The fuck you mean FATHER!?
Eyes wide with disbelief, Lewis stared at the silent confrontation between father and son, one high at his mighty throne, the other standing low, with a straight back. Glaring at each other with eyes burning crimson, it only stopped when the younger relented, his expression downtrodden.
"I have returned, father..."
Raising a brow, his gaze ever stoic, Magnus replied, still sitting languidly on his throne. "So I see. Why have you returned, you unfilial brat. Your mother's anniversary passed by a month ago..."
Though it remained faint, Lewis could still hear the pain in his voice, the betrayal he felt when he saw his son not returning home to commemorate Lylia Beorwyn's, Magnus's wife, 5th memorial.
Swallowing tremblingly, Simon nevertheless forged on for what they had come for.
"Today, I, Simon Steelrun, have not come here as the scion of Magnus VII Steelrun, but as Simon Steelrun, Lead Metallurgy Engineer, on behalf of our foundation. I have come here to beseech you for a request of procuring shipments of raw ores, iron to orichalcum, for the sake of our mission to the Primordial Moon!"
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"What was that!? And why the fuck on Earth did you not tell me that you were royalty!? What else are you hiding from me..."
Once out of the throne room (what seemed like one, Lewis immediately began badgering Simon about his lineage, unable to comprehend that he was eating, living, staying, talking, and standing next to a freaking prince! "All this time we've been struggling for weeks, months even, for grants and funding, and you were a prince the entire time! Why didn't you say so!? Don't you know how much trouble it would've saved us if you had asked for some fu–"
"ENOUGH! NO MORE! Please, no more..."
Barely stifling his sob, Simon marched on ahead, going ever so faster than Lewis. Realising he had fucked up, Lewis held both hands, signalling for peace, before backing off, deciding to instead roam around the Lodge, trying to find out more about Dwarves...
Hearing the fading sounds of footsteps, Simon clutched his palms tighter than ever, remorse settling slowly in his guilty heart...
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Walking down the massive corridors, it did not take Lewis long to realise he was lost...
Well, no shit! Even a monkey can realise this!
Sighing resignedly, Lewis began retracing his steps, wanting to return to the throne room, evidently giving up his quest to find the massive library he often read about in light novels.
Damn Japanese Isekais! They lied to me!
Grumbling angrily, he turned around, only to be met face-first with what appeared to be a bearded child on steroids. "Oh wait, you're the, uh, ah,*snap**snap*, the steward of the King, yes? Lord MycValen?"
Tone uncertain, Lewis looked warily at the hunchbacked Dwarf standing in front of him, his eyes, despite being wizened beyond his years, filled with starlight that seemed to pierce through him.
"You know, this is the first time I've seen the young master ever stand against his father for something..."
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Walking down one of the many underground gardens, Lewis couldn't help but feel awed at the sight that lay before him. Rocks hewn at the surface, they let what little light there was to infiltrate the hollow mountain. Magnified by Dwarven architectural might, these tiny light waves somehow managed to illuminate the entire garden with luminance.
"You know, even from when he was a wee toddler, the young master was weird. When young Dwarves played make-believe blacksmiths, pretending to forget the mightiest weapon, he played as a Skyflier, bent on forging the greatest ship there was to send him to the Moon. When everyone played Dwarves Vs. Orcs, he pretended to be a great leader, guiding his imaginary crew to send him to the Moon.
When everyone wanted to be the first Dwarf to build a God Weapon, he wanted to be the first Dwarf to fly to the Moon..."
Chuckling at the memories, MycValen slowly trudged along, his aged feet sometimes walking, sometimes stumbling, as he led Lewis with him along his sojourn across the garden.
"This must've made him...not so popular, to say the least..."
Chuckling at the comment, MycValen made no remarks, except continuing. "Oh he was smacked hard by Lord Magnus. Everyone grew accustomed to the cries young Simon gave, to the point that a specific time was given for every time her cried. Last I remember, it was somewhere between 12 and around 1 in the afternoon. Everyone used this as their afternoon lunch signal..."
Suddenly he started coughing, violently at that. Lewis swore he saw splodges of blood, before the old steward hurriedly wiped his hands against his cloak. Seeing him concerned, MycValen waved his hands, reassuring him. "Oh, no need to worry about me. This old bag of bones still has some more years to live before it kicks the bucket. Now where was I... oh yes, getting his ass kicked. Mhm hmm hmm, I swear young master Simon's buttocks remained red for hours, only to be smooth the next day, no thanks to his mother, the only one who believed in him..."
Here, a shadow fell across his brows, as he remembered the past. "Ahh, Lylia Beorwyn. Hair as golden as the wheat in summer, with lips redder than the rubies of Khāzidam, and eyes brighter than the shiniest of Diamondiums. She was one of the fairer maidens to roam the land, but was cursed to a short, yet bright, life, for she was cursed by the Magic of the Evil One. Cursed with a short lifespan, even the bright lord Simon nearly killed her, she only surviving by the mightiest graces of the healers of old. Despite being frail in body, she was stout of heart, always going against Lord Magnus, even when she was nearly crippled. She was the only one who believed in young master Simon, even when all others ridiculed him..."
"So... what happened to her?"
"Well, don't you have the answer. Now, chop-chop, off to bed you go. The guards shall help you reach your room, and you'd better sleep fast, for you lot have a big day tomorrow..."
With a final farewell, MycValen continued his slow yet silent journey, leaving Lewis in his thoughts...