CHAPTER 67: THE SON WHO DEVOURED HIS BLOODLINE II

Cassel — POV

"John... what have you done?"

General Zan’s voice trembled—barely, almost imperceptibly. You wouldn’t have noticed it unless you listened closely.

John, however, seemed to realize he had been exposed.

How could he not, when Henry’s wicked, triumphant smile stretched across his face?

"No, Father—Father, I didn’t do anything! They tricked me, it was them! They want to tear our family apart—that’s why they’re doing this! Father, please, you have to believe me! I’m your son—your own flesh and blood!"

John looked as though he had fallen into a state of pure panic.

Perhaps he feared being exposed... or perhaps he feared losing his family’s trust.

But if I had to guess, he was terrified of how his father would deal with him.

No one—absolutely no one—escaped General Zan’s wrath, not even his own blood. That much was common knowledge. His reputation as a strict, unyielding man who accepted no mistakes—no matter who made them—was widespread.

"John," the old general said quietly, "how did your brother and I ever wrong you? Hmm?"

General Zan stood up. His son stood as well, on the verge of tears.

By now, nearly everyone in the room was on their feet.

Everyone except Rosalia and me, of course.

The girl had looked like she wanted to say something earlier, but once Henry revealed John’s misdeeds, she lost all interest in speaking.

I was certain she knew the truth about John too.

The faint, cold expression she wore as she watched this family tragedy unfold told me everything.

It didn’t make her heartless—not at all. Instead, it made me feel a strange warmth... because it meant that aside from me, nothing else in this world mattered to her.

That could be good—or terribly bad—but for now, it made me deeply satisfied.

Yes, Rosalia... don’t think about anything in this world. Don’t be swayed by anyone or anything. Don’t look at anyone but me.

Let me be your world, your reason to live, the air you breathe.

Let my existence be the one and only purpose of yours.

That way, the only thing either of us will have... is each other.

In my world, there is only you.

And in your world—let there be only me.

"How could you bring yourself to side with our enemies just to harm your own family? You... you—"

John suddenly understood he had no escape this time. With his father’s sharpness and intelligence, deceiving him was impossible.

So he exploded—angrily—right in his father’s face.

"Shut up, you filthy old man!"

Everyone froze in shock as John began hurling curses at his father, as if doing so would save him from the pit he had dug himself into.

"What do you mean you never wronged me? Huh? You did! You did, and you did it a lot! Ever since I was young, you only loved your precious little boy! What about me? What about me? You always made me feel like I was second place! You always loved that brat Thomas more than me! You always took his side—always supported him! What about me?!"

John’s eyes were bloodshot as he screamed.

"When you forced me into the military, did you even ask for my opinion? No! You never did! You just wanted a successor to follow in your footsteps! But what about my dreams? Did you even think about me for one moment—what I truly wanted? But your precious golden boy? When he said he didn’t want the military and wanted to be a painter, you went as far as hiring famous instructors for him! Why? Why does he get everything he wants while I get nothing? Why do you always favor one of us over the other?!"

Seeing his son like this—hysterical, unhinged, blaming him for everything—made the old general fall backward.

Or rather... collapse.

Thankfully the couch caught him.

But his heart... must have been colder than a December winter.

How could it not be? His eldest son—his pride, the pillar of their family—was standing before him, raging at him for every decision he had ever made.

Finally, General Zan spoke. His voice was hoarse, faint—stripped of all authority and strength. He sounded broken... defeated... and unbearably sad.

"Did I not ask you—when you finished your studies—if you had any dreams or wanted to pursue anything? And didn’t you say you wanted to follow in your father’s and ancestors’ footsteps and join the military? Did I not try to stop you—because the work is harsh and dangerous? And didn’t you tell me then that you loved the army? That it had always been your dream?"

The general seemed lost in old memories, confusion and disbelief clouding his features.

But John pointed a trembling finger at his sitting father, his anger refusing to die down.

"How do you expect me to answer you, huh? If I said I liked it, would you simply believe it? You should’ve looked deeper—you should’ve found out the truth! You should’ve stopped me! Didn’t I do all of this for you? For the family? To satisfy you and your stupid pride?"

"What kind of twisted logic is that?" Henry muttered from the side. Then, louder: "Do you think your father can read minds? If you don’t tell him what you want, do you expect him to magically know the truth? What is he, a fortune-teller?"

My subordinates broke into laughter and scoffed.

John’s face burned with shame and fury.

"Shut up! All of you—shut up! This is all your fault! Everything happening right now is because of you idiots meddling! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be fighting with my father!"

"And what then?" the general asked, weakness lingering in his voice—but his gaze had regained strength as he stared directly into his eldest son’s eyes.

"If they hadn’t exposed you in front of me, what were you planning to do? Kill your brother, then kill me next? Bury our entire family without us knowing anything? John... tell me. Do you take us for fools?"

At the last words, General Zan roared—slamming his fist against the armrest with frightening force.

His aura was terrifying; even John stepped back several times in fear.

"I... I... I—"

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