[Volume 2 | Chapter 62: The Iron General (II)]

For all of the things that he had heard about the so-called "Iron General" and "Divisional Commander of the 5th Parallel" of the Imperial Legion, Rudyard Scryer was not necessarily a head-turning man at first sight.

Perhaps it was because he wasn't actually wearing any of his military attire and instead adorned an outfit befitting of a middle-class to upper middle-class commoner of the Tachyon Empire—a white shirt, jeans, and a pair of boots that looked like they'd been through a lot. The only hint of his status and position was his posture. Even when he casually stood before them, it was as if his body was always at attention. His broad shoulders were always squared, and his back was ramrod straight.

He was a very tall man, towering over Elias's 5 '10 " by at least five to six inches, with a muscular build that was typical of a Legionnaire of the Dragoon Corps. Despite being close to his mid-forties, there were no signs of a middle-aged gut, and his body was that of a well-trained soldier. Similar to his son, his hair was closer to auburn than deep brown, sharing the same mint-green eyes as well. However, unlike Elias's warm and expressive features, the Iron General's visage was rigid and chiseled with pronounced laugh lines that were not from laughter. He had a square, pronounced jaw and deep-set wrinkles on his forehead that seemed to indicate that he was either deep in thought, stressed, or annoyed.

Or a combination of all three.

His face was also lightly decorated with scars from the war, possibly from shrapnel, and his hands had similar marks of war and battle. The most prominent mark, however, was a scar that ran down his right eye in a diagonal line. It was a mark that seemed like it should've taken the General's eye away, but miraculously, his right eye was still there. They were injuries that no level of conventional Enhancement Thaumaturgy would be able to remove.

The Iron General's gaze flicked over Elias's bloodied uniform and the fresh bruising on his face with an unreadable expression. Quickly after, it settled on Acacia, who felt suddenly, uncomfortably exposed under that calculating stare.

Then the Irregular remembered what exactly Elias said about Rudyard Scryer at the beginning of their tumultuous day.

"Father has... strong opinions about proper order and traditional values. He believes in merit, but his definition of merit is rather narrow. He served with honor during the war, fought alongside soldiers from every background imaginable. But that was different—war creates its own rules and necessities. In peacetime, old biases have room to reassert themselves."

So essentially…

"F-Father!" Elias stammered, clearly thrown off guard. "I... I thought you had summons for Jury Duty this afternoon!"

"Dismissed," the Iron General replied curtly. His eyes hadn't left Acacia since he had noticed him. "The defendant settled out of court. Judge adjourned early."

"I see..."

"Wasn't expecting you home until late. Especially with the company." Rudyard's gaze finally broke away from Acacia, and the weight of it lifted like an anvil was finally removed.

He then reestablished the gaze onto his son, specifically, the blooming red on Elias's shirt.

The aspiring knight winced, visibly bracing himself.

"Elias, explain yourself."

"It's nothing, sir. Just a training exercise that got a bit... intense."

"You were training the exact same day you were discharged from the hospital?"

Elias knew the logic didn't follow the instant he had said it, but the Iron General didn't need a moment to contemplate the excuse.

"Sir, the doctors cleared me for light activity—"

"Light activity." Rudyard repeated the words as if testing their weight. "And yet you return home with fresh blood on your uniform and bruising that wasn't there this morning. Would you care to explain what constitutes 'light activity' in your estimation?"

Rudyard Scryer, was first and foremost, a man of logic and pragmatism. His tone remained even and cool, but the underlying steel in it was unmistakable. He was not the type of man to shout or raise his voice, and his voice was always level and calm, but when he spoke, people listened.

And as a fellow follower of logic and pragmatism, Acacia knew the exact route that this conversation was going. Rudyard aimed to systematically dissect and deconstruct his son's story and excuse, piece by piece, in an attempt to force him into admitting the truth.

"There was an incident," Elias finally conceded. "Some students from the academy got aggressive. It escalated beyond what anyone intended."

"An incident involving students. At Windsor Preparatory Academy. This incident required your participation as a graduating student because...?"

"B-Because they were threatening Acacia."

The words escaped before Elias could stop them, and Acacia saw him immediately realize his mistake. Admitting that he'd involved himself in a fight to protect someone else—especially someone of questionable status—would only confirm Rudyard's worst suspicions about his son's judgment.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

That it was utterly shit, and he should be punished for it.

Instantly, the Iron General's attention focused solely on the curly-haired boy. Those mint-green eyes, so similar to Elias's yet utterly devoid of warmth, felt like they were dissecting him layer by layer.

It was not that dissimilar from how Gambino Russo, and others from the like back when he was about to be executed for Gio's death, had seen him.

"Acacia Belmont," Rudyard simply said. "The Eichenstadt refugee. High Inquisitor Kircheisen's ward."

It wasn't a question.

Somehow, Rudyard had already identified him, and already placed him within the larger context of Windsor's political landscape. From his expression, Acacia could tell that he was not a fan of Pandora's work.

