When the War God Sheds His Apron

Tristan Mercer paced back and forth outside the operating room, looking anxious. His usually strong, sharp features were now clouded with worry, and a thin sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead from the strain.

Just moments ago, his daughter, Ruby Grayson, had been rushed into emergency surgery after a sudden flare-up of her congenital heart condition. Meanwhile, his wife, Claire Grayson, had actually walked out in the middle of their daughter's fight for her life—all because of a phone call.

Tristan took a deep breath. "Ruby, you have to pull through!"

He quickly pulled out his phone and called Claire. The call had barely connected when it was cut off.

His chest tightened. He inhaled deeply and hit redial, but the result was just as disappointing as before. The phone rang once before the call was declined.

Tristan called a third time. This time, someone answered. But before he could say a word, Claire's furious screeching exploded in his ear.

"I'm slammed at work right now, Tristan! Can you stop calling me at all hours just to bug me?"

Tristan roared, "Claire, is your job more important than Ruby's life? You—"

She cut him off, her voice turning ice-cold. "Her heart problem is congenital. It's the same old issue, and it can't be that serious. You're already at the hospital, so why do you have to keep blowing up my phone? Just stop bothering me over these trivial things, will you?"

With that, she