The Loser Is the War Commander

Chapter 3: The Crippled Steward

The evening sun cast long shadows across the narrow streets of Duskfort's lower district as Darius, Aria, and Alessia made their way through the maze of cramped alleys.

 The buildings here leaned against each other like exhausted soldiers, their paint peeling, their windows cracked and patched with cardboard.

Alessia led them to a small, run-down house tucked between a closed butcher shop and an abandoned textile factory.

 The door hung slightly crooked on its hinges, and the roof tiles were mismatched—evidence of makeshift repairs done with whatever materials could be scavenged.

"Father's inside," Alessia said quietly, her earlier joy from the cemetery now replaced with visible anxiety. "Please... please don't be shocked by his condition, Young Master."

She pushed open the door, and the smell hit Darius immediately—medicinal ointments, old sweat, and the distinct odor of illness and confinement. The interior was dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb that swung from a frayed wire.

In the center of the cramped room sat an old man in a battered wheelchair. His hair had gone completely white, his face deeply lined with suffering. But his eyes—those eyes still held a spark of the proud, capable steward who had once managed the entire Kane household.

"Alessia? You're back early—" Bill Jackson's words died in his throat as his gaze fell upon Darius. The color drained from his weathered face, then flooded back in a rush. "Young... Young Master? Is that really you?"

"Hello, Bill," Darius said softly, stepping forward into the light.

The old steward's hands trembled violently on the armrests of his wheelchair. His mouth worked soundlessly for several moments before a strangled sob broke free. "You're alive! Thank the heavens, you're alive!"

Tears streamed down Bill's wrinkled cheeks as he wheeled himself forward with shaking hands. "Three years! Three years I've prayed! I thought—I thought they'd found you too! I thought—"

Darius knelt before the wheelchair, and his gaze immediately fell to Bill's legs. They were twisted, bent at unnatural angles beneath the blanket covering them, the bones clearly shattered beyond normal healing.

Something cold and dark settled in Darius's chest. "Your legs..."

Bill followed his gaze and let out a bitter, broken laugh. "Ah. These old things? Don't worry about them, Young Master. They served me well enough for sixty years. What's a few more without them?"

"Father, don't," Alessia whispered, fresh tears spilling down her face.

"Who did this to you?" Darius asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Bill's expression hardened, the momentary joy of reunion fading into something grimmer. "It doesn't matter now, Young Master. What matters is that you're safe. You're alive. That's all I—"

"Bill." Darius's tone left no room for evasion. "Tell me."

The old steward sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of memory. "After... after that night, after your family was..." He couldn't finish the sentence. "They came for me. Demanded to know where the Kane family would be buried. They wanted to desecrate the graves, Young Master. To erase every last trace of your bloodline from this city."

"And you refused," Darius said quietly.

"Of course I refused!" Bill's voice cracked with emotion. "Your father saved my life twenty years ago! Your mother treated my daughter like her own! How could I betray them, even in death? How could I—"

His words dissolved into racking sobs. Alessia moved to her father's side, wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders.

Bill composed himself with visible effort. "They broke my legs with iron rods. Shattered every bone from the hip down. Left me in an alley to die. If Alessia hadn't found me..." He shook his head. "The doctors said I'd never walk again. Even with the best treatment, the damage is too severe. But honestly, Young Master, I'd make the same choice again. I'd—"

"Father avenged you today!" Alessia burst out, unable to contain herself. "Young Master Darius beat them all! He made them pay for what they did!"

Bill's face went white as fresh snow. "What? Alessia, what are you saying?"

"At the cemetery!" Alessia's voice brimmed with pride and vindication. "The Gonzalez family sent men to destroy the graves, but the Young Master stopped them! He and Miss Aria defeated them all! Even Gary Gonzalez himself couldn't—"

"THE GONZALEZ FAMILY?!" Bill's roar echoed through the small house. His hands gripped the wheelchair armrests so hard his knuckles turned bone-white. "Young Master, please tell me she's exaggerating! Please tell me you didn't provoke the Gonzalez family!"

Darius remained kneeling, his expression calm. "I did what was necessary."

