The Epic of the Discarded Son-Chapter 45: Introduction

’How did I end up in this position?’

’Oh yeah. Nora dragged me here by the ear. Something about me acting weird.’

Saying no to her was harder than any fight he’d ever been in. And he’d been in a lot of fights. None of them scared him as much as that girl once she decided something was happening.

He glanced around. They were all sitting together. Chatting. Smiling. The kind of easy warmth that comes from people who’ve bled alongside each other for years.

And for some reason, he felt distant. Like watching a fire through a window.

He’d thought—stupidly, naively—that he’d get to spend the whole trip with Nora. Just the two of them. Talking. Catching up. Maybe sitting in comfortable silence while the ocean did all the work.

That dream lasted about ten seconds.

A quick glance to his right. Luca. The uninvited guest who’d invited himself and somehow made everyone happy about it.

Everyone except Shiro.

But more than the sting of watching someone else occupy the space he wanted—he felt out of place. Especially when they started talking.

Their greatest fights. Their achievements. How they’d taken the rank of captain from the one before them and defended it against challengers who came after. How they’d slain countless greater-ranked monsters—the great beasts known to most as legends, like it was just another Tuesday.

Each story was a test of strength on its own. And each one reminded him that his greatest achievement so far was sneaking up on a captain and letting his knight do most of the work. He didn’t really have anything to show for it.

So he did the next best thing. He just focused on eating.

The belly meat. The least desirable cut on the floor—thin, fatty, barely any flesh on it, so nobody wanted it. The kind people tossed aside or boiled down for oil.

But once again, Rei was right.

The flesh melted in his mouth. He didn’t even need to chew. It just dissolved—rich, buttery, warm—coating his tongue with a flavor so good it should’ve been illegal to throw away.

He had stacks on his plate. Stack on stack. And he worked through them with the quiet, focused intensity of a man who had found the one good thing about this evening and was not letting go.

At some point, he forgot he was surrounded by people. It was just him and the belly meat, having the best relationship he’d been in all day.

Just then, a voice ruined the moment.

"So how about the youngest captain?" Luca asked, that smug look sitting on his face like it paid rent there. "What has he accomplished?"

Every eye at the table shifted to Shiro.

He didn’t have much to say. Couldn’t exactly match their stories of slaying greater-ranked monsters and defending titles earned through blood and years of service.

’What have I accomplished?’ 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

’Well, I killed a captain. More like snuck up on one while he wasn’t looking. And a few dozen foot soldiers that my knight handled while I watched.’

’Real heroic stuff.’

’Oh yeah. My knight.’

He didn’t want to bring him out. Not really. Because it wasn’t him who’d done the fighting.

’Not exactly a story worth telling.’

But Luca was still staring. Still waiting. Still wearing that smug face that needed to be wiped clean.

Shiro stared back at him. Mid-chew. Unbothered.

’Yeah. That’ll shut him up.’

After swallowing, a smile crept across his face.

"Come out."

The Ebony Knight rose from his shadow. Slowly.

As it rose, the ship swayed. The tide surged. The air thickened with something heavy and old and violent—a presence so dense it pressed against the chest of everyone on deck.

Shiro turned to the knight, still chewing slowly and genuinely confused. For a moment, he thought they were being attacked. But it was just the knight and its overdramatic entrance.

Even he hadn’t expected this much presence. The thing had risen like it was making a statement. Like it wanted the world to know it existed and was not happy about being disturbed.

"Okay, bud. Let’s tone it down a bit." He waved his hand lazily. "It’s a friendly introduction. Not a declaration of war."

The knight tilted its helm. Up. Then down. A nod.

But the damage was done. It had come out with killing intent so thick you could choke on it—not because it was threatened, but because it wanted to make its master look good.

’I appreciate the effort. But you just scared everyone half to death.’

The faces around the floor told the rest. Shock. Disbelief. Which was expected.

Even the things beneath the water—the dark shapes that had been trailing the ship for hours—scattered. Gone. Like they’d suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be.

At the same time, at the corner of his eye, he noticed Nora’s hand slide across the table. Her fork speared one of his belly pieces and vanished back to her plate in one smooth, practiced motion.

He turned to her. Eyes wide.

She popped it in her mouth. One bite. Gone.

"It’s really good," she said, already chewing.

’Of course it’s good. That’s why I wanted it.’

From his right—a massive hand. Darius. Reaching across like a bear swiping fish from a river. A piece of belly meat disappeared into his mouth before Shiro could even turn his head.

"Oh yeah." Darius nodded, chewing with his eyes closed like he’d just discovered a religion that involved being heavily drunk. "That’s really good." He swallowed, then turned his attention to the knight, tapping its armor, knocking on different plates like he was inspecting a used carriage. "I always thought it was just a suit of armor."

