If this request had been made a few hours earlier, even if the Young Man was unwilling in his heart, he would have left the room like a servant.

But now everything was different. He did not leave immediately; instead, he looked at his father, Mr. Simon, and said, "You plan to leave..."

"I've heard from the butler that you're selling everything here."

"The factory, the stores, the warehouse and the things in the warehouse, you've dismissed all the workers. Even the house under our feet is in your plan to sell!" The Young Man's voice wasn't loud, yet it struck Mr. Simon's heart like a thunderclap.

Having his actions exposed, he was somewhat flustered, "No, that's not true!"

For the first time, the Young Man did not lower his head in silence; instead, he stared directly at the man who seemed a bit panicked under his questioning. He felt that this man was not as powerful as he had imagined.

"You've actually prepared to leave. As long as someone can take over these assets, you will leave here. You didn't even plan to take me and Mother with you. You intended to leave us here and not leave us with anything!"

Having guessed the harsh reality, Mr. Simon's emotions instead stabilized. In this relationship that he was more familiar with, he quickly found his footing.

"These are not things that you should be concerned with, understand? I'll say it again: I ask you to leave here immediately, now!" He pointed to the door, and the authority of a father, the authority of the ruler of this family, began to pervade again.

The Young Man began to experience a transformation in his heart, just like the countless times he had gone through the process from disappointment to despair—a little by little, he felt himself being swallowed by darkness.

His expression was somewhat pained, trying to force out a smile, but it wasn't very convincing, "We can leave, the three of us, go anywhere, go to the country you came from, or somewhere you've never been. We are a family; we should live together..."

"Tell me, you plan to take us with you..."

He shouted loudly, but Mr. Simon remained silent. He pressed his lips together; his lips lost their color, much like his current emotions—pale and tense.

He never admitted that this darker-skinned person, who resembled his mother more than himself, was his child. At the same time, he knew it was indeed a fact, but he simply refused to admit it.

The longer he stayed here, the more he missed the wife who had been unfaithful and the son who only used the term 'Dad' when writing to ask for money. The mother and son here were nothing more than props for him to integrate into local society, a vase, and a half-breed.

The unfamiliar eyes laced with a touch of displeasure and hatred left the Young Man completely desperate. He did not leave the room but merely walked to the sofa and sat down, clutching his hair tightly, descending into a state of agitation.

"Why, if you don't like me or Mother, why did you marry her and have me?" he questioned Mr. Simon.

He had previously had such suspicions, but he always told himself it was just his imagination. How could someone not love their own child?

He even found some excuses for Mr. Simon, like saying he had a different way of expressing love or that he was actually secretly paying attention to him...

He tried to deceive himself into believing that the lies he concocted were the truth of this world, but apparently, he failed.

At this moment, Mr. Simon seemed to have come to terms as well, his voice cold, "Because if I didn't have a son like you, some locals wouldn't want to do business with me."

"I know how they think. They assume you will become my heir and inherit everything from me. They think you are also a Nagariel person..." Mr. Simon paused as if realizing something, but his emotions didn't allow him the opportunity to think deeply, "You are indeed a Nagariel person!"

A peculiar smile appeared on his face, "And I, I'm not a Nagariel person, and my son shouldn't be a Nagariel person either."

"You're right, I never considered you my child from the beginning, and I never planned to take you with me. I can't stand you. Now that you no longer have any value to me, I definitely won't take you with me!"

"So what, I've told you everything you wanted to know. Are you satisfied now? Are you satisfied with this answer?"

"If you're satisfied, then get out of my room. Just looking at you now irritates me!"

The Young Man, tears streaming down his face, slowly raised his head. His facial muscles occasionally twitched uncontrollably, coupled with the tears and some snot, honestly, it wasn't a pleasant sight.

"So, you've never loved me, right?" he asked, this being his final question.

Mr. Simon hesitated slightly, then shook his head, "Never."

"I always thought it was because I didn't do well enough that you didn't like me, even though I knew I was lying to myself."

"You've refused the last opportunity. Allow me to... call you papa one last time..."

