The Malkadors had always been giants—even in the eyes of the other major families. Known across the world for their powerful summoner bloodline, they'd produced legends—players who led top guilds, summoned monsters that crushed armies, and even stood as Earth's representatives in the Death Games. Being a Malkador meant you were born for greatness. It was in the name. It was in the blood.
So someone like Josen… someone who awakened as nothing—just a filthy Defector—
That wasn't just a disappointment.
It was a disgrace.
Somewhere, deep down, Josen still hoped. He hoped they'd love him. He hoped they'd see past the failure. That maybe, just maybe, family meant more than power.
He hoped—
He hoped wrong.
SLAM.
The great oak doors of the council chamber slammed shut.
The Malkador family wasted no time. The moment news of Josen's failed awakening reached them, the elders gathered in an emergency session.
"All in favor of casting him out to the outskirts of Liones… to live with that man?"
Hands rose instantly.
Every single one.
Except hers.
Mrs. Adam Malkador—Josen's stepmother.
His strongest supporter. His only comfort in that cold, power-hungry house.
Her hand trembled in her lap, knuckles white as she clenched her skirt.
Silence followed.
"It is sanctioned," the head elder declared. "Effective immediately, Josen is no longer the future heir of the Malkador family."
A servant stepped forward and handed him a sealed envelope.
"You have five hours to pack your belongings and sever all ties to the Malkador family," the steward said coldly. "Then you will take the 6 p.m. train to this address."
As he read more and more the more crushed he felt they weren't even going to try for him, nothing no second chances, no backup plan, no alternative job for him just casting him away in some outskirt village
Mrs. Malkador said nothing.
But it was understandable. Her words meant nothing among the elders.
She simply turned her face away, wiping silent tears with a lace handkerchief—torn between loyalty to the family and love for the boy they were throwing away.
"Go to the barn house at St. Peter Square," the steward added. "There, you will meet your grandfather… who was also a Defector."
Before he could ask anything, another voice cut through the room like a whip.
"Useless failure," his father spat, storming in with blood red eyes be anger ecihing and the room
but he felt it was a selfish anger
A mocking anger
A judging anger
"How dare you disgrace the Malkador name."
He stood frozen.
Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the face of the man he had once admired—no, worshipped. The man he had trained for. Bled for. Sacrificed everything for.
He had given up sleep.
Given up friends.
Given up his childhood.
All for this man's approval.
"Abandon those who slow you down."
"Sharpen your technique."
"Honor the Malkador name."
"You are a Malkador. Show it."
He had lived by those words.
Now they cut deep and feel like blades stabbing him from all sides
"F–Father… I—"
"ENOUGH."he snapped.
"Be silent. Leave immediately."
His face twisted in irritation as he turned away, not even glancing back.
"Your grandfather will teach you whatever worthless things Defectors know. Maybe then… you'll be of some use."
He stopped at the doorway.
"Prove yourself—or the Malkador family will discard you completely."