The Regis Family wasn't just well-known in Neo-Veridia—they were feared, respected, and untouchable.
They were warriors, leaders, and the foundation of military strength in the city.
To bear the Regis name meant one thing—power.
And at the head of the Regis Empire sat Dominic Regis.
A veteran of countless battles. A man who shaped soldiers like a blacksmith forged weapons. A commander whose mere presence could make the weak kneel.
Tonight, he sat at the center of the long, polished dining table, his gaze heavy as he surveyed his family.
His legacy.
Name: Dominic Regis.
Rank: D.
Level 3.
– The Iron Commander.
Affiliation: Neo-Veridia Military Corps – High Commander,
Known for: Ruthless discipline, unmatched battlefield tactics, an unwavering will.
His steel-gray eyes locked onto one person.
Lucas Regis.
His son.
And the one who was about to defy everything the Regis name stood for.
Lucas sat at the table, stiff as a drawn bowstring.
His jaw clenched.
His food was untouched.
He didn't look up.
Didn't meet his father's piercing gaze.
But he felt it.
He could always feel it.
The weight of expectations. The weight of a name that wasn't his own, but something he was forced to carry.
The perfect soldier. The next commander.
That's what they all expected him to be.
But not anymore.
Across from him, his older sister, Clara Regis, exhaled sharply.
She already knew where this was heading.
Name: Clara Regis,
Rank: D.
Level 2.
Known for: Mastery of close combat, unwavering loyalty to the Regis name, relentless in battle.
Unlike Lucas, Clara was everything their father wanted in an heir.
She was disciplined. Loyal. The perfect warrior.
She had climbed the ranks of the Neo-Veridia Military Corps with ease, earning respect through blood and victory.
She didn't agree with Lucas.
She never had.
Beside her sat their youngest sibling, Ethan Regis.
The baby brother.
The wide-eyed cadet who still believed in everything their father said.
Name: Ethan Regis,
Rank: D.
Level 5,
Known For: Eager to prove himself, he idolizes his father and Clara, determined to make the Regis name proud.
He wanted nothing more than to follow in his footsteps.
To him, Lucas was the anomaly. The one who never quite fit in.
And at the far end of the table, sitting in complete silence, was Isabelle Regis.
Their mother.
A woman of elegance and cold precision.
The one who never raised her voice, but could bring an entire room to silence with just a look.
She wasn't a soldier.
She wasn't a fighter.
But she was something just as dangerous.
A strategist. A woman whose whispers could shift the balance of power in Neo-Veridia.
Name: Isabelle Regis,
Rank: C.
Level 6.
She was known for: Political influence, unseen manipulations, maintaining order in the Regis household.
Isabelle never took sides.
At least, not openly.
She simply watched. Studied. Waited.
And tonight she was watching Lucas.
The tension in the room was suffocating.
The sound of utensils clinking against plates had stopped.
All eyes were on Lucas.
Dominic's voice finally broke the silence.
Calm. Controlled.
"You're not eating."
Lucas's grip on his fork tightened.
But he didn't respond.
Not yet.
Dominic's gaze didn't waver.
His patience was not infinite.
Clara sighed. Ethan shifted uncomfortably.
The tension thickened.
Finally—
Lucas spoke.
Calm. Steady. But with a quiet defiance beneath it.
"I'm not hungry."
Dominic's eyes darkened.
Clara set her glass down sharply.
Ethan's jaw tensed.
The air was charged.
Lucas finally looked up.
And at that moment—
Dominic leaned forward, setting his utensils down with a slow, deliberate motion.
His movements were precise. Controlled.
But everyone could feel the shift in the room.
"Lucas."
His tone was firm.
"You know better than to play games at my table."
Lucas took a slow breath.
"I'm not playing games," he said.
His voice was steady but edged with something unyielding.
"I've been thinking."
Dominic's expression didn't change.
But Clara's eyes narrowed.
Lucas continued.
"I'm not going to follow the family's path."
A sharp clink echoed in the room as Clara set down her utensils.
Ethan's jaw dropped slightly.
Isabelle's eyes flickered toward Lucas.
Dominic remained silent.
His presence loomed.
Finally, he spoke.
"…Explain."
Lucas exhaled slowly.
"I don't want to be in the military."
He leaned back, his voice resolute.
"I don't want to climb the ranks like Clara. I don't want my future planned out for me."
Dominic's fingers tightened against the table.
"You're my son."
His voice was low. Final.
"You will uphold the Regis name."
Lucas didn't flinch.
"No."
The single word rang through the air.
"I'll uphold my own."
