CHAPTER 106: FATHER VS DAUGHTER

[Rynthall Estate—Morning—Continuation]

As Silas and Lucien clung to each other after three long, brutal years apart—foreheads pressed, hearts pounding, tears finally falling—the world seemed to stand still. Warmth, love, and relief swirled between them like a long-forgotten dream restored.

Even the servants and knights nearby were dabbing their eyes, sniffling like sentimental fools.

"Our lord and master are reunited..." one maid whimpered.

"True love does exist!" another sobbed into her apron.

Even Marcel cleared his throat suspiciously and muttered, "Damn pollen in the air..."

But of course, nothing beautiful lasts long. Not in Silas and Lucien’s life.

"GEEEEEET AWAYYYYYY FROM MY MAMAAAAAAA!!!!!!"

The roar shattered the tender silence like a thunderclap.

Lucien and Silas froze mid-embrace. The entire courtyard blinked. Even the horses paused mid-snort.

When all eyes dropped down—there she stood.

A tiny, black-haired wolf pup in human form, clutching her favorite doll in one hand, fury twisting her cherubic face. She marched forward like a battle general who’d just caught an enemy trespassing on her land.

She stomped her foot, glaring at Silas with burning eyes. "DON’T! YOU! DARE! TOUCH! MY MAMAAAA!!!"

Then, with all the might her little arms could muster, she shoved Silas’s leg. The great Alpha Lord Silas. The man who was feared across the continent. The war hero who had broken armies.

And yet—he staggered half a step back.

The crowd gasped as though they had just witnessed a divine miracle. Lucien slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling a laugh and tears all at once.

But the little wolf wasn’t done. She spread her tiny arms wide, blocking Lucien with all the ferocity of a lioness, and bellowed:

"GET AWAY... You... you BAD... WEIRD... LONG-HAIRED... STINKY MISTERRRRR!!!!"

. . .

. . .

Silence. Pure silence.

It was as if the world itself had stopped breathing. Even the gods above peeked down, rubbed their eyes, and whispered, ’Did... did she just call him long-haired weird stinky mister?’

Silas, King’s blade, Slayer of Enemies, Destroyer of Kingdoms—stood frozen. His ears rang with only one phrase.

Bad. Weird. Long-haired. Stinky. Mister.

Silas soul probably—No, silas soul definitely left his body.

A knight choked on his own spit trying not to laugh. Another collapsed behind the carriage, wheezing. Marcel covered his face with both hands, muttering, "Oh lord... he’s doomed..."

Lucien, cheeks red from trying to contain his laughter, whispered under his breath, "Stinky mister... oh gods... pfft—"

"Elysia!" Lucien tried, kneeling down, "Sweetheart, he’s not a mister—he’s your papa!"

"NO, HE’S NOT!" she roared. "HE’S A BAD STINKY STRANGER TRYING TO STEAL MY MAMA!!"

She stomped again for emphasis. Silas opened his mouth, closed it, then crouched down slowly, as though approaching a wild beast. "Elysia... sweetheart... I’m your papa."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"PROVE IT."

Silas blinked at his daughter’s challenge. Prove it?

Around them, the servants were already hiding their faces in aprons, shoulders shaking. Damien, the knight, muttered, "Oh, now it feels like we are back home..."

Silas, the terrifying lord who once crushed armies with a single command, was now sweating in front of a three-year-old.

"How... how do I prove it?" he asked carefully.

Little Elysia squinted. Her doll dangled menacingly from her hand like a weapon. "If you’re really my papa..." she crossed her arms, glaring, "then what’s my favorite food?"

Silas froze.

The knights leaned forward in anticipation. Alphanso looked like he was praying for Silas’s survival.

Theoram and lucein covered his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Silas cleared his throat. "...meat?"

"WRONG!" Elysia shrieked. "It’s crispy fried chicken, YOU STINKY MISTER!"

The courtyard erupted in laughter. Theoram actually fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, "Hahahha...I can’t believe what I am seeing. Hahaha...."

Silas’s jaw clenched. He looked like a warrior who had been struck down in battle.

As if declaring her victory to the heavens, Elysia puffed her tiny cheeks like an angry squirrel, clutched at Lucien’s sleeve with both hands, and shouted,

"See, Mama? He doesn’t even KNOW me! He’s a FAKE papa!"

Lucein blinked, torn between laughter and panic. He quickly scooped her into his arms and kissed her forehead. "Sweetheart, no, no... He’s not a fake papa. He’s your real papa."

Elysia froze. Her little red eyes narrowed into suspicious slits as she leaned dangerously forward from Lucein’s arms, almost poking Silas in the face with her tiny nose. Then—she sniffed. Loud. Dramatic. Like a wolf inspecting rotten meat.

"Snfffff... Snfffffff..."

She turned back to Lucien with a dead-serious expression. "Mama... you said Papa smells like... the ocean."

"Yes, sweetheart," Lucein confirmed with a soft smile.

