The War God’s Return

Chapter 3: Ashes Of Loyalty

Mila’s home was a testament to suffering—cracked walls, a sagging roof, furniture held together by hope and desperation. This was what loyalty to my family had cost them.

"Father! Father, he's here!" Mila pushed through the door, her voice bright with emotion. "Young Master Damian came back!"

I followed her inside, Serena silent at my shoulder. The room was dim, lit by a single weak bulb. And there, in a battered wheelchair by the window, sat Benjamin Everett .

Time had ravaged him. White hair, hollow cheeks, trembling hands. But when his eyes met mine, recognition flared like a dying ember suddenly fed oxygen.

"Young Master?" His voice cracked. "Young Master Damian? Is it truly you?"

"It's me, Uncle Benjamin." I crossed the room and knelt before him. "I'm home."

The old steward's composure shattered. Tears carved paths down his weathered face as he reached for me with shaking hands. "You survived. Heaven be praised, you survived."

I took his hands—so frail now, so cold—and my gaze fell to his legs. They lay twisted beneath a threadbare blanket, clearly broken beyond repair.

"Your legs," I said softly. "Who did this to you?"

Benjamin's smile was painful to witness, bitter and resigned. "It doesn't matter anymore, Young Master. What matters is you're alive. You're here."

"It matters to me. Tell me."

"After the massacre, men came," Milaanswered when her father hesitated. "They wanted to know where your parents were buried. They wanted to destroy the graves, erase every trace of the Reynolds family." Pride and anguish warred in her voice. "But Father refused. He wouldn't tell them. So they beat him with metal pipes until his legs shattered. The doctors said he'll never walk again."

The rage that filled me was cold, controlled. The kind I'd learned to master on battlefields far from here.

"Uncle Benjamin—" I began.

"I'd do it again," he interrupted firmly. "Your father gave me everything. Dignity. Purpose. A good life for my daughter. Protecting your family's honor—even in death—was my duty and my privilege." His grip tightened on my hands. "Seeing you alive makes every moment of pain worth it."

"Father, Damian avenged you today!" Mila burst out, unable to contain her excitement. "Young Master found those thugs at the cemetery and broke their legs! All of them! Even Gavin Gallagher—the heir himself!"

Benjamin's face went white as parchment. "What? You attacked  Gavin Gallagher?"

"They were trying to destroy my parents' graves," I said calmly. "I stopped them."

"Young Master, please—please tell me this is a misunderstanding!" Benjamin's voice rose in panic. "The Gallagher family—they're C-ranked! They have connections, resources! You can't antagonize families like that anymore! Things have changed!"

"They're nothing."

"Nothing?" Benjamin looked at me with desperate eyes. "Young Master, I know you've suffered. I know you've grown strong. But these families—they've consolidated power while you were gone! The Gallagher alone could crush us! You have to leave Chicago! Run before they—"

The front door exploded inward with a crash that made us all jump.

A young man strutted through the splintered doorway like he owned the world. Expensive suits, designer watches, and hair styled with more care than some people give their children. Three muscular bodyguards filed in behind him, filling the cramped space with threat.

"Mila, darling!" His voice was smooth, oily. "I was passing by and thought I'd check on my favorite girl. Have you thought about my proposal?"

Mila's expression twisted with revulsion. "Get out, Charles."

Charles Dawson. I knew the name—pharmaceutical empire, C-ranked family, ambitious and ruthless. They'd been trying to climb the social ladder for years.

Charles's eyes slid over to me, curious. "Who's this? New charity case, Mila? Or have you finally found yourself a boyfriend?" He smirked. "Either way, terrible choice. Look at this dump you're all living in like rats."

"Leave our home," Mila said through gritted teeth. "Now."

"Your home?" Charles laughed, the sound grating. "This shack barely qualifies as shelter, sweetheart. You're living worse than beggars. Your crippled father can't even afford his pain medication anymore. But I—" He spread his arms magnanimously. "—I'm offering you salvation. A life of comfort. Medical care for daddy dearest. All for the small price of becoming my woman."

"I'd rather die in the streets," Mila spat.

"So dramatic. So stupid." Charles sighed like a disappointed teacher. "Most girls would kill for the chance to be with a Reed heir. But you? You cling to this pathetic pride like it's worth something." His smile turned cruel. "Newsflash, darling—pride doesn't pay for medical bills."

"Charles Dawson." Benjamin's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Get out of my house."

"Oh, Benjaminy-boy." Charles turned to face the wheelchair, his expression mockingly sympathetic. "Still playing the protective father? How touching. How utterly pathetic." He crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with the old steward. 

"Let's talk reality, old man. Your legs are completely destroyed. Without proper pain management, you're suffering twenty-four hours a day. And you know why you can't get anything stronger than baby aspirin? Because I made sure of it. One call from me, and every pharmacy in Chicago knows not to serve you."

Benjamin's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

"But here's the beautiful part," Charles continued, voice dripping with false kindness. 

"I can fix everything. One phone call. Best doctors in the country. Medications that actually work. Physical therapy. Hell, maybe you'll even walk again. All I'm asking for is your daughter's companionship. She keeps me happy, and you get to live without pain. Is that really so unreasonable?"

"Yes," Benjamin said flatly. "It is."

"Father, please don't—" Mila's voice broke.

"Listen to me clearly, Charles Dawson," Benjamin declared, his voice ringing with steel. "Even if I never stand again for the rest of my miserable life, I will never—never—allow my daughter to be with scum like you. She deserves better than a spoiled, worthless brat who thinks money makes him a man."

Charles's mask slipped. His handsome face twisted into something vicious. "Scum? Worthless? You crippled old bastard—do you have any idea who you're insulting?"

"A pathetic child playing dress-up in his father's empire," Benjamin replied coldly.

"You think your righteousness means anything?" Charles's voice rose to a shout.

 "You think your suffering is noble? Let me educate you, you decrepit fool! This world belongs to people like me! The strong! The wealthy! The ones willing to take what they want!" He leaned in close, his face inches from Benjamin's. "Your precious Reynolds family thought they were untouchable too. Look how that turned out! They were slaughtered like pigs because they were weak! Just like you!"

Serena's hand twitched toward her blade. I shook my head slightly.

"You want to be stubborn?" Charles straightened up, his voice turning icy. "Fine. Game over, old man. From this moment on, you can give up any hope of ever walking again. No treatment. No therapy. Nothing." 

He smiled, cruel and satisfied. "And here's the best part—I'm personally calling every pharmacy, every clinic, every doctor in this city. No painkillers. Not even the garbage you've been barely surviving on. You're going to suffer, Benjamin. Every second of every day. And when you're screaming in agony, begging for death, you'll remember this moment. You'll remember that all of this happened because you were too proud and too stupid to give me what I wanted."

"You monster," Milaw whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"I'm a businessman, sweetheart," Charles corrected smugly. "And in business, you need leverage. I have it. You don't. Simple economics." He adjusted his suit, clearly pleased with himself. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have phone calls to make. Lots of pharmacies to contact. Lots of doctors to... persuade."

He turned toward the door, victory written across every line of his body.

The silence in that cramped, broken house was absolute.

Charles paused at the threshold, looking back over his shoulder with a final, poisonous smile.

"Oh, and Mila? When your father is writhing in pain, unable to sleep, unable to think, unable to do anything but hurt—remember that you could have prevented all of it. Sweet dreams, darling."