The Epic of the Discarded Son-Chapter 42: Gaint Softy

Once he was out of everyone’s sight, the mask finally crumbled.

Everything came crashing down all at once.

His legs nearly gave out. It wasn’t tired—numb. Like they’d been holding on by sheer stubbornness and had finally decided they were done.

His heartbeat spiked. Loud. So loud he could hear it in his ears, drumming against his skull like it was trying to break free.

It had taken everything. Every last scrap of composure he had in that room. To keep his voice steady. To keep his hands still. To hold back the bloodlust that had been screaming behind his teeth since the moment he walked in.

And somehow—through dumb luck and a tongue that deserved its own monument—he’d walked out alive.

Just thinking about them made it worse.

His father and mother—they weren’t human. Whatever sat behind that veil wore a human shape the way a wolf wears sheep’s clothing.

Their presence hadn’t felt like people sitting in a room. It felt like the thing he’d sensed at the top of the mountain that day. Something old. Immense. The kind of power a human body can’t endure.

The scent—the familiar scent that rolled off them—was pure chaos. Their silhouettes looked human, but they shifted. Flickered. Like something monstrous was breathing underneath, pressing against the outline, trying on different shapes the way a person tries on clothes.

If it wasn’t for the veil between them, he probably would have collapsed right there.

And none of this was a confidence booster.

Even if he unleashed everything—every ounce of strength, every weapon, every trick he had—he wasn’t sure he could beat his father. Because back in that room, with every second that passed, the man’s mana hadn’t just been sitting there.

It had been growing. Swelling. Pulling in from somewhere unseen. Like the air itself was feeding him.

And it never stopped.

He dragged himself toward his room. Each step a negotiation with a body that was running out of reasons to cooperate. His skin burned—not from the outside, but from within. Like his blood had decided to boil itself. Part of it was rage. The rest was something else. Something he didn’t have a name for yet.

His eyes drifted ahead.

Nora. Pacing outside his door. Back and forth. Back and forth. The way someone paces when they’re pretending they’re not worried but their feet won’t stop moving.

He froze for a moment. Just watching her.

Then she saw him.

The pacing stopped. Her eyes went wide. And she ran.

He straightened up. Pulled his shoulders back. Forced a smile onto his face like stitching a wound shut with no thread—sloppy, barely holding, but enough from a distance.

And in that moment—watching her close the distance between them like nothing else in the world mattered—a thought settled in his chest. Heavy.

’I can’t do this anymore.’

’No more chasing revenge. Not now.’

’Because if I misplay my hand, it won’t just be my life he takes.’

’It’ll be hers too.’

That thought was the last clear thing in his head before his legs finally quit.

He made it to her. Barely. Got close enough to see the worry on her face. Close enough to try a smile.

Then his body cashed in every debt he owed it. And he owed a lot.

The injuries that hadn’t finished healing. The mana pressure from the lieutenants. The captains. The giants. And then his parents—that suffocating, inhuman weight that had been pressing down on him for every second he stood in that room.

All of it hit at once. Like a bill that had been sitting on the counter and finally decided today was the day.

He fell forward. Into her. Like someone had cut the strings that had been holding him up.

"Hey—hey! Are you okay?!" Panic flooded her voice. Her arms wrapped around him, gripping tight, holding him up through sheer refusal to let go.

"I’m fine." His voice came out muffled against her shoulder. "Just need sleep."

"Why is your body burning up?"

"Puberty thing."

"Wha—"

Everything went black.

He was back in the void.

But this time it was different. The emptiness didn’t claw at him. Didn’t press. Didn’t try to erase him like before.

This time, it wrapped around him.

Gently. Carefully. Like something in the darkness had decided he was worth protecting.

The heat that had been boiling him alive cooled. Slowly. Little by little. And as it faded, something familiar took its place—a dark fabric, thin as shadow, warm as skin, the same as the one that had pulled him back into his body.

They started coiling around him layer by layer. Arms. Chest. Legs. Face. Covering every inch of him like a cocoon spun from the void itself.

He didn’t fight it.

This time it felt safe.

A breath later, his eyes snapped open.

Comfy bed. Warm blanket. Stiff body. Every joint locked tight like he’d been sleeping in the same position for days.

Knocking. Loud. Persistent. Nora’s voice on the other side of the door, mixed with others he half recognized.

He peeled himself off the bed. Stiff. Creaking. Walked to the door and opened it.

The sky outside was dark. Still dark.

He glanced toward the horizon.

’The sun really doesn’t like me.’

His gaze shifted to the group standing outside his door. Every single one of them staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

’Why is everyone looking at me like that?’

"You guys haven’t left yet?" he asked through a yawn so wide it nearly split his face.

"No. We had to push it back since..." Nora trailed off. Instead of finishing, she reached toward him and peeled something from his arm. A thin, dark layer. Familiar. The sensation clicked immediately.

He looked down at himself.

’Ah. Shedding again.’

Ana looked him up and down. Slowly. Then whistled. Long and low.

"Well, well. Look at you." She tilted her head. "What happened?"

"It’s a puberty thing," Shiro said casually. Like his body transforming overnight was perfectly normal and everyone was overreacting.

"That’s not how puberty works, dumbass," Nora snapped, still peeling dead skin off his arm like she was unwrapping a gift she didn’t ask for.

"You sure?"

Behind them, Richard stood like a man whose last nerve had been plucked, tuned, and played like a violin for the past twenty-four hours.

