Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 209: Happier

Duke Remiro rose from his chair with the practiced grace of a man who had long mastered the art of control. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows over his sharp features as he leaned down, pressing a brief but firm kiss to his wife’s forehead. Celia stirred slightly but did not wake, accustomed to his late-night movements. He lingered for a moment, his gaze softening as he took in the peaceful expression on her face. Then, with a steady breath, he turned and slipped into the dimly lit corridors of his estate.

The stone halls were silent save for the faint echo of his polished boots against the floor. He moved with ease, his steps guided by memory rather than sight, bypassing the grander corridors in favor of the hidden paths only a select few knew existed.

His destination was a chamber older than the estate itself—a concealed meeting room beneath the foundations of the Remiro stronghold. Unlike the ostentatious halls of the royal palace, this place was built for discretion, its very existence known only to those who held the kingdom’s true power. Thick walls muffled even the loudest voices, and no royal spies could breach the depths of this sanctuary. Here, in the one place untouched by the king’s influence, rebellion was brewing.

As he approached the heavy wooden door, he was greeted by the quiet murmurs of men and women speaking in hushed tones. A sentry stationed at the entrance gave him a curt nod before stepping aside, allowing the duke to enter. Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single chandelier, the air thick with tension and the scent of old parchment and ink.

Seated around a long, worn table were the key players of Vitra’s looming revolution—military generals, noble lords, merchant leaders, and influential figures who had all, in one way or another, suffered under the king’s tyranny. Each bore their own grievances, their own motivations for wanting to see the monarchy reshaped, but all were bound by one common goal: to bring an end to the reign of an unworthy ruler.

Duke Remiro took his place at the head of the table, his ice-blue gaze sweeping across the faces of those gathered. No words were needed; he could see it in their eyes—the resolve, the hunger for change.

"The time has come," he announced, his voice steady and unwavering. "We move against the king."

Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment, then the room erupted into murmurs, nods of agreement, and quiet determination.

It had begun.

***

A Day in the Life of Ben

Ben woke up to the distant chirping of birds, their early morning melodies slipping through the wooden shutters of his small room. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his limbs from yesterday’s labor, and let out a low sigh. The room around him was sparse, nothing more than a simple bed, a small wooden table, and a few neatly folded garments. Despite the luxury of the Remiro estate, he had refused a room inside the grand house, choosing instead to live among the servants. It felt more fitting—he was more like them than the nobility that walked the gilded halls.

His life had been built on hardship and work, and he found comfort in it. Even now, years after leaving the streets behind, waking up with a purpose still grounded him.

Without wasting another moment, he dressed in his simple tunic and trousers, lacing his boots tightly before heading out. The sky was still painted in hues of deep purple and orange, signaling the start of another long day. He made his way to the woodshed near the servant quarters, grabbing an axe with a practiced hand. The rhythmic thwack of splitting wood soon echoed in the quiet morning air, the scent of fresh pine and bark filling his lungs.

After stacking the firewood neatly, he wiped the sweat from his brow and made his way to the kitchens, where the scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread greeted him. The kitchen was already alive with activity—cooks barking orders, servants scurrying around with trays, and the sharp clang of knives against chopping boards filling the space.

Ben silently picked up a cleaver and got to work. His years as a butcher had made him precise, his movements effortless as he separated skin from flesh, carving out the best cuts of meat with ease. Blood and grime coated his hands, but it never bothered him. In fact, he found a certain peace in it—the predictability of the blade, the steady rhythm of his work.

"Morning, Ben," a passing maid greeted.

He grunted in acknowledgment, his usual form of conversation.

By the time he finished in the kitchens, the estate was already in full motion. Knights trained in the courtyards, maids walked along the balconies gossiping, and merchants arrived with carts of fresh produce. But Ben ignored all of it, making his way to the gardens where he could find true solitude.

The gardens of the Remiro estate were vast and well-kept, bursting with life. Rows of neatly trimmed hedges lined the stone paths, and flowers in every shade imaginable swayed gently in the morning breeze. He found the gardener already tending to the roses, but they exchanged no words—Ben simply grabbed a pair of shears and got to work.

For a while, it was just the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird overhead. He liked it that way. But then, a small voice broke the silence.

"Don’t you ever get tired?"

Ben stilled, the shears pausing mid-cut. His impassive face cracked ever so slightly, his lips twitching in what could barely be considered a smile. He turned his head just enough to see Mona standing there, hands on her hips, her eyes filled with mischief.

She was dressed like a proper noble now, in a fine dress with delicate embroidery—something that would have been unimaginable in their past life. Seeing her like this, looking healthy and cared for, filled Ben with a quiet sense of fulfillment. She had a future now, one that wasn’t dictated by hunger or fear.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in his usual gruff tone.

Instead of answering, Mona simply plopped down onto the grass beside him, her dress pooling around her as if she belonged there.

"You’re going to mess up your pretty dress," he muttered, turning back to his work.

"Thorne says it’s fine," Mona replied breezily, sticking out her tongue at him.

Ben let out a low grunt, shaking his head. "Don’t stick your tongue at me."

"How do you always know when I do that?" she grumbled.

Ben chuckled, a rare sound that even surprised himself. "I have a third eye."

Mona huffed but stayed put, watching him work. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sun slowly climbing higher in the sky. Ben had always worried about her—worried if she was happy, if she felt out of place in this new world of nobles and etiquette lessons. But seeing her now, so at ease, he realized that maybe she had already found her place and nothing made him happier.