Clara stood abruptly.
Her chair scraped against the floor.
"Are you insane?" she demanded.
"You're already a D4 Ranker at your age. You have everything you need to reach C Rank in a few years—why would you throw that away?!"
Lucas's jaw tightened.
"Because I want to do things my own way."
Clara scoffed.
Shaking her head, she muttered, "You sound like a child."
Lucas didn't react.
He simply replied, "Maybe. But I'd rather be a free child than a caged soldier."
Ethan looked between them, clearly torn.
Their mother remained silent.
Watching. Judging.
Dominic's next words sent a chill through the room.
"You think you have a choice?"
Lucas's fists clenched.
"Yes."
A sudden pressure filled the room.
Dominic's aura flared.
But Lucas stood his ground.
The silence that followed Lucas's defiance was deafening.
Not the comfortable kind.
Not the kind that filled a room after a long conversation.
No—this was the kind that suffocated.
The kind that crushed.
Clara's fists clenched, her knuckles turning white from sheer frustration.
Ethan sat frozen, his wide eyes locked on his older brother, as if seeing him for the first time.
Dominic remained seated, unmoving, but his presence grew heavier.
An unspoken force filled the air—a pressure that wrapped around the room like an iron grip.
Lucas could feel it pressing against his skin.
A warning.
A reminder of the power his father held.
And yet—
He refused to yield.
Dominic exhaled through his nose. Slow. Deliberate.
"You believe you can turn your back on your legacy?" he asked, voice calm but razor-sharp.
"On the name you were born with?"
Lucas met his father's gaze without hesitation.
"I believe I can build my own."
A sharp, humorless laugh broke the tension.
Clara.
Her head tilted slightly, her lips curled into something between disbelief and anger.
"You're being reckless, Lucas," she snapped.
Her voice was firm, but beneath it was something else.
Something like—concern.
"Do you even understand what you're throwing away?" she demanded.
"The Regis name—our name—means something."
"It's power. Security. Legacy."
She leaned forward, her piercing gaze locked onto him.
"And you want to walk away from that?"
Lucas's jaw tightened.
"It's not my legacy," he said.
"It's yours."
Clara took a step closer.
Her presence was imposing, a force of its own.
"And what will you do instead?" she challenged.
"Play at being some lone hunter? Waste your talent?"
Lucas's fingers curled into fists under the table.
"Maybe I don't care about talent."
His voice was low, steady.
"Maybe I just want to make my own choices."
Clara scoffed.
She shook her head, her expression unreadable.
"And where will those choices lead you?"
Her voice dropped slightly.
"To some nameless grave in a dungeon?"
Lucas didn't answer immediately.
But then—
His lips parted, and he spoke the words that sealed his fate.
"If that's the price of being free—"
His eyes locked onto hers.
"Then I'll pay it."
Dominic stood.
The entire room shifted.
The weight in the air became suffocating.
The Iron Commander was now fully engaged.
Lucas braced himself.
His father was a mountain.
Unmovable. Unyielding.
A force that had shaped armies, crushed rebellions, built legacies.
And now, he stood against his own son.
Dominic's voice was sharp as steel.
"Foolishness," he said.
"Strength without discipline is meaningless."
His gaze was like a blade, cutting deep.
"A sword without a wielder is nothing but a dull piece of metal."
He stepped forward, slow and measured.
"You have been trained. Honed. Sharpened."
His voice carried a finality that demanded obedience.
"And yet—you would discard it all in pursuit of a fleeting dream?"
Lucas held his ground.
"It's not a dream."
He lifted his chin, his voice resolute.
"It's a decision."
Dominic studied him.
He was reading more than words.
He was reading his son's soul.
Then, with a finality that sent a chill through the room, Dominic spoke.
"If you walk away from this family, Lucas—"
The words hung in the air.
Heavy. Unforgiving.
"Then you walk away for good."
A beat of silence.
The weight of those words settled like chains.
Ethan inhaled sharply.
Clara's expression hardened.
Even Isabelle—who had remained silent until now—slowly set down her glass.
Lucas's chest rose and fell with measured breaths.
He had expected this.
And yet—
Hearing it out loud still sent a sharp pain through his chest.
His father wasn't just disowning him.
He was erasing him.
Lucas clenched his jaw.
And then—
He nodded.
"Then so be it."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away.
He didn't look back.
Not at Ethan, whose face was filled with shock and uncertainty.
Not at Clara, who stared at him with something between anger and disappointment.
And not at Dominic.
Who didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't call him back.
Lucas stepped through the door—out of the house, and into the cold night.