Elysia jabbed her finger right at Silas’s chest like she was condemning him before the gods.

"BUT—HE SMELLS LIKE... LIKE... AN OLD. WET. DOG."

The world collapsed.

Servants who had been trying to hold their composure exploded. One maid literally slapped the ground, kicking her legs as tears of laughter rolled down her face. A guard bent double, clutching his spear, choking on laughter so badly another knight had to thump his back. Even the horses were snorting and neighing like they, too, agreed with the insult.

Silas’s face... oh gods. His pride as the feared Tyrant of Everheart, the conqueror of battlefields, the terror of empires—all shattered by a toddler. His eye twitched, and his jaw tightened, as he slowly repeated in horror,

"Old... wet... dog..." Like each word was a dagger plunged into his soul.

Theoram, barely holding in his own laughter, stepped forward and scooped Elysia into his arms."Sweetheart, your papa just returned from very far away. That’s why he smells... different. But look at him carefully; doesn’t he look like me?"

Elysia blinked. She looked at Grandpa. Then at Silas. Then back at Grandpa. Then back at Silas. She squinted, puffed her cheeks again, and announced:

"... I still don’t believe it. He’s not my papa."

The laughter died. The courtyard stilled.

Her little lips trembled. Her big red eyes welled with tears. Her voice—so small, so heartbreakingly soft—slipped out like a knife to the gut:

"If he was my papa... he would’ve come sooner."

Lucein stared at his daughter and held his chest, but she wasn’t done. She twisted in Theoram’s arms and glared at Silas with all the fury of a betrayed general.

"YOU MADE MAMA CRY!!!! BECAUSE OF YOU, Every....day... Every....night...Mama cried. I saw Mama crying!!!"

Her voice cracked, tears spilling.

"You can never be my papa! NEVER!"

This time, no one laughed. Not the guards. Not the servants. Not even the wind dared to move.

Silas stood frozen, his chest tightening painfully. The fearless warrior who had faced swords, arrows, and armies now found himself utterly defenseless—brought to his knees by the truth in his daughter’s trembling little voice.

***

[Rynthall Estate—Lucein and Silas’s Chamber—Later]

Silas stepped out of the bath chamber, steam still curling after him. His hair was damp, clinging to his sharp jawline, his body freshly scrubbed and wrapped in a dark robe. He was glowing. Gleaming. Practically sparkling.

...But his triumphant entrance was ruined by the sight in front of him.

Elysia was latched onto Lucien like an angry little koala, her chubby arms strangling his neck in a death grip. Her red eyes narrowed into two furious little slits the moment she spotted Silas.

Lucein, caught in between, tried to move. "Elysia, sweetheart, let me just dry Papa’s hair—"

"NO!" she hissed, clutching him tighter, glaring daggers at Silas.

Silas froze. His lips twitched. He gave a weak laugh, scratching his head. "It’s fine, my love. I’d rather not be... uh... vaporized by a tiny glare anyway."

"YOU! Weird mister!" Elysia suddenly pointed a finger at him like he was a villain caught red-handed. "Why are you in Mama’s and my room?!"

Silas winced, clutching his chest as though her words had stabbed him through the ribs. "Weird, mister?! Sweetheart, can you... not? I’m not a stranger—I am your father!"

Elysia fwipped her head to the side, nose in the air, all sass and baby arrogance. "LIAR!"

Silas sighed heavily and crouched in front of her, his robe pooling around him. He softened his voice. "Little one... I am truly your Papa. I was the one who held you when you were all wrinkly and red. I was the one who woke up in the middle of the night to feed you. I even changed your diapers, sometimes—" he muttered darkly, "even the... explosive ones."

Lucein’s lips twitched. Elysia just pouted harder, refusing to be swayed.

And then Silas smirked. Sharp and dangerous. "And... let’s not forget one tiny detail, little one." He leaned closer, eyes glinting. "It’s because of me... that you were born."

Elysia froze. Then slowly, sloooowly, her mouth dropped open. "H-HUH?! WHAT! YOU’RE LYING! It was Mama who gave birth to me! MAMA TOLD ME!"

Silas crossed his arms smugly, chin tilted high like he’d won a debate. "True. But I am the main reason why your Mama could give birth to you."

The room went pin-drop silent.

Elysia’s face crumpled. Her little hands balled into fists. "L-LIAR! YOU’RE LYING! YOU WEIRD MISTER LIAR!!!"

Silas’s smirk only deepened, his voice dropping low with dangerous mischief. "You don’t believe me? Then... why don’t you ask your Mama?"

Elysia whipped her tear-filled eyes toward Lucien for confirmation—

Only to stop dead.

Because Lucein was no longer smiling. His face was red. Not shy-red. No. Boiling, volcanic, fist-clenching, anger red.

He held Elysia tighter and slowly turned his head toward Silas. "...Silas."

Every bit of smugness drained out of Silas’s face. His blood ran cold. He swallowed, nervously tugging his robe tighter around himself. "...I’m... d-doomed."