We Came as Two, But We're Returning as Three
They had come as two, but now they were leaving as three.
Just as Kyle had ordered, Aslan Antares hadn't so much as bathed, let alone trimmed his hair and beard, or even changed his clothes. Dressed in what were little more than rags, he hunched his shoulders and fidgeted restlessly in the VIP lounge of the Valian Kingdom's warp gate.
'12 years... 12 years?'
Naturally, Aslan had never intended to seclude himself for so long. The insight that had driven him to seclusion had felt tantalizingly close, just within grasp—if he focused solely on the sword, he was sure he'd seize it in no time.
Yet 12 years had slipped by. Every time he thought of that endless stretch, a deep sigh welled up from the depths of his lungs.
That elusive insight, always seeming so near yet forever out of reach. If it had felt truly distant, he might have ended the seclusion midway, stepped out to clear his mind. But damn it all, it had teased him right up to the end, always just a hair away.
Obsessed as he was, he'd lost all sense of time's passage. It was as if that awareness had shattered completely. And at some point, his body had transcended the need for food or drink, plunging him utterly into his own world.
All excuses, of course. Aslan swallowed yet another sigh—he'd lost count—and stole a glance at Kyle, seated across from him.
'My... Arian's... son...'
Red hair and golden eyes were the hallmark of pure Alastor blood, but compared to the vivid hue of Julius Alastor right beside him, his son's colors were brighter, softer.
Hair like rose petals, red as Arian Alastor's own, and golden eyes to match. Even his face bore her strong resemblance.
'The jawline's mine, though... and the sword talent...'
No, not quite. Aslan recalled the savage, murderous intent he'd glimpsed earlier, the impossibly refined mana control and swordsmanship. He himself could claim exceptional talent with the blade—but his son's far surpassed it.
'Alastor blood, through and through...'
He only peeked, never drawing closer. The pressure radiating from Julius, arms crossed right beside him, was one thing. But more than that, Aslan knew his own shame.
He hadn't been there at the birth. Hadn't watched the boy grow. Despite the boy's prodigious gift for the sword, he hadn't taught him a single stroke... Hell, he'd even made his own son come find him. The weight of it all crushed down on Aslan's shoulders.
"Dad, was your hair always that color?"
Kyle's voice cut through Aslan's self-loathing as he hung his head.
"Uh... y-yeah?"
"Your hair. It's all gray like some old geezer."
Kyle couldn't stand watching Aslan clamp his mouth shut, hunch further, and fidget like that. Sure, Aslan was at fault for being absent 12 years. But they'd met now, process be damned, and time marched on this very moment.
If the past was wasted, then the future had to be rich and full. Chew on the guilt alone—when together, give everything for his son.
"My... my hair was brown originally. It faded like this during seclusion."
"Was seclusion fun?"
"W-well..."
"Be honest. No bullshit guilt-tripping about me or Mom."
Kyle snorted and crossed his arms.
"You secluded for the sword. 12 years. If you got results worth it, I'd understand. Mom probably would too."
"..."
"But understanding ain't forgiveness. Want that? Be good to Mom and me from now on."
"Hah."
Julius let out a low chuckle at his grandson's sharp words, while Aslan's eyes quivered. They struck the guilty father's heartstrings. Tears began welling in those trembling eyes.
"Don't cry."
Kyle's voice turned ice-cold.
"What right you got to cry? If you wanna bawl, save it for Mom. I just met you today—she's known you forever."
"Sniff..."
"Frankly, I'd rather you didn't cry in front of her at all. Makes me feel like I gotta forgive you, even if I don't wanna."
"Hic..."
"Saying sorry while crying? Fucking cowardly. Cry after you're forgiven. Got it?"
Aslan desperately held back his tears at his son's cool tone. As a sinful father and husband, he had no rebuttal—even if he did, he couldn't voice it.
Word came that the warp gate was ready. The three exited the VIP lounge. The passage to the gate was just as before: Valian princes and high nobles fidgeting like puppies desperate to piss.
