Chương 458: Letters from a Demon Father

Lunch unfolded quietly, the clatter of silverware blending with soft conversation. The table, silent in the first few minutes, soon filled with stories. Everyone had something to share about the previous year, a stretch of time that had felt far longer than twelve months. Franky kept his distance. The little wyvern lingered in the hallway with only his head angled toward the cracked door. His curious eyes tracked every movement in the dining room.

He wouldn't dare approach the table, but he clearly refused to miss anything either. Luke had placed a plate of food on the floor near the corridor: meat, a few fruits, and some regular leftovers. Beside it he set two small bowls, one with water and the other with milk. He had no real idea what a newborn wyvern was supposed to eat; all he knew was that they were smaller cousins of dragons. So he'd offered a bit of everything and left the choice to Franky.

"So I actually had a funeral?" Luke asked, swallowing the knot of curiosity and grief the topic stirred in him. The family hesitated. The memory was heavy, but with Luke sitting there, alive, talking, breathing, the pain had given way to a relief that still felt unreal.

"It was symbolic," Martin explained, leaning forward on his elbows.

"After eight months with no trace of you, I had to do it. For Clara's sake." Luke's adoptive mother said nothing. She only twisted her napkin between her fingers, her shoulders tight. His sister, seated beside him, rested her head against his arm, the same way she had when she was little.

"I knew you'd come back, brother. You told me you'd take care of me forever."

"And I will," he promised with a tired, affectionate smile.

"You won't even have to work. You can spend your whole life playing games and watching cartoons." The table let out a quiet laugh. The air lightened as more stories came: the frantic searches, the missing posters plastered across town, the endless lines at government offices. No official agency could help. The "tutorial" wasn't a place any government could imagine, much less reach.

"I'm sorry about your engagement, Noah," Luke said at one point. The fact that Luke disappeared seems to have ended up hurting his brother's relationship.

"My brother vanished. If I couldn't help find you or hold the family together… why would I start a new one of my own?" He shook his head lightly.

"Don't worry. Things weren't great between us anyway." Luke nodded, but the guilt wouldn't budge.

"Want some more, Artemis?" Clara asked suddenly, hoping to shift the mood. Luke took the chance to explain the enchanted necklace. At first, no one believed him, until a voice, unmistakably feminine echoed from the artifact and made everyone glance around the table in shock.

"It's all right, Mrs. Baumann. I'm not hungry," Artemis replied. Her voice was gentle and polite, nothing like the tone Luke was used to hearing from her.

"You're not hungry?" Luke repeated, suspicious.

"Where are the insults because I'm not feeding you? Where are the complaints?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Luke," Artemis replied.

"A lady eats only what she needs and does not use crude language." Oh, this damn woman is pretending to be normal.

After lunch, Martin and Noah decided to stay home instead of returning to the office. They worked together at the law firm, but neither of them had the slightest mindset for routine that day. When Luke stood to head upstairs, Franky followed immediately, padding behind him with light, almost soundless steps.

"Luke," Noah called, catching up before he reached the first stair.

"Is it okay if I use your computer for work? I'm staying here with you all for a while. Dad's been using my laptop lately." Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"Go ahead," Luke replied.

"Strangely enough… technology feels weird to me now. It's like I've lost the desire to touch anything electronic."

"Thanks," Noah said, giving his brother's shoulder a quick squeeze before stepping back. Luke entered his room and shut the door. The moment he turned around, Franky was already inside.

"Why are you following me?" Franky clicked his tongue, the sound halfway between impatience and some instinctive animal tic.

"You said you'd take me to the magic place. Until then… I'm staying close to you." Luke sat on the bed while the wyvern hatchling scampered straight toward the small kid's play tent in the corner.

"This looks like a good den," Franky declared, inspecting the interior.

"There are more dead human females here. It makes the area scary and threatening to others." Luke stared at the pink tent overflowing with Barbies.

"Oh yeah… terrifying spot you've chosen." He finally lay back on the bed. The mattress, the familiar feel of the pillow, the smooth ceiling above him with no cracks and no threat of monsters falling through, all of it should have been comforting. And it was, but not in the way it used to be. The rest felt different, almost disorienting, as if his body were trying to readjust to a world that no longer matched him.

"I made it… I'm really here," he whispered to himself, like he needed to say it aloud before the moment dissolved. But even surrounded by family, something inside his chest felt out of place. The discomfort didn't come from them. It came from the world itself, from the electronics, the quiet house, the absence of that constant invisible presence of the system. Technology felt cold now, stripped of meaning, stripped of purpose. Now I understand why Erza said medieval life is the perfect state of humanity…

The thought echoed in his mind with a strange clarity. He never imagined he would agree with something like that, but there it was, the lingering sensation that his body, or maybe the part shaped by the system, was calling him back to the tutorial. It wasn't about leaving his family. It never would be. It was something closer to biology, a pull toward the pace of constant evolution, toward a world engineered to test and sharpen him. As if part of his soul had been conditioned to exist only while moving forward.

He had read something similar years ago in school. When wars ended, many soldiers returned home only to discover that home no longer warmed them the same way. Some couldn't bear to hold a weapon ever again, broken by trauma. Others… others wanted to go back to the front. Normal life felt suffocating. The lack of danger left a hollow space.

He remembered learning that some veterans of the world wars fell into deep depression after returning home, as if their bodies and minds still lived on the battlefield, addicted to the adrenaline, the focus, the constant state of alert. That was it. That was exactly what he was feeling. It hadn't even been a full day since he returned to modern society. Maybe it was his analytical mind trying to impose order again. Maybe a trauma he hadn't learned to name yet.

Or maybe it was the "wolf" he had fed for months, the instinct that had kept him alive more than once. He wasn't sure. He only knew that everything felt… strange. Strange, but not entirely in a bad way. Beneath the discomfort, there was a quiet, almost humble happiness at being close to his family again. I suppose my inner self wants to go back to that routine; this normal life has been left behind. The moment the thought formed, he recognized it as truth. But he didn't blame himself.

That instinct was something he needed to carry. It wasn't weakness. It was fuel. His journey was far from over, and he would only rest when it was truly time to retire. Maybe that's it. Maybe my mind is screaming that if I want to help Allison and stay on track with my plan, I'm losing precious minutes just standing here. Even so, he decided to allow himself a small break… just until things at home settled down again. After that, he'd head to New World.

Now that he had his new citizenship, he wasn't just an American, he was an American with a system. He had rights most people would never have. He had access to a different internet, one reserved exclusively for system users. A privilege, but also a responsibility. Slowly, he pulled his kukris from the inventory and studied the blades. The bedroom light reflected across them unevenly, revealing fractures the system hadn't completely erased.

"You're reaching the end of your lives," he murmured. The weapons looked like cracked glass, as if shattered and pieced back together. Still whole, still functional, but carrying deep scars, just like him.

"I hope you can take me a little farther on this journey," he whispered. At least until he could get new weapons. He reached into his pocket dimension and pulled out something else, the letter delivered by Samael, written by Azazel. The paper felt heavy, as if it carried more than ink. He opened it carefully. My heir, I am pleased with your progress thus far. You have advanced well, beyond what many would dare expect, and I believe the time has come for us to meet.

I imagine you have countless questions, especially considering the improbable situation that has recently arisen… or will soon arise. Travel to the City of Sirius. There is something there meant for you, though only if you know how to find it. Once you have found what awaits you, come to me. Then we shall speak properly. Your Demon Father. Luke released a long breath and folded the letter.

"I guess that's a good first step," he murmured.

"I'll go to Sirius… and then deal with this demon father of mine."