Kyle held his mother in a tight embrace, unwilling to let go. His body, hardened by years of war, felt small in front of the frail woman who had once shielded him from all harm. The warmth of her embrace—the only true warmth he had ever known—was something he had longed for through blood-soaked battlefields and endless nights spent in foreign lands.
Yet, time had not been kind to her.
As Kyle gently broke the hug and took a step back, his golden eyes scanned the woman before him. The mother he remembered had been radiant, her beauty unmatched, her presence commanding. But now—her once lustrous hair had dulled, streaked with strands of silver. Her skin, once smooth, was now marred with fine lines etched by suffering. Her frame had become frail, far too thin, as if the weight of her burdens had consumed her from the inside out.
Her hands—those hands that had once cradled him, that had shielded him, that had worked tirelessly to keep him alive—were now rough, calloused, and marked by years of hardship.
He gently broke the hug, taking her hands in his, pressing one against his cheek. The roughness of her palms stung his heart more than any battlefield wound he had ever suffered. His golden eyes darkened as an uncontrollable sorrow welled within him. A single tear traced down his cheek before, without warning—
KRAK!
The ground beneath his knees shattered as Kyle suddenly knelt before her. Dust rose in the air as cracks spread across the wooden floor like a web of his anguish. The mighty God of War, the man who had crushed entire armies underfoot, bowed his head to the frail woman before him.
Outside, Darius stood vigilant, arms crossed as he guarded the house. The wind had picked up slightly, rustling the leaves. He paid it no mind. But then—
A strange sensation struck him.
The wind grew violent. The sky darkened unnaturally, clouds swirling above like a vortex of wrath. The air itself felt heavy, thick with an inexplicable sorrow and rage. A weight pressed down on Darius's heart, unfamiliar and suffocating. He had faced death more times than he could count, stood unmoving before hundreds of enemy soldiers—but this was different. A heavy pressure settled over the land, pressing down like an invisible force of sorrow and rage.
Darius felt it. A pang of guilt and sadness struck his heart out of nowhere. His breathing hitched. His hands trembled for the first time in years. He had fought countless wars, had led armies that brought nations to their knees, but this—this was something else.
It felt as though the world itself was grieving.
He turned toward the dilapidated house, his instincts screaming at him to look.
His feet moved on their own.
Darius Cain, the man who had slaughtered four hundred men in a single night with nothing but a blade—the man who did not even blink in the face of death—now hesitated like a nervous child.
What could shake him like this?
He took a deep breath, steadied his heart, and stepped forward. Carefully, he peered inside.
And what he saw shook him to his very core.
Kyle, kneeling.
Darius's eyes widened. His breath hitched.
The God of War was kneeling.
This—this was impossible.
Kyle Clark was not a man who knelt.
Impossible. Darius had seen men kneel before execution. He had seen warlords kneel before emperors. But Kyle?
The world itself seemed to kneel with him.
The implications of this were terrifying.
If Kyle knelt, it was as if the entirety of Somerland's army had fallen to its knees. He wasn't just a warrior—he was a living legend, the apex of military power, the one man standing above millions of soldiers. His submission, even in private, would send shockwaves across the world if anyone were to see it.
He had walked through battlefields drenched in blood and never faltered. He had faced emperors, kings, and warlords, yet had never bowed his head. Even in the face of death, he had stood tall.
But now… he was kneeling.
Darius clenched his fists. If the world saw this—if the world knew that the God of War himself had bowed his head—chaos would erupt. He was not just a man; he was a symbol, a legend. His name carried the weight of an empire.
Darius immediately entered high alert mode.
His aura exploded outward, invisible but overwhelming, blanketing the entire area. A deep, suffocating pressure spread across the five-kilometer radius, sending shivers down the spines of anyone nearby. Wild animals fled in terror. Any unfortunate passerby who even considered approaching the house turned pale and ran as if their very souls were in danger.
But not a single trace of that aura touched the house.
Sophia looked at Kyle in complete disbelief. Her frail hands trembled as she reached for him, her voice soft yet urgent.