"Uh, L-Lord Alastor."
The prince approached, face ashen.
"Actually... a guest just arrived to meet Lord Julius..."
"I know."
Julius replied curtly and brushed past. A guest? Kyle tilted his head. Beside him, Aslan let out a quiet, surprised mutter.
"No way..."
Aslan seemed to have a hunch too, but Julius didn't break stride. Kyle didn't bother asking who. A few steps down the hall—
He sensed it: a joyful yet ferocious aura ahead. Kyle's face lit up like a kid spotting a new toy. He craned his neck to peek past Julius, who blocked the view.
At the final door to the gate stood a man draped in a black cloak over razor-sharp silver shoulder guards. He grinned wide, but his thin, keen eyes made even that look shady and off-putting.
"Long time no see, Lord Julius."
Halfway down the corridor, the man called out in a bright voice.
"Long time, Brother Aslan. Never dreamed I'd see you two rarities same day, same place. Talk about luck!"
"Still no manners."
Julius spat coldly.
"Haven't learned to sheathe your sword from the Church leader yet?"
"Hahaha! I'm no kid—I know how. Just don't feel like it."
A blue glint flashed between the man's narrowed eyes. He bared his sword intent openly, but Julius merely scolded, drawing no blade himself.
"What brings you here?"
"Curiosity. Why's Julius, who hasn't left Sword Tower in 13 years, out and about... Ah, I get the reason now. Lame one, though—never figured a giant like you would fetch your secluded son-in-law personally."
The blue gaze shifted to Aslan.
"Congrats are belated, Brother Aslan. Quite the sword gained from that long seclusion, eh? Our leader will be thrilled at your achievement."
"Evan."
Aslan frowned, visibly uncomfortable.
"It's been 13 years since I cut ties with Sword Church. Still calling me brother?"
"Absence makes the heart grow distant, sure—but we still grip our swords, don't we? Brother Aslan, a swordsman can't betray the church."
Evan shrugged with a grin.
"We're not demanding anything, so just stay our brother, nice and easy."
"How's the Church leader?"
Julius snorted.
"Thriving, as always. Mentions you and Brother Aslan now and then. Her elf sense of time baffles us humans—talks of meeting you like it was days ago."
"To an elf, 14 years might feel like days."
Julius muttered low and strode toward Evan. With each step, Evan's smile wavered more. Kyle hung back, watching Julius close the gap.
This wasn't mere walking. An invisible "sword" clash raged unseen. Evan's ferocious intent was being shredded, narrowing the distance. When fewer than ten steps remained between Julius and Evan, the latter groaned and staggered.
"To our leader... 14 years may be brief. But not to humans. Your sword has soared even higher, Lord Julius."
"If you truly want to test it, skip the games and visit Gladiheim."
Julius reached out and lightly patted Evan's shoulder. Evan dropped to one knee, vomiting blood.
"Pure curiosity, was it?"
"Haha..."
Evan looked up through cold sweat.
"You left Gladiheim just half a day ago. You know that, right? Our leader isn't the type to grasp a situation, scheme, and dispatch me in half a day."
"Fair enough."
"Thanks for understanding. I came purely curious. How much sword Aslan gained... and the vessel of Alastor's rumored youngest grandson."
Evan's gaze turned to Kyle. Pinned utterly by Julius, a sliver of his aura sharpened and lanced toward Kyle.
Kyle neither flinched nor retreated. Nor did he advance. He simply stood and met it head-on.
"Oh..."
Evan's eyes widened—but with his already narrow slits, it barely showed.
"Boy, care to join Sword Church?"
Proselytizing out of nowhere. Kyle stared silently, then asked:
"How strong are you in the church? Seventh?"
"Haha, fun question for such a vessel. Youngest of Sword Church's seven apostles."
"Eighth including the leader?"
"For now."
"Hmm."
Kyle pondered briefly. Evan's strength felt comparable to Aslan's. An eighth-rank that strong? Intriguing cult.
"Church doctrine?"
"Sword Pursuit, Sword Love, Sword Madness."
