a sleeping mat, a small wooden table, and a single window allowing pale afternoon light to enter.
"This is your room."
The disciple scratched the back of his head somewhat awkwardly.
"Our accommodations aren’t particularly luxurious."
Ethan simply smiled.
"Thank you."
He stepped inside without complaint.
After everything he had experienced over the past two years... a roof and four walls were more than enough.
Besides... he had expected far worse.
He was, after all, a human living inside Demi-human territory.
Discrimination wasn’t something worth wasting energy over.
If he intended to complete the mission entrusted to him by the Lord of Bark... he would have to earn respect through his own strength.
Not demand it.
Once the disciple left and the door quietly closed behind him, silence filled the room.
Ethan slowly sat cross-legged on the wooden floor.
His eyes drifted toward the storage ring resting on his finger.
"One thing at a time..."
With a gentle flash of light, a fist-sized meteorite stone appeared in his palm.
Ancient energy pulsed faintly from within the dark crystal, illuminating the small room with an eerie silver glow.
A smile slowly spread across Ethan’s face.
"First... you."
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