Dungeon? This Tree? Why Don't You Join Me for Lunch? (Dungeon Core)
Chapter 53: That Darn Liar!

Chapter 53: Chapter 53: That Darn Liar!

Mordred came as soon as I called him, bless his Boliarin heart. Morty refused to come.

Apparently, he was still angry about the fact that I saddled him with about as many children as one could shake a stick at.

Most of them Boliarins.

I didn’t hold it against him. If Methuselah had placed nymphs inside of the shrubs I dragged to him, I would have been angry as well.

But that was beside the point. I had bigger problems.

"I can’t believe you can’t even chop a carrot without cutting yourself," sure, we were at war, and I didn’t have much time to raise my sons, but Mordred should still be able to do something so basic.

"Well, did you ever show me how?" he was still wrapping his finger in black silk.

I wanted to tell him that he just needed to eat some stew, and his wound would go away, but he seemed to use it to impress the villagers.

The pretty men, in particular.

I approved. Better humans than Lich, vampires, or zombies.

Or worse yet... Desmond or Nick.

Because, if I had to be honest, that redhead really liked to teach Mordred things. And Nick always had something to say to him.

I pouted, looking at my son.

What was I thinking? Knowing him, if he wanted that ship to sail, it already had done so.

"Dad?" Mordred asked, as he placed the cleaver in my hand. "Come on! Show me how!"

I sighed. Ok, this could bring us together. That was good, at least.

"Ok, there are many ways to cut up a carrot," I told him because it was the truth. But he had the reflexes of a green potato. "But this is the best one for you."

I cut the carrot in half. Then cut the half in half. Then cut the halves into carrot sticks.

"Now you try," I handed him the cleaver.

Soon, he was giggling as he cut carrot after carrot. I nodded and then picked up a potato. Beginning to cut it around the middle, so I could peel it with just a pull after it ended up nicely boiled.

"Dad, what is this about?" He asked, pausing in his cutting.

I sighed. He was Aron’s son. He should care.

"Your papa Nate has captured your papa Aron!" I blurted out. Mordred blinked at me, but I just continued on. If I stopped at that moment, I knew that he’ll just leave. "Aron has made SOS out of my spaghetti!"

I placed the cold plate with noodles and tomato sauce under his nose. He touched Aron’s image, then took out a fork.

I watched it in mute horror as my son ate his father’s doll-like noodle image.

"Mordred!" I sprang to my feet. What was this kid doing now?

"What? It’s your cooking. Like hell I’m missing out," Mordred sighed. Pausing in his eating. Aron’s statue, if one could call something made out of spaghetti a statue, was already eaten.

And a couple of SOS signs next to it besides.

"Look, dad," Mordred slurped some more of the spaghetti. So, as if he didn’t know how to tell me that, which he wanted to tell me. "Father Nathaniel is the Eye Eater."

I nodded. I knew that silly nickname.

"He eats eyes," Mordred continued.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Has he threatened you?" I asked my dear son, whom I loved about as much as my own organs. Both the ones under my skin and the ones which could be gauged out with fingernails.

Which, I guess, also included my skin...

I shook my head. No!

Nate had threatened Mordred! How dare that bastard! Love was not won that way!

There was no way that I could take this lying down.

"Dad, only a fool wouldn’t be afraid," he told me slowly. So, as if he wanted for me to understand where he was coming from. "I mean... I’ve seen him fight."

I have as well, but that didn’t change one thing:

Mordred is my son! My almost human son!

"He’s going down," I said, not caring that the food shipments were going to become a thing of the past. "He is going down and Aron is going to wait for me! Because I am his prince charming!"

I wanted to take everything away from Nathaniel. I wanted to take away his charm, the love Aron felt for him, for if he had not, he wouldn’t have shared.

Mordred’s respect for the man.

Morty’s love for a father who didn’t care. I guess... for two fathers who didn’t care.

Aron always tried with the children. He was always there for them.

I placed a gentle hand on Mordred’s shoulder. He looked at it so, as if it was going to infect him with something.

"Mordred, you are my son. Just like Morty," I began.

I wanted for him to know that if he was hungry, I was going to feed him.

If he wanted for me to stitch him a dramatic black robe, I was going to do that too.

Even at that point in time, as overflowing with the mothering instinct to just fatten him up and let him play with his friends as I was, I still refused to stitch together a corset... even one from leather and tight enough to show off his abs.

"And our family will be whole once more!" I proclaimed finally, as he began to edge away from me.

"Dad, there is this really nice house in the woods," he began. I began to nod. Thinking that I had earned his trust.

That we, father and son, were going to team up, and that goodness was going to save the day!

I could already see Mordred using his mana and superior fighting skills to tie up Nathaniel and throw him down a well!

"With nice white padded rooms! It is nice and cozy! Let me lead you there. You can take a break there! You know, just for a couple of hundreds of years!"

My own son wanted to dump me into a mental hospital.

I took a hold of one of his carrot sticks and snapped it in half.

<em>dare</em>."">"Do it if you dare."¹

He whimpered.

Well, I guess I was on my own...