Ch-9 “Why, Son?”

The shadows of rebellion had been cast long ago.

Now, they began to take form.

[Vareon's Rise — The Breaking Point]

Vareon stood at the heart of the territory he had corrupted into submission. His grip on this tributary of the Ryehem Empire had grown strong, precise, and absolute.

No longer operating in secrecy.

No longer pretending to be the good son.

He increased the taxes across the region drastically—forcing citizens to riot, nobles to panic, and most importantly… drawing the Emperor's attention.

Exactly as he planned.

The empire, distracted by skirmishes in distant lands and held together by the fraying will of an aging ruler, couldn't react quickly enough.

And then, with the kingdom's eye finally locked on his corner of chaos—Vareon played his final trump card.

[The Summoning]

Beneath a crimson sky, in a forgotten ruin bathed in blood-marked sigils, Vareon summoned the demon army granted to him by the Demon King.

The ground split. Flames poured. And from the cracks of the earth emerged monsters cloaked in ancient evil—warriors of shadow and smoke, wielding weapons forged from pure chaos.

Though Vareon had only called forth a fraction of the Demon King's forces, their presence alone shattered the defenses of nearby tributaries.

They swept through cities like a plague.Walls crumbled.Commanders fell.And in mere days—Vareon had taken control of half the empire.

He didn't celebrate.

He didn't smile.

Because this wasn't victory.

This was inevitable.

[The Emperor's Stand]

Near a ruined watchtower, Vareon saw him—the Emperor, his father—standing tall amidst a field of fire, leading a small loyalist army, composed of remnants from outlying provinces and retired generals.

His armor was faded. His eyes tired.But he stood.

The demon army clashed with imperial soldiers.

Swords met claws.Light met shadow.

And even though Vareon had only unleashed a fragment of his full might, it was enough to decimate the loyalist ranks.

Still—the Emperor did not fall.

He fought with the fury of a man who had already lost everything.

With blade in hand, he cut down the last of the demon elite before him. His breaths came ragged. His blood seeped from a dozen wounds.

But he stood, facing Vareon alone.

Smoke swirled between them.

And then, the man who had once held Vareon as a child whispered—

"Why did you do this… son?"

The word "son" struck harder than any blade.

Vareon's shoulders sank.

He exhaled slowly. For once, he didn't wear a mask.

His voice cracked with fatigue and buried pain.

"Because I was tired."

He stepped forward, gaze heavy.

"Tired of pretending.Tired of acting 'normal.'Tired of living a life that never felt mine.Tired… of being a failure in the world you believed in."

He clenched his fists, voice rising—

"So I chose a different life—A life where I matter.Where I don't have to beg for strength.Where I'm more than the broken son you didn't even realize was fading away!"

The Emperor looked at him—not with hatred.

But sorrow.

His reply was soft. Heavy.

"So… is this everything you learned from the life you lived?"

Silence followed.

Because for the first time…Vareon didn't know how to answer.