Pascal went still in Leon’s arms. He didn’t twitch, didn’t struggle, didn’t even blink. His silence was so complete it unsettled Racheal.
"Did you break him?" she asked carefully, her brow furrowing.
Leon’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t ant to... well, not like that. He had only spoken the truth as he saw it. Subtlety wasn’t his strength, never had been. But maybe he’d been too blunt this ti. Before he could search for an answer, Pascal’s small voice broke the quiet.
"So... how do I beco strong like you?"
Racheal’s lips parted, stunned. ’What a strong-willed child,’ she thought. Most boys his age would’ve burst into tears or shut down completely. But Pascal was already looking forward, already pushing past the sting of Leon’s words.
Leon held his gaze for a long mont before smirking. "It’s simple. You train like never before." He paused, his tone shifting, becoming steadier and heavier. "But for now... all you need to do is stay by your mother’s side. Especially now that your father isn’t around. It’s your duty to be the man of the house, just like your father would have wanted."
A hiccup slipped from Pascal’s lips. His face crumpled as tears finally spilled over. "I... I really let down Mom, didn’t I?" he said between quiet sobs.
Leon shook his head. "Don’t worry. You didn’t let her down. You only learned a lesson. That’s all." He shifted the boy more securely in his arms. "So let’s get you back ho."
Pascal sniffled, rubbing at his eyes with his small fists, before nodding. "Hmm."
"That’s it, champ," Leon said with a small smile.
Racheal stepped closer, her expression soft. "You have a thing for children," she remarked.
Leon gave her a sidelong glance. "It sounds weird if you phrase it like that." Without waiting for a response, he started walking.
Racheal blinked after him, a strange look flickering across her face. "What does he even an by that?" she muttered under her breath. But she didn’t dwell on it. With a shake of her head, she quickened her steps and followed him back toward the city.
****
Back at the city gates, Samantha stood rooted at the entrance, her hands wringing together as if the motion alone could hold her fraying nerves in place. Her lips pressed thin, her eyes constantly darting toward the treeline.
"They’re taking too long," she muttered under her breath, her voice sharp with fear. "What if they don’t know the way? That’s it, I need to get my son myself."
A few citizens gathered around her, murmuring gentle words, trying to soothe the rising storm in her chest. Among them, a woman about her age, soone who often shared the daily burdens of life in Shantel spoke softly, "Samantha, those professionals looked powerful. I’m sure they’ll bring Pascal back any mont now."
But Samantha shook her head, trembling. "What if they can’t? What if they aren’t able to find him?" Her voice cracked at the edges, her fears pouring through.
The woman faltered, her attempts at comfort running dry. She was a mother too, so she understood too well the gnawing panic of not knowing where your child was.
Just then, a new voice cut through the tension, wry and steady. "I can see where this little fella gets his impulsiveness from."
Both won turned sharply. A man in a black robe walked toward the gate, flanked by a hooded woman. But neither Samantha nor her companion truly registered them, because in the man’s arms, nestled against him, was a small, weary boy.
Samantha’s breath caught. "Pascal!"
She broke into a run, the world narrowing until it was only her and her son. Leon didn’t hesitate; he handed Pascal forward the mont she reached him. Mother and child collided in an embrace, Samantha’s tears wetting his hair as she clutched him to her chest.
"Mom, I’m sorry for making you worry," Pascal whispered into her shoulder, his voice small and guilt-ridden.
Samantha only squeezed him tighter, her voice trembling but firm. "It’s fine. As long as you’re safe, it’s fine."
Leon and Racheal stood quietly off to the side, watching the scene unfold. The raw warmth of reunion and the heavy relief it brought, needed no interruption.
At last, Samantha lifted her head, her eyes red but clear, and turned toward Leon. "Thank you for saving my son. And... I’m sorry for doubting you."
Leon gave a faint smile, scratching at the back of his neck. "No problem. I have a really doting mother, so I can understand how you must have felt."
For a mont, his gaze drifted beyond the city walls, his thoughts heavier than his words. ’Almost half a year since I last saw them... and it’s going to be even longer now.’
Samantha parted her lips, her voice tentative. She was about to invite Leon and Racheal over, a al, humble as it might be, to show her gratitude. But before she could speak, a sharp, commanding voice rang across the square:
"Lord Leon! I have finally found you!"
The na alone was enough to shift the air.
Every head in the square turned at once. How could they not? His na had already beco a chant in the city of Shantel, whispered with awe, shouted with relief. He was the man who had slain the tyrant bear, the one who had faced the abomination and saved their lives when the city itself seed destined to crumble.
Samantha froze, her lips parting as she whispered, "Lord Leon? Where?" Even Pascal, still clinging to her hand, lifted his head, his young face marked by curiosity.
The answer ca swiftly. From the crowd, a figure erged, Jas, the mage who had been present in the battle. His steps were asured, and his expression solemn as he approached Leon. Without hesitation, Jas dropped to one knee before him, his voice carrying clear across the square.
"Lord Leon, I would like to make a report."
A gasp rippled through the gathered citizens. Their eyes darted to Leon, disbelief and wonder clashing in their expressions. He didn’t look like the lord they knew; his appearance had been altered after his transformation. For a heartbeat, the people questioned if Jas had made a mistake.
But Leon only inclined his head, calm and unbothered. "No problem. You can make the report at the manor."
"Yes, my lord," Jas replied, his tone sharp with respect.
That single confirmation shattered any doubt. As if moved by one will, the citizens dropped to their knees. Their voices rose together, echoing against the battered walls of Shantel:
"We greet the Lord!"
It was more than custom, it was instinct. Leon’s presence and power, demanded reverence. A practitioner of Rank Six prowess was a figure far beyond their reach. Even if he had no claim to the title of their lord, this level of respect was inevitable.
Leon stood in the midst of it all, silent. He noticed one detail with quiet relief: no one dared et his eyes. His hypnotic gaze would not ensnare them here.
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