"Kyle… why are you kneeling?"
His broad shoulders shook slightly as he struggled to speak. His throat felt tight, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions.
"Mother… I have failed you."
Sophia's breath hitched.
"I vanished for five years and only returned now," Kyle continued, his voice hoarse with guilt. "I could not fulfill my duty as your son. I let you live in poverty, abandoned and alone. You sacrificed everything for me, and I… I was not here. I survived because of you, yet I did nothing for you in return. I am not worthy to be your son."
His grip on her hands tightened as if holding onto her was the only thing keeping him from drowning in regret.
"I am not worthy to be your son," he repeated.
Sophia's heart ached as she looked at him. This was the same boy she had raised—the boy who had once held her hand so tightly as a child, promising to protect her. And yet, here he was, blaming himself for the cruelty of the world.
She smiled softly, despite the tears in her eyes.
"You foolish boy," she whispered. Gently, she tried to pull him up. "Get up, Kyle. You don't need my forgiveness. I was never angry with you."
But Kyle shook his head.
"I will kneel for eternity if needed." He gritted his teeth. "Until I've atoned."
Sophia sighed. "You foolish boy, there's nothing to atone for."
Sophia sighed, kneeling on one knee beside him. She cupped his face with both hands, wiping away his tears.
"When you were born, I took it upon myself to raise you," she said gently. "That was never a burden—it was my duty as your mother."
She smiled, her warmth never fading.
"And besides," she continued, "you returned home alive. That is all that matters to me. I lived on just for you, my son."
Kyle clenched his jaw. Slowly, he rose to his feet, wiping away the last remnants of his tears. His expression hardened, his resolve steeled.
"With me back," he swore, "I promise you, Mom—you will never suffer again. Never."
Sophia smiled and patted his cheek.
"You are all that matters to me, nothing more."
But something still gnawed at him. His gaze swept across the crumbling house, his mind racing.
"Mom," he asked, his voice careful. "Why are you living in a place like this? I made arrangements for you while I was on the battlefield. You should have had a home with everything you needed."
Sophia's smile faltered. For a moment, she froze before quickly waving her hand dismissively.
"Oh, what are you talking about?" she said hurriedly. "This house is great. There was no need for anything else."
Kyle narrowed his eyes.
Something was wrong.
His mother was lying.
Kyle's gaze darkened. He stepped closer, his voice firmer.
"Mom," he repeated, "what happened?"
Sophia hesitated, fear flashing in her eyes for the briefest moment. Kyle saw it. His fingers twitched, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists.
After a long silence, she finally whispered, "It… it was one of my old relatives. They said someone like me—someone poor—deserved a place like this. They kicked me out. I tried to fight, but… their son had powerful connections with a real estate company. I… I couldn't do anything."
Kyle closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The air around him shifted.
Darius, still on high alert, tensed.
Kyle opened his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Don't worry," he said, his voice eerily calm. "We'll get your house back."
Sophia opened her mouth to protest, but Kyle suddenly changed the subject.
"Mom, I'm hungry," he said, forcing a small smile. "Do you have anything to eat?"
Her eyes lit up. "Oh! Silly me! You just got home, and I didn't even prepare anything!" She rushed toward the kitchen. "Sit down and wait. I'll cook something for you right away!"
Kyle smiled, watching her disappear into the small kitchen. The moment she was out of sight, his smile vanished.
He stepped outside.
Darius saw him—and felt fear.
Kyle reached into his coat and pulled out a cheap, local-brand cigarette—the same kind used by low-ranking soldiers. He flicked it once, then twice, before lighting it with a casual flick of his wrist.
Then, he took a slow drag.
The glow of the cigarette cast eerie shadows across his face.
"I've seen that before," he thought grimly. "Every time he does this… someone dies."
Kyle exhaled a cloud of smoke, his golden eyes burning with fury.
Then, in a voice so low it was almost a growl, he said:
"Darius. Find out something for me."
Darius straightened. "Yes, Master."
Kyle flicked the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it beneath his heel.