"Stuff any swordsman can do without joining."
Evan blinked at Kyle's grinning reply. In the ensuing silence, Julius barked a laugh and shoved the door open.
"Give the Church leader my regards."
Julius passed through. Kyle followed. Aslan, standing dumbstruck, hurried past Evan.
"..."
The door shut. Left alone in the corridor, Evan rose unsteadily and eyed it.
Thunder Emperor Julius Alastor, one of Ten Swords, being mighty was natural. Aslan Antares, ascended after 12-year seclusion, stronger than before? Natural too.
But Alastor pureblood's youngest grandson bearing such a vast vessel? Natural if you thought about it—but utterly beyond comprehension.
"Monster sires monster, sure... but those fangs are too sharp for such a young one."
The probing intent had been sliced clean. Not just parried—it had counter-lunged for his throat.
Evan chuckled wryly and shook his head.
*
"Dad was in Sword Church?"
"Briefly, when young."
In the room as the magic circle hummed to life, Aslan answered sheepishly.
"After the officer academy, wandering the world... Church folk approached. Said I'd learn swords I didn't know. So I joined."
"What'd you do?"
"Learned swords. That's it. Church is like that."
"No... bad stuff?"
"Nah. Just sword lovers gathering."
"Not all."
Julius said flatly.
"Leader doesn't rule. Not her style. Apostles under her vary wildly. That's why Church is such a pain."
"I-I only learned swords. Nothing else."
Aslan protested. Julius shot him a cold look.
"I know. If you'd done dirty work, no marrying my daughter—hell, no staying in Gladiheim."
"..."
"Church's mess stems from elf leader. Elves obsess over interests, ignore the rest. Won't curb underlings' schemes. No interest."
"True enough."
Aslan nodded with a bitter smile.
"Even rebellion? She'd ignore till blade's at her throat."
"That, and crazy bastard swordsmen pull dogshit? No scolding."
Elves were wholly alien. In some ways, more detached from humans than demons. Innately so.
Demons mirrored humans: emotional, greedy. Elves? Blunt to feelings, no greed.
They lived far too long. Thousand-year lifespan rumor or not, their lives were absurdly extended.
To endure without madness or boredom, each elf fixated on one interest.
'Fate.'
In Kyle's past life, the elf Raikal took in called it "fate." Elves devoted life to theirs—ignored all else.
'Helena.'
Kyle recalled the elf now dubbed Church leader. Ungrateful brat from slave market: saved her, not a tear of thanks.
Yet trailed him, begging sword lessons. Zero talent with blade.
'If sword's your fate and you're still at it... I'll see your sword someday.'
The Sword Ghost had taught sword basics to a swordless elf kid. Kyle sank into 500-year-old memories.
The warp gate activated.
At Vigrid's northern warp gate in the Empire stood Lennon with the sky carriage waiting.
"Long time no see, Lord Aslan."
A quick greeting, and the three boarded.
Kyle's brief outing ended. Time to head home.
*
The sky carriage touched down in Sword Garden before Sword Tower. Before descending, Kyle checked the window.
Relatives gathered, Arian front and center, arms crossed. Her face—the fiercest Kyle had ever seen.
"Mom's pissed."
"You started it. You wrap it up."
Julius drew the line with a sly grin.
"Dad should apologize."
Kyle shot back, eyeing Aslan.
"What're you waiting for? Get out, kneel before Mom, confess."
"Uh...!"
Aslan steeled himself and opened the door. He paused, turning to Kyle.
"You...?"
"After Mom calms."
Kyle replied stone-faced.
Whatever inside, a 12-year-old feared Mom's wrath more than any blade at his throat.
"G-got it."
Aslan felt the same. Great swordsman or not, guilty husband too. Fault? His 100%, hers zero.
Sweat pouring, he stepped out.
Boom!
The moment he did, a heavy gust blasted him back.
"Who said you could slink in here?!"
Kyle flinched instinctively at the thunderous roar from outside, breath catching as his shoulders hunched.