"Joseph Qiao, have you forgotten? My teachings, the teachings of our Grant Family—have you already forgotten them?"
"Father..."
When Joseph Qiao uttered those words, his face twisted with emotion, eyes burning with longing—after more than ten years, he could finally see his father again.
"Everything I've done—it's all for our people."
Joseph Qiao looked at his father, speaking with conviction. Charles Grant nodded.
"Is that so, Joseph? Is everything you're doing now truly for your people? So many sacrifices, living each day with guilt. The future I have seen is only destruction. Joseph, don't you feel the same?"
Joseph Qiao lowered his head, the weight of his father's accusation pressing down. His face was tense, jaw clenched, fists trembling.
Charles Grant stepped closer. His face drained of color, then darkened, streaks of crimson blood threading beneath his skin.
"There's no hope for victory, is there? Deep down, you know it, Joseph. Yet you keep pretending you can win, that you can drive the enemy away. The Grant Family may be in the rear, but after all these years of relentless training—what was it for? You're leading your people into ruin."
"No, Father. This war isn't as you think. We've already won—twice, and both times, our victory was absolute."
“Is that truly what you believe? What if you collide head-on with the enemy’s main force? What then? Haven’t you witnessed the outcome? Haven’t you tasted the bitterness yourself? At the Central Pass—have you forgotten? How did Edward Grant die?”
“Father...”
In an instant, Joseph Grant’s face twisted with anger, glaring at his father—yet beneath his rage, terror gnawed at him. The endless days of war pressed on his heart like a suffocating stone, and now, he could no longer lie to himself. When the Central Pass was consumed by flames and reduced to ashes, Joseph saw it with brutal clarity: it was over. Everything was lost. He had missed the last chance to retreat.
He had exhausted himself devising defenses for the stronghold. For a brief moment, they’d repelled the enemy, but if the invaders truly committed to the assault, the stronghold wouldn’t last two days.
Everyone knew this, yet they clung to their own lies. There was no escape left. The enemy hadn’t launched a full attack only because of supply shortages, and their soldiers struggled to adapt to the grasslands.
“So you keep scheming, again and again, repeating your strategies to everyone. It’s because, deep down, you never believed this war could be won.”
Joseph Grant did not refute Charles Grant’s words. He simply bowed his head in silence.
“There’s a way out—so simple, so easy to grasp. Yet you choose to turn away. With that method, everyone could survive.”
“Father...”
Joseph Grant’s voice trembled. He knew exactly what solution Charles Grant meant.