"I don’t care what this is." His voice was flat. Final. "Deal with it. We’re 2 day’s behind schedule."

Shiro tilted his head. Looked at Richard.

"You know, you can’t really talk to a fellow captain like that."

Darius appeared from somewhere behind the group like a mountain emerging from fog. He nodded. Fast. Grinning.

"He’s right. He’s a captain now. Rules are rules."

’I didn’t even have to pay him to say that.’

Richard’s jaw twitched. His eyes locked onto Shiro—carrying that same old distaste, aged and fermented to perfection.

He said nothing. Just turned. And walked away.

Shiro watched him go. A slow, satisfied smirk crawling across his face.

It didn’t take long to remove the rest of the shed skin. And like last time, Ari was going through the same thing—tiny flakes of pink peeling away to reveal brighter, shinier scales underneath.

He helped her. Carefully. Gently. Peeling each piece while she coiled around his hand, letting him work.

It was their thing. Their bonding ritual. A boy and his snake, shedding together like the weirdest family tradition in existence.

The others had offered to help him with his. He declined. Quickly.

Some things were too embarrassing to share.

Once he was done, the giant was already outside. Standing. Waiting. Silent as a wall.

In his hands—a uniform. A black robe. Nothing fancy. No decorations. No embroidery. No unnecessary nonsense. Just what Shiro had asked for. Simple. Clean. Easy to move in.

He slipped it on. Rolled his shoulders. Stretched his neck.

Refreshed. Lighter. And most importantly—stronger.

After being dragged from his comfortable bed against his will, he walked down the hill with the giant lumbering beside him. Eyes forward. Not looking at him.

"What’s your name?"

One word. "Boris."

"Huh. Pretty fitting."

Boris was exactly what he looked like—a mountain of a man with the face of someone who’d never had a mean thought in his life. Bald. Massive. Soft eyes that didn’t match the body carrying them. The kind of guy who could fold you in half but would probably apologize while doing it.

Shiro felt a twinge of guilt about the arm thing.

’He’s not stupid. He’s just big and kind. Which might be worse. Kind people are easier to break.’

"Arm okay?"

"Good."

"You know you’re allowed to use more than one word."

"Sorry."

’This is going to take work.’

He held Ari out to Boris. She took one look at the giant and hissed. Then turned her tiny head to Shiro and hissed harder.

’You’re handing me to THIS?’

"Be gentle with her."

Boris nodded so fast Shiro thought his head might come loose.

The guy hadn’t been trying to hurt Ari back at the main house. He’d just wanted to pet her. But Shiro’s reflexes didn’t care about intentions sadly.

’I really did overreact. A little.’​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And to his surprise—the giant held her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. Huge fingers curled around her tiny body with the delicacy of someone handling a soap bubble.

Ari stopped hissing. She didn’t look happy. But she stopped.

’Progress.’

"Here’s the deal, Boris." He kept walking. Kept his voice casual. "You listen to me. Only me. Do exactly what I say, when I say it."

He could feel the giant leaning in behind him. Hanging on every word.

"And I’ll find you a pet. Something small. Something cute. Something you can play with and take care of."

The energy that erupted behind him was almost physical. Pure, childlike, radiating joy so bright it could’ve powered a lighthouse.

"But do I listen to you only, or Father and Mother too?" He said it the way a five-year-old asks if bedtime rules apply on weekends.

’Father?’

"Who is your father?"

The giant laughed. Bright. Innocent. The laugh of someone who’d never been burdened by a complicated thought.

"The clan leader.."

Shiro turned. Slowly. Looked up. Way up.

’That man really needs to stop having kids.’

"How old are you?"

Boris raised his hands. Started counting on his fingers. One by one. Carefully. Like math was a contact sport and he was trying not to get hurt.

"Eighteen."

’What the hell have they been feeding you.’

Shiro chuckled. "And Kuro is your brother?"

He nodded. Hard. Beaming. "Brother Kuro is the best."

’Is that so.’

"And the other giant that was next to you?"

"That’s big brother Noris."

’Boris and Noris.’

’Creative.’

Their conversation was cut short by a voice that could probably be heard from the other side of the island.

"Get down here! You’ve already made us two days late! Bring your butt here NOW!"

Nora. Arms crossed. Foot tapping. Radiating the kind of fury that made the captains look friendly.

’And somehow this is my fault.’

He started walking down the hill. Boris followed. And as they moved, a dark smile formed on Shiro’s face. Quiet. Private. The kind he kept to himself.

’A giant with this much power. Young. Loyal. Eager to please.’

’He’ll be useful.’

He would mold Boris into something monstrous. Shape him. Sharpen him. Turn that raw, unrefined strength into a weapon that nobody on this island would see coming.

And when the time came for his revenge, he would use him.

’For now, carry the bags. Later, carry the war.’

The plan for the day was simple—reach the docks before midday. And with Boris carrying half the supplies on one shoulder like they weighed nothing, they made it with time to spare.

As for Ari—she’d had enough of being handed off like luggage. She hissed at him. Showed her tiny fangs. Threw a tantrum that would’ve been terrifying if she wasn’t the size of a bracelet.

But it was nothing a little petting and a drop of blood couldn’t fix.

"Happy now?"

She didn’t even look at him. Too busy drinking his blood to acknowledge his existence.

’I’ll take that as a yes.’