Papa is a more affectionate term for father in the localization of Nagariel. The terms father, mother, and such are too formal, and in real life, few people speak this way unless their family environment and education make it necessary. Generally, people still use such warmer terms to address their parents.

In a moment of shock for Mr. Simon, the Young Man picked up the Hunter's rifle from the sofa and raised it. Mr. Simon's expression was peculiar, even with a hint of disappointment.

"You won't shoot, you wouldn't dare to. I'll leave some money for you and your mother so you can live well. Now stop saying those unpleasant things and put down the gun, get out of my room..."

Bam!

The whole world seemed to be occupied by this huge sound. Mr. Simon looked at the firelight in front of him and thought about the time when he hadn't been here long.

Preton was an excellent hunter and loved hunting. At that time, Mr. Simon had nowhere to turn and had to rely on him, but fortunately, he had some successful experience in the past, which gave him some connections in his own country.

Preton appreciated this about Mr. Simon. He wasn't a scavenger who put everything into his own pocket; he only wanted those valuable people to serve him.

To please Preton, Mr. Simon got some high-quality hunting rifles through someone and presented them to Preton.

These hunting rifles may not be of much use on the front lines of a battlefield but performed excellently in hunting.

Bigger calibers, faster muzzle velocity, more terrifying tearing power. He still remembers the proud manufacturer telling him when delivering these rifles, not to panic even when facing a mad elephant.

Just stagger your feet a little, stabilize your body's center of gravity, then rest the stock against your shoulder, aim for the elephant's head, and pull the trigger.

After the bang, the mad elephant would fall heavily to the ground like a rag doll, no longer able to threaten anyone.

He fell backward, slowly fell. He saw the blood droplets in the air slowly falling; the blood wasn't as bright red as people imagined, it was somewhat dull.

He saw some bone fragments and was surprised to see another eyeball. The eyeball's nerve was attached to a piece of muscle also floating slowly in the air. He could even see infinite fear in that eye, along with his own reflection.

A poor wretch missing half a head!

With a loud thud, Mr. Simon lay on the ground, his body convulsively twitching; it twitched only a few times before stopping, and blood flowed from his head.

The young man, who was knocked over by the powerful recoil, stood up again. The room door was also slammed open as the butler and the young man rushed in. They immediately saw Mr. Simon on the ground.

Compared to the young man's look of surprise, the butler somberly pulled a doily from the coffee table and covered the missing half of Mr. Simon's head.

The blood quickly stained the once-white doily red. The young man wiped the tears from his face, looking at the lifeless Mr. Simon on the ground, his heart filled with complexity.

What he once thought was an insurmountable mountain had collapsed in front of him at this moment. Human life, indeed, is very fragile.

He didn't know how to describe his feelings at this time; various emotions were surging. But compared to these, he had some new tasks to do.

"What should I do next?" The young man looked at the young man, "I have shown my sincerity."

The young man nodded, seemingly in strong agreement, "Leave everything to me from this moment. You, your family, and your property will be under the protection and care of the Nagariel Youth Party!"

Soon, occasional gunshots sounded around but quickly subsided.

Chaos spread from elsewhere to here, and some people also targeted Mr. Simon's house. After all, among the foreigners here, everyone more or less knew who had money.

But just as they were preparing to break into Mr. Simon's house, they saw a corpse on the lawn with its head covered. Several young people were loudly saying something, probably that a bandit had infiltrated and killed Mr. Simon.

At the same time, they also indicated to others that Mr. Simon's child, a Nagariel young man, would inherit Mr. Simon's estate and wealth, and he was part of the Nagariel Youth Party.

If they didn't want trouble, and didn't want trouble for their families, it would be best not to step into this yard!

The influence and reputation of the Nagariel Youth Party were actually insufficient, but they had guns. At this time, guns became the most convincing things.

People remembered the dead Mr. Simon, remembered the Youth Party, and the weapons in the hands of the Youth Party.

They expressed fear and left here.

Sitting in the living room facing a mother who didn't seem very sad, the young man stared blankly at the sky outside the window.

He didn't know if this decision was right or wrong, but at least he was fighting for a chance.

A chance to take control of his own fate.

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