Chapter 380: His Penance
Marlon stepped out of the training hall, the scent of sweat and steel still clinging to his tunic. The cool air of the corridor greeted him like a whisper from the past as he entered a quiet chamber where time itself seemed to pause.
There, mounted on the stone wall, was a painting that had hung unchanged for over a decade: The Norse Genealogy. A tribute to the stalwart bloodline of Northem’s defenders. It was more than just oil on canvas—it was history immortalized. Dozens of faces stared back at him —the great men of the House of Norse, each was a portrait of courage, of sacrifices made at the borders where kingdoms often bled. It was a wall of of honor to the Norse name, generals, warriors, legends.
His grandfather was the eldest in his generation and so was his father. The Norse ancestral manor belonged to them and he was the heir to this chamber. He was supposed to protect the legacy of the name.
He stepped closer, his chest rising with a shuddered breath.
Slowly he went down on his knees and silent tears streaked down his weary face.
"Great Grandpa... I’m sorry. I did wrong."
His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. His eyes stung, the burn of regret and unspoken guilt turning them red. In the painted eyes of Beor, he saw not just a war hero, but the same gentle soul who once knelt beside a boy with trembling hands and guided them in the art of the sword. There had never been favoritism—just love. Just patience.
Beor had treated Marlon and Odin with the same unwavering kindness. But Marlon knew he had faltered in the years since. He saw it now—his failures—etched into the silent gaze of the man who had once believed in him.
His gaze shifted, below Beor’s portrait, to the solemn figure of his own grandfather—a man of exacting standards and iron will. The kind of man who measured love in achievements and set expectations like mountain peaks. It was he who drilled into him the tenets of strategy and competition, always pushing, always comparing.
Marlon’s eyes locked once again onto the weathered countenance of the bearded elder, eyes sharp as winter stars. He looked like Odin, but it was not Odin. It was Beor, their great-grandfather. The man who had shaped the foundation of their family’s strength. The one Marlon had admired all his life.