Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 99: So be it

Chapter 99: So be it

"You know, when you left for the battlefield, Oliver cried for weeks," the count says, his voice soft but insistent.

And what exactly am I supposed to do with that information? My expression must have given away my thoughts, because he quickly adds, "Don’t be so mean."

I bite back a sigh, turning my gaze to the chessboard between us, though my mind is far from the game. The count’s words linger in the air, and I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for some kind of reaction. But what am I supposed to say? It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like this, though the detail about Oliver crying for weeks is...new.

"To be honest," the count continues, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort, "I thought it was just a childhood crush at best. You know how kids are." He smiles a little, a hint of nostalgia playing at the edges of his expression.

"But when you came back from the battlefield, all cold and cruel, and Oliver still looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky...I realized it was more than that. Unfortunately."

I blink, trying to process the sudden turn this conversation has taken. What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t know how to deal with people’s feelings for me—never have. And now he’s bringing up his son’s infatuation like I’m supposed to do something about it?

The count sighs heavily, as if reading my silence. "I know you might never feel the same way," he admits, his voice tinged with resignation. "But as a father, watching my boy suffer like that...it tears at me."

What can I possibly say?

Instead, I keep my mouth shut, letting the silence stretch between us. The weight of his words lingers in the air, but I can’t bring myself to offer him any comfort.

*

I watch him, this man who has become a force of nature. The boy I once taught a few basic sword techniques, never expecting he’d rise to such formidable heights. If someone had told the younger me that the scrawny, bruised teenager would grow into the most feared general in the kingdom, I might have laughed them off. But here he is, and I can’t deny the irony.

Being the king’s childhood friend and his mentor made me untouchable for years—no one dared to challenge me. My influence extended far beyond my title, and I enjoyed the luxury of power few others could even imagine. But power is a fickle thing, especially when you share it with fools like the Robbens and the Crown Prince. I miscalculated back then, chose not to interfere when Thorne was being targeted. I had convinced myself he was dead. In fact, I was on the verge of breaking the news to Oliver, preparing to console my son. And then, just as I had resigned myself to the loss, Thorne returned—alive, resilient, and angrier than ever. His strength is what caught my eye, the way he clawed his way back from hell over and over again.

Twelve years ago, I tried to secure my family’s future. I wanted Thorne to marry Oliver, to join our line and become part of the Raymond legacy. But I was impatient. The Robbens were idiotic, and their cruelty only pushed Thorne further away. I should have known better. A 14-year-old alpha with raw, uncontrolled pheromones wouldn’t take kindly to being asked to marry into a family, especially after enduring such abuse. I failed to consider his pride, his anger.

-Twelve years ago-

"You look like hell," I say, staring at the boy in my office. Thorne stands before me, bruises littering his face, his body.

"Just my luck. Sevian made me his punching bag again," Thorne says with a shrug, his voice as lifeless as his eyes. It’s disheartening, seeing a boy so young, yet so hollow.

"You don’t have to endure that, you know." I lean back, watching his expression closely.

"I hit him back, and the guards decided to join in," he mutters, indifferent. There’s a darkness in him, a simmering anger that I’ve always noticed but never addressed.

I chuckle. The boy’s temper is notorious, but that’s what I like about him. "What you need is power. Power to make them fear you, to make them leave you alone."

He mumbles something under his breath, but I ignore it. My son, Oliver, enters the room then. I watch as he tends to Thorne’s wounds with gentle hands, his concern written plainly across his face. Oh dear, he’s too obvious. The way he looks at Thorne—it’s as if the stars are in his eyes. It’s almost painful to watch.

After Oliver leaves, I turn my attention back to Thorne. "So, what do you think of my son?"

"Who? Oliver?" Thorne replies, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," I say, waiting.

"He’s... okay, I guess," Thorne shrugs, clearly uninterested.

"That’s it?" I press. "You know, he’s an omega... and you’re an alpha."

"What?! No, master, I’m barely alive. I’ve had no time to think about such things!" he protests, shaking his head as if I’ve just asked him something absurd.

I smirk. "I’m just saying, Thorne."

"Ha! I think you should look for better options than a bastard son," he grumbles, dismissing the notion as quickly as I present it.

"Bastard or not, you’re noble, talented, not unfortunate looking, and I like you. You’d make a fine heir," I say, watching his reaction closely. He pauses, considering my words, but says nothing.

I push further. "Besides, as my son-in-law, the Robbens wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you."

He falls silent, and I know he’s weighing the offer. But that was my mistake—assuming that silence meant consideration.

-Present day-

The very next day, I learned that Thorne had run away, straight to the battlefield. I had misjudged him, underestimated his desire for independence. I didn’t expect him to survive, honestly. Five years passed, and when he finally returned, he came back a hero. A damn legend. And I lost my chance to secure him for Oliver.

But this time, I won’t let him slip through my fingers. I see the way Oliver looks at him now, the quiet pain he hides behind his smiles. My son has suffered enough. I will not stand by and let him be hurt any longer. I’ve failed once, but I won’t

fail again.

If I have to take matters into my own hands, so be it.

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