"I wish to know more about the young master. He calls me Papa, I want to live—"
"Wait, what?" Zayden snorted. "Did you just realize that he calls you Papa? Did you hit your head, attendant? Because last time I checked, you did not care about him. You left him crying in my arms while he begged you to stay."
The sight of the boy, trembling in his arms, still lingered in Zayden’s mind. And how Ren had simply turned, looked at them, and quietly left, back straight, refusing to linger.
That night, he hadn’t understood why Ren would do such a thing—leave for something that seemed more important to him than anyone else, even Eiran. Even if the child was not his biological son, he had cherished him all the same. Seeing Ren act so distant then had left him confused.
Was he, as a demon, not behaving properly, by being selfish? Or was Ren simply heartless, even as a human?
Zayden had convinced himself countless times that it was all right. Not everyone could love another person’s child, even if the youth treated them like their own parents.
Yet now, seeing Ren stand here, speaking as though he cared, a rush of conflicting emotions hit him.
Perhaps it was rage for pretending as if it mattered.
Perhaps it was a relief that at least he cared.
Perhaps it was something he refused to name.
And beneath it all, a sharp, undeniable thread of worry for the boy tightened in his chest. He would not let anything hurt Eiran—not on his watch. Although this was not how he imagined confronting Ren, it worked for the better.
"Sir," Ren frowned. "I had to leave. I did not do so by choice."
Zayden inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself.
"Could you please answer my question?"
"It doesn’t matter where I found him. He is my son now."
"No, it matters to me!" His voice rose, fists trembling as he fought back the edge of tears. The fear of being wrong gnawed at him like a ghost, its claws biting under his bones. But the terror of the sole ray of hope he found, vanishing, shuddered his heart. Thɪs chapter is updated by NovelHub(.)net
And yet, even in that fear, the thought of Eiran, calling Ren "Papa", made his chest tighten further, a protective ache he refused to acknowledge back then because he had to be selfish.
How could he give up on his own baby for the sake of Eiran? How could he let go of the only symbol of love he ever knew?
"What is wrong with you? You never cared when I told Euran that he was not my real son. Did it not stir up any curiosity within you back then? Or is it that—"
You need to give information to the person you are working for.
His blood ran cold. He didn’t want to believe that Ren was a spy. Not until he found concrete proof. He shook his head.
What am I thinking? He cares for Eiran... What am I saying?
"I found him during one of my quests," he finally said, his voice cracking despite himself.
"I believe that does not concern you." His tone turned cold, distant.
Ren parted his lips, but no words came. If he pressed further, it would only make him suspicious. And General Zayden wasn’t the kind of man to let doubt slide.
Or maybe he was. For example, James. But James was one of the rare cases—the only reason he spared him was because it involved Eiran.
"Return to your bedroom," Zayden sighed.
"The lights—" Ren bit his lip. He couldn’t leave just without an answer. "I was headed to the Young Master’s bedchamber."
"And... why is that?"
Ren had no answer to that question. He clutched his arm, pressing harshly into the skin as if an idea would come if he forced it hard enough. His lips pressed together, the faintest trace of disappointment crossing his face before he could hide it.
Zayden’s chest tightened—he didn’t know why. He hated the sight.
"Forget it. Follow me." He grabbed Ren by the wrist, dragging him down the dark hallways.
The servant blinked, eyes wide. The warmth of the General’s hand grazing against his skin unsettled him. He wanted to jerk away but held back. He couldn’t afford to offend him further.
He had already spoken too much for one night. And if he didn’t stop, he might end up revealing secrets he had meant to keep. It wasn’t because he was stupid or careless, but simply because it had been far too long since someone listened to him—even if all he said were lies.
"I believe he is asleep," Zayden said in a low voice, glancing at Ren as they stood before Eiran’s bedroom door.
"Do you think so?" Ren didn’t look at him. His gaze was fixed on the hand holding his wrist—pale, long fingers, roughened by countless battles, yet with nails carefully kept.
"Attendant, do you want my hands too?" Zayden chuckled. The stern man from earlier felt like no more than a mirage.
The servant inhaled, trying to steady his composure before pulling his hand free from Zayden’s grip.
"It is quite late," he murmured, shaking his head, disappointed at his own impatience.
Yet he couldn’t help it. There was only one way to confirm if Eiran was truly his son—by using his powers near the boy’s gland. If it were true, a flame-shaped mark would appear the moment his magic touched him. And... his heart raced, excitement filled with joy.
Without another thought, he opened the door, moving carefully with each step as he entered the room. It was pitch dark. Nothing could be seen—not even a trace of moonlight, for outside, heavy clouds smothered the sky.
Behind him, Zayden let out a quiet sigh, more amused than exasperated.
There he goes again, overstepping boundaries as if the boy were his own.
Yet, he couldn’t brush off the thought. Ren wasn’t behaving like he usually did. It seemed he had changed after he left the mansion within a few days. Or perhaps, he simply never knew his attendant.
Ren approached the bed, noting the blankets strewn in disarray. His brows furrowed. Eiran never covered his face when he slept—he liked the air brushing against his cheeks, the gentle breeze soothing him into slumber.
Although hesitant, he pulled down the blankets.
"What are you—" Zayden’s eyes widened at the sight before him.
Eiran was not in his bed!