Acacia forced his voice to remain steady, even among his oppressive prana and gaze.

"Yes, sir. I apologize for any trouble my presence may have caused your son. The situation wasn't his fault."

"Wasn't it?"

Rudyard slowly descended the porch steps. He stopped just close enough to loom over Acacia without quite invading his personal space, yet the intimidation factor was clear.

"From what I understand, trouble seems to follow you with impeccable consistency, Mr. Belmont."

"Father, that's—"

"Silence."

Elias's mouth snapped shut.

Rudyard's gaze was unwavering as he continued to study Acacia, taking in his features as if trying to find some hidden flaw or weakness.

Just by looking at his gaze... he most definitely knew about:

The Bloodhounds

The telecommunications warehouse incident

Every public detail about him

More unsettling still was the implication that he might know things that weren't necessary public, given his connection to the Centrum Supremum.

"Sir, with respect, I've never asked anyone to put themselves at risk on my behalf. Elias chose to help because that's the kind of person he is. If you want to blame someone for today's events, blame me. Please, don't question the character of your son when he was only trying to do what he thought was right."

Silence fell over the front yard like a cold shroud. Elias looked stricken, clearly expecting his father's wrath to descend upon them both. But Rudyard's expression had shifted subtly—not softer, exactly, but more thoughtful.

"Interesting." The General finally decided to say something. "You deflect responsibility while simultaneously accepting it. You defend my son's actions while acknowledging your role in necessitating them. Mr. Belmont, what precisely happened at the academy today?"

Yet another trap. Any version of events that painted Alaric in a negative light would sound like excuse-making. Any version that minimized the danger would make Elias's intervention seem unnecessary. And any version that revealed the true extent of Alaric's capabilities would raise questions about how a simple student altercation had escalated to Strategic Class spell usage.

Acacia mentally gulped.

"Alaric Ptolemy and I have a history of disagreement," he began carefully, still contemplating on whether to incriminate or obfuscate. "He took exception to my presence at the academy and expressed his displeasure in a manner that became increasingly aggressive. Elias attempted to de-escalate the situation, but Alaric chose to respond with violence."

"Alaric Ptolemy... heir to Hector Ptolemy. What manner of disagreement would prompt the heir of Orion's finest to resort to violence against a refugee of the likes of you?"

"I recorded him bullying other students a few weeks ago. He's held a grudge ever since." A lie, but he didn't want to incriminate Elias further with his previous clashes with the pompous noble.

"So you humiliated him in front of his companions."

The Iron General nodded slowly as if confirming a hypothesis.

"And today he sought to restore his standing by demonstrating his superiority over you. When that failed, he escalated to direct confrontation."

Yeah... they would never get along.

"Something like that," Acacia reluctantly agreed.

Rudyard's scarred features remained unreadable as he processed the information. Thus, the silence stretched between them once again, filled only by the distant sounds of suburban evening life. Somewhere down the street, children were called in for dinner. A dog barked. Normal sounds from a normal world that felt increasingly distant from the charged atmosphere of the Scryer front yard.

He refused to take his eyes off the "stray", as he saw it.

"Elias, go inside. Clean yourself up and tend to your injuries properly. We'll discuss your decision-making process later."

"Father, I—"

"Now."

Elias wavered for a moment, torn between wanting to stay and defend Acacia from whatever judgment his father might pass, and the ingrained instinct to obey the commanding tone of his own father. Ultimately, the latter won out. With a last, worried glance at Acacia, he turned and retreated into the house.

And then they were two.

The Iron General and the living contradiction standing in the gathering dusk of a middle-class yard.

"Walk with me, Mr. Belmont. I believe we have things to discuss."

The Iron General turned without waiting for a response, clearly expecting to be (or rather used to being) obeyed.

Acacia paused for only a moment before falling into step beside the towering man.

Their strides were almost comedically mismatched. Rudyard's long and purposeful, Acacia's shorter yet paced to keep up without appearing hurried.

They walked in silence down the quiet suburban street. The sun hung low, painting Windsor's pristine neighborhoods in hues of orange which belied the tension between them. Sprinklers hissed on emerald lawns. Children's bicycles lay abandoned in driveways as dinner calls continued to echo from open windows. It was a perfect portrait of Tachyon normalcy.

A normalcy that had never included people like him.

A normalcy which he yearned to have just to have a taste of.

A normalcy which the Iron General wanted to protect.

"The Annerose Incident."

Rudyard finally spoke.

"Happened on December 17th, 417 E.V. A coordinated attack targeting twenty noble families in Eichenstadt, leaving 68 dead. All murders occurred simultaneously at precisely 8 PM. Victims' hearts were extracted. Roses placed within the cardiac cavities. Eight patriarchs had their skulls carved with Greek letters spelling 'Annerose' when arranged correctly."

He stopped walking, turning to face Acacia directly.

"It is the most meticulously documented mass murder in recent history, and conveniently, the exact tragedy from which you claim to have emerged as the sole survivor of the House of Belmont."

There it was—the challenge, laid bare like a rapier's blade.

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