Second Choice Noble Son: Apparently I’m Stronger Than the Summoned Heroes Chapter 124 : A Father’s Burden

(Darius Valemont’s POV)

The night was quiet, too quiet for comfort.

The wind carried no chill, but the stillness it brought pressed on my chest heavier than any winter frost.

I stood at the edge of the Valemont grove, watching the faint shimr that marked the corrupted border far to the east.

It was weaker than before — the rain Rooga cast had cleansed miles of poisoned ground — yet I could still feel it, coiled like a wounded beast, waiting.

Three years of progress, and still the shadow remained.

Maori’s light pulsed softly across the horizon now, a steady beacon where there had once been rot.

Her strength had returned in full — her great tree more radiant than ever.

But she no longer spoke with the sa certainty she once had.

When I t her gaze that morning, her eyes were clouded, distant.

“The corruption sleeps, but it dreams,” she had said quietly.

“It rembers the hand that hurt it — and it learns.”

Even Lyra, ever calm, had gone pale at her words.

She and I had spoken later that evening, her study filled with parchnt and faint light from her lamp.

“If Maori isn’t confident, then we hold position,” Lyra said firmly. “You know what she ans when she says it learns.”

I nodded. “You think it can adapt?”

Lyra’s hand tightened around her quill. “Corruption always does. It mimics, it consus. If we strike too early, we risk teaching it how to fight us better.”

I sighed. “Then what do you suggest?”

Her gaze t mine — sharp, steady. “We weaken it from every side. Slowly. Patiently. Until even the heart can’t hold itself together.”

But patience ca with a price.

Every week, reports arrived from beyond our borders — rumors of new outbreaks, smaller, scattered.

Solmaria’s marshes. The southern plains. Even whispers near the coast.

Each ti I read one, I felt it like a blade twisting in my ribs.

The corruption was spreading away from us, flowing like a river that had found a new path.

And all because we blocked it here.

All because we refused to send the one soul who could end it — my son.

Rooga.

The boy who had healed our land.

The boy who carried the strength of elves and gods in his hands.

Maori had asked for him again two nights ago.

“Only his mana can reach that deep,” she had said softly. “The corruption fears him.”

Selene’s answer was imdiate.

“No. I will not lose him to the sa darkness that almost took you Maori.”

And I…

I couldn’t argue.

Watching her hold him after the Heaven’s Cry, I understood.

The way her hands shook. The way she looked at him like she was morizing every breath he took.

If I told her that the world needed him — that thousands could die if he didn’t go — she would only look at the sa way she did then, and say, “Then let the world burn.”

I wanted to be angry at her for it.

But I couldn’t.

Because every ti I closed my eyes, I saw the sa image — Rooga lying limp in her arms, pale, still.

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And I knew that if it happened again, it wouldn’t just break her.

It would destroy her.

So I stayed silent.

I told Maori no.

And now, the guilt gnawed at every night.

Lyra ca to again at dusk, a parchnt in her hand.

“The corruption’s movent patterns have changed,” she said. “Small bursts of energy across different territories. It’s dividing itself.”

I stared at the map, the ink markings spreading like veins across the paper.

“This isn’t random,” I murmured. “It’s avoiding us.”

Lyra nodded grimly. “Because it fears this land. Fears your son.”

The candlelight flickered between us, painting her face in gold and shadow.

“I can’t ask him to go,” I said at last.

“I know,” she replied softly. “But one day, he’ll go on his own. You can’t stop soone born to heal from walking toward the wound.”

Her words lingered long after she left.

I stood again at the grove’s edge, staring at the line of distant darkness that refused to fade.

Part of wanted to draw my sword, march into that mist, and end it myself — even if it ant death.

But I couldn’t leave.

Not yet.

Not while Selene still smiled at dinner.

Not while my children still laughed under Maori’s tree.

The corruption could wait a little longer.

Just a little.

Because no matter how strong a man becos, there’s always one thing he can’t fight — the fear of losing what he loves most.

The air around the reclaid land was warr now — alive again.

The soil that had once been gray and brittle breathed softly under the sun, covered in new grass and wildflowers that shimred faintly with mana.

When I’d first stood here three years ago, this place had been dead.

Now, it was ho.

Scattered across the field were a dozen wooden houses — rough, handmade, but filled with life.

Laughter drifted from a nearby fire, mingling with the sll of stew and ale.

These were the adventurers who had once risked their lives alongside us — the first to fight back the corruption, the first to earn their freedom after we kept our word.

Selene and Lyra had promised them land once the ground was safe.

They’d earned every inch of it.

I ca here to check on them.

Not as a lord.

Just as a man making sure the past hadn’t forgotten him.

They didn’t notice at first.

I stood near the edge of the fire circle, listening as they spoke between drinks — voices rough with years of fighting and surviving.

“I heard,” one of them said, poking the fire with a stick, “the corruption’s showing up again. Solmaria this ti.”

Another snorted. “So? Not like we can fight it. Without Lady Lyra’s vials, we’d be food for the beasts.”

A third leaned forward, voice thick with bitterness. “Still, you’d think Valemont would do sothing. They got the goddess, the magic, the power — all of it. Why aren’t they moving to help the others?”

A pause. Then a sharp laugh.

“Help them? Don’t make laugh.”

The man who spoke next had a voice like gravel.

“Tell , when they fell from Asterion, when their lands were stripped and their nas buried, who ca here to help them? Did any noble send troops? Did anyone bring dicine or food?”

Silence.

Only the crackle of fire.

“No one,” he continued. “They called Darius Valemont a fool, Selene a traitor, Lyra a madwoman. And now those sa fools cry for help?”

He spat into the dirt. “Valemont is kind, but they’re not dumb. You don’t run into fire for the sa people who left you to burn.”

No one argued.

The fire popped, sending sparks into the air.

Another adventurer spoke after a while, voice lower, more thoughtful.

“They’ve got family here. Kids. Wives. Husbands. You think they’ll leave all that behind to die for strangers?”

He looked into the flas, shaking his head.

“No. Not this ti.”

The others nodded in silence.

I didn’t move.

Their words weren’t cruel — just honest.

And sohow, that made them heavier.

When I finally turned to leave, the stars had already co out.

Their light danced across the fields — the sa fields Rooga had healed with his rain.

They were right, of course.

We owed nothing to the world that had forgotten us.

When Asterion branded us fallen, when Solmaria closed its borders, when every noble turned their eyes away — no one reached out a hand.

And yet, even as I told myself that, I couldn’t shake the feeling pressing on my chest.

Because sowhere in Solmaria, there were people looking at the sky the sa way we once did — praying for soone to co.

And I knew too well how it felt when no one did.

When I returned to camp, Lyra was waiting by the map table, her expression as sharp as ever.

“You heard the talk,” she said.

“I did.”

She didn’t look up. “They’re not wrong.”

“No,” I said quietly. “They’re not.”

The candlelight flickered between us, its fla unsteady.

“Still,” I murmured, half to myself, “the world doesn’t end just because we’ve stopped caring.”

Lyra glanced at then, eyes softer than her tone. “You’d go if you could.”

“I would,” I admitted. “But I can’t. Not while my son’s still asleep under the goddess’s care. Not while Selene still fears waking up to silence.”

Lyra nodded. “Then we wait. We watch. And if the world wants Valemont’s help again… it can co to us this ti.”

That night, as I walked ho under the stars, the words of the adventurers followed .

Valemont is kind, but they’re not dumb.

Maybe they were right.

But as I looked toward the horizon where the faint glow of the corrupted lands flickered in the dark, I wondered how long kindness could stay still before it started to rot too.