Before Shiro could answer, he noticed movement on his left. Nora’s fork. Creeping toward his plate again with the stealth of a trained assassin.

He slid the plate away. Slowly. Casually. Like he hadn’t noticed.

Then from the right—Darius snatched another piece as if it had been offered to him.

’Are you serious right now.’

He looked left. Nora’s fork was already moving. He looked right. Darius was licking his fingers.

He was being flanked. Outmaneuvered. Robbed in broad night by a drunk giant and a blonde girl with zero shame.

He squinted. Sighed. The deep, defeated kind.

"Fine."

He handed Nora the plate. The whole thing. Surrendered it like a man who knew when the war was lost.

"Thank you," she said. With a mouthful. Cheeks full. Already chewing the next piece before she’d finished swallowing the first.

And it hit him.

She’s talking like me. It’s like a copy version.

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t win, and turned back to them. "Nope. It’s my loyal friend."

The reactions were mixed. Darius was too drunk to register what had just happened—or what was still happening around him. Nora, who had seen the knight before, who had been saved by it, acted completely normal. More interested in how good the belly meat was than the walking suit of death that had just terrorized the entire ship.

And Luca looked annoyed. Which was the only good thing to come out of the last five minutes.

After all that, he sent the knight back. Let it sink into his shadow to rest. And just like that, the deck went quiet. Everyone ate. Nobody talked.

The silence wasn’t comfortable. It was the kind that settles after someone pulls a gun at a dinner party and then puts it away like nothing happened.

’Yeah. I’m never getting invited to a party.’

Then he noticed something odd.

The ship wasn’t moving. Not forward, anyway. It was just swaying in the water. Drifting. And Richard—who had been glued to the helm and the map all day—wasn’t with them.

"Where’s Richard?"

Ana’s face turned pale. Not slowly. Instantly. Like someone had pulled a plug and drained the color from her skin.

She set her plate down. Carefully. Quietly.

"I’ll go check," she said softly, and left before anyone could ask why her voice sounded like that.

’That was weird.’

Darius—oblivious to everything, as always—dropped himself next to Shiro with the grace of a falling tree.

"So, best friend—" The grin was enormous. The breath was worse. "How strong are you now?"

Shiro’s hand flew to his nose. "Not strong enough to survive whatever is coming out of your mouth right now."

He scrambled sideways. Put as much distance between them as the deck allowed.

"Maybe slow down on the drinking. You haven’t stopped since we left."

"He can’t." Nora didn’t even look up. Too busy destroying what was left of his eel. "That’s called addiction."

"No." Luca shook his head. "He literally can’t stop." He pointed his fork at the mountain of a man now slumped next to Shrio—unconscious, drooling, dead to the world. "That idiot ate the heart of a greater beast. Swallowed the whole thing. Got its power." He paused. Set the fork down. "But power like that doesn’t come free. When he’s sober, the beast’s instinct takes over. The urge to fight. To break. To destroy whatever’s in front of him. He can’t think through it. Can’t reason with it. It just consumes him." His voice dropped. "And every time he gives in—every time he fights—it gets worse."

A pause.

Luca looked at Nora. She met his eyes and shook her head slowly.

"The form you saw the other day, when you fought him—that was his quarter form."

Shiro looked back at the snoring mountain leaning against him. Mouth open. Peaceful. Harmless.

’Quarter form.’

’That monster was at twenty-five percent.’

’You absolute lunatic.’

And just like that, it was just the three of them. Him. Nora. Luca. And a wall of unconscious Darius between them that somehow didn’t make it less awkward.

He stood up.

"I’m heading back to my nest."

"There are rooms downstairs, you know." Nora’s voice came out soft. Careful. The kind of careful she only used when she was worried but didn’t want him to know.

"I’m good. I like the cold."

And he did. Beds were fine. Blankets were fine. But the night air against his skin did something warmth couldn’t. It numbed the parts of him that were too loud.

He climbed. And halfway up, he looked back.

He glanced at Nora one last time before she disappeared down the stairs. Her shoulders were drawn in tight—the way people hold themselves when they’re trying to keep something from spilling out.

And the look on her face.

It twisted something inside him. Deep. Ugly. Like all the food he’d just eaten decided it wanted to come back up. He wished she looked angry. Angry, he could work with. But it wasn’t anger. It was something quieter—the kind of expression that doesn’t yell at you. Just sits there and makes you hate yourself for free.

A blade through his heart would’ve hurt less.

He looked down at his hands. And for a moment—just a moment—felt something close to disgust.

’I’m truly a horrible person.’