"No, no, no!" Bill's voice rose to a panicked pitch. "Young Master, you don't understand! The Gonzalez family is C-ranked nobility! They have connections, resources, and private armies! They can make people disappear with a phone call! You can't—you can't fight them! Not now, not like this!"

"They're insects," Darius said simply. "Nothing more."

"INSECTS?!" Bill looked like he might collapse from sheer terror. "Young Master, please! You must leave Duskfort immediately! Tonight! Before they organize their retaliation! Take Alessia, take whatever you need, but GO! I'm an old cripple—it doesn't matter what happens to me. But you—you're the last of the Kane bloodline! You must survive! You must—"

The front door exploded inward with a thunderous BANG.

The broken wood slammed against the wall, and a figure sauntered through the ruined doorway as if he owned the place. He was young—perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four—with slicked-back hair and a designer suit that probably cost more than Bill's entire house. His shoes alone could have fed a family for a month.

This was Adam Heinz, heir to the C-ranked Heinz family pharmaceutical empire.

"Well, well!" Adam's voice oozed false cheerfulness as he surveyed the room. "The Jackson family, all gathered together! How quaint! How... pathetic!"

He stepped over the broken door without a second glance, his polished shoes clicking against the worn floorboards. Three bodyguards followed him inside, their bulk filling the small space with oppressive presence.

Adam's gaze slid over Darius and Aria with casual dismissal before settling on Alessia with predatory interest. "So, my dear Alessia, have you reconsidered my generous offer?"

Alessia's face contorted with disgust. "Get out."

"Now, now, don't be hasty!" Adam spread his hands in mock innocence. "I'm offering you a chance at a better life! All you have to do is become my mistress—just a small, insignificant title—and in exchange, I'll arrange for your crippled father to receive the best medical treatment available. We're talking about world-class surgeons, experimental procedures, and the works!"

"I said GET OUT!" Alessia's voice shook with rage.

Adam's smile never wavered. "Think about it rationally, you foolish girl. Your father is rotting in that wheelchair, getting worse every day. Those twisted stumps he calls legs cause him constant agony. But I can make it all go away. All you have to do is warm my bed a few nights a week. Is your pride really worth more than your father's suffering?"

"You vile piece of—" Alessia started forward, but Bill's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"Alessia, no," Bill said quietly, his voice like stone grinding against stone.

Adam laughed—a sound like nails on glass. "Oh, the crippled dog still has some fight in him! That's adorable! Tell me, old man, how's the pain these days? I heard you've been begging the local pharmacies for stronger painkillers."

Bill's jaw clenched so hard the muscles stood out like cables. "My daughter will never be with scum like you. Not if I have to crawl through hell itself."

"Scum?" Adam's expression darkened. "SCUM? I'm offering you a lifeline, you ungrateful wretch! Do you know what happens to beggars who insult their betters?"

He turned to one of his bodyguards. "Make a note. Effective immediately, every pharmacy in the lower district is to refuse service to Bill Jackson. No painkillers, no medications, nothing."

"You can't—" Alessia gasped.

"I CAN'T?!" Adam whirled on her, his face flushed with rage. "My family OWNS half the pharmaceutical supply chain in this city! With one phone call, I can make sure your father spends his remaining days screaming in agony! Every nerve in those broken legs will feel like they're being chewed by rats! He'll beg for death before I'm done with him!"

Bill's face had gone gray, but his voice remained steady. "Do your worst, Heinz. I'd rather die in pain than see my daughter degraded by a monster like you."

"Then you'll get your wish, old fool!" Adam sneered. "And when you're writhing in your filthy bed, crying like the pathetic animal you are, maybe your daughter will finally understand that pride is a luxury she can't afford!"

He turned back to Alessia, his expression shifting back to false sweetness. "The offer expires tonight, my dear. Either you come to my estate before midnight, or your father loses access to everything—medicine, doctors, even basic bandages. I'll make sure every medical professional in Duskfort knows that helping Bill Jackson means making an enemy of the Heinz family."

Adam's smile widened, revealing teeth like a shark's. "So what will it be, Alessia? Your body, or your father's screams? Choose wisely."