SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 570: What the Child Remembered

Trafalgar's confusion only deepened. The boy's statement was direct: he had seen him with his father ages ago, accompanied by another man. Since hearing this, a single question dominated Trafalgar's thoughts.

'When did this happen? What moment is he referring to?' He had no comprehension of the child's words, not even a sliver of understanding. His mind instinctively scrambled, dredging up faint memories, fragmented scenes, anything that might offer even the slightest hint regarding the boy's claim.

However, nothing surfaced.

Finally, Trafalgar lowered his voice, inquiring, "When did you see me, and who was with you, kid?"

The boy placed a finger to his lips, a gesture that seemed to aid his thinking. He deliberated for a short while before responding, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"I don't recall very clearly," he admitted. "But I remember being with my father. It was cold. Snow was falling, and we were near the base of a cliff." He paused, striving to grasp the fading memory. "My father was already injured from a fight he had with a powerful man."

That description stirred something within Trafalgar.

Few locations fit that profile. Snow. A cliff. Open terrain. A bleak, unforgiving landscape. The presence of a cliff implied rocky surroundings, and such heavy snowfall strongly suggested the event occurred within or near Morgain territory.

His outward demeanor remained unchanged, yet the implication tightened its grip on him.

The subsequent question was posed with greater caution. "Do you recall the man who stood beside me? Can you describe him?"

The boy nodded affirmatively.

"He exuded a terrifying aura," the boy stated. "You could sense the bloodlust radiating from him. His hair was blond, perhaps platinum blond. It was difficult to discern due to the snowstorm and the wind that constantly whipped it around. His eyes were cold and gray." The boy then wrinkled his nose. "And in my opinion, his face was quite ugly."

'Oh, no.'

That exact thought flashed through Trafalgar's mind.

He knew precisely who it was.

His mind had instantly pieced together all the clues. The snow. The cliff. The storm. The injured father. The man beside him.

Valttair.

That was the man the child had seen standing alongside him.

And the father the child spoke of...

'It must be the son of the Gluttony Dragon.'

This was the only logical conclusion. Every detail the boy provided pointed unwaveringly in this direction. The child before him was the offspring of the beast that had claimed Trafalgar's uncle's life, and the man with gray eyes and platinum hair was undoubtedly Valttair, the one who had ultimately slain it. 'Shit...'

The realization weighed heavily upon him.

Valttair had been responsible for the death of this child's father. Admittedly, that father had been the Gluttony Dragon, and Trafalgar felt no sympathy for its demise. The creature had harbored the intent to consume him. More distressingly, it had already taken the lives of those close to him and would have continued its rampage without hesitation.

None of that altered the reality before him now.

A child.

One who, by some twist of fate, had ended up in an orphanage.

Trafalgar studied the boy more intently, attempting to envision the circumstances that had led him to this point. He had no knowledge of what transpired after that battle. He had never even entertained the possibility that a dragon of that magnitude could have left behind a child.

The boy broke the silence first.

"Do you know that man who was with you that day?"

Trafalgar nodded.

"Yes. That is my father."

The child fell silent for a moment, absorbing this information with a solemnity that seemed beyond his eight years. When he spoke again, his voice was small as he asked, "Did our fathers fight? Is that why my father died?"

Trafalgar found himself at a loss for how to deliver gentle news. He possessed no simple answer for a child in this situation, and attempting to fabricate one would only worsen matters. Therefore, he conveyed the truth in the most straightforward manner possible.

He gave a single nod and replied, "Your father had killed my uncle, and he intended to kill me as well."

The boy lowered his head.

His lips moved slightly, as if he were testing the shape of the words before accepting them.

"So he was a bad person."

Trafalgar was taken aback by the child's swift conclusion.

There was no outburst, no denial, no angry rejection. Just a quiet, sorrowful musing, as if he had harbored this knowledge internally and merely needed confirmation from another.

'Perhaps the dragonic bloodline accelerates mental maturity,' Trafalgar mused. 'Or perhaps he has simply been forced to confront harsh realities far too early!''

The boy spoke again, his voice softer now. "I'm glad you are alright, big brother. My father was not a good person." He swallowed. "He ate mama too."

That statement struck Trafalgar with unexpected force.

For a brief moment, he remained silent.

The word 'cruel' scarcely began to describe it. The Gluttony Dragon had lived up to its name in the most appalling way imaginable.

what his name hinted at. An entity of hunger and brutality, seizing whatever it desired due to its sheer capability. Yet, hearing it articulated by the voice of a child rendered the description even more depraved than before.

The young boy proceeded, his words flowing with greater ease now that the initial hesitation had passed.

"He forced me to witness it. He warned that if I refused to obey him, the exact same fate would befall me."

A tightening sensation gripped Trafalgar's chest. What had commenced as a straightforward pastime with a ball had unraveled into something so distressing that even the gentle evening light pervading the yard felt incongruous. He instinctively lowered himself, bringing his height level with the boy's, and drew him into a comforting embrace.

The child froze momentarily, a fleeting reaction.

Then, he relaxed into the hold.

The warmth emanating from Trafalgar's body reached the boy, a sensation likely unfelt for a considerable duration. The child's small hands clung to Trafalgar as if uncertain how to properly receive solace but unwilling to relinquish it. His face pressed against Trafalgar's chest, and mere moments later, the first tears welled up. Unbeknownst to them, Cynthia had been observing the entire exchange without comprehending a single word. The instant she noticed the child weeping, she quickly approached.

"What's wrong?" she inquired, her voice already laced with concern. "You can't possibly tell me I actually caused him harm."

Trafalgar turned his head towards her, giving a gentle shake.

"No. Please don't worry. I believe he recalled something terrible, and it all surfaced at once."

This explanation partially alleviated the apprehension evident on her features.

The boy's tears didn't persist for long. His crying carried the weary, depleted quality of emotions suppressed for an excessive period. By the time Trafalgar lifted him up, the child's grip had loosened. His breathing grew soft. He had succumbed to sleep in Trafalgar's arms.

Cynthia's voice naturally softened upon witnessing this development.

"Did he pass out?"

Trafalgar gently readjusted the child's position against him. "More accurately, he finally allowed himself to rest for a moment."

They guided him indoors and located one of the smaller chambers. Trafalgar carefully settled him onto the bed, drawing the blanket up without disturbing his slumber. Cynthia remained near the doorway initially, observing in quietude before stepping closer.

Asleep, the child appeared significantly younger.

Less defended. Less like an individual who had already endured experiences no child should witness.

Cynthia stood beside Trafalgar, her gaze shifting from the sleeping boy to him. "It appears you have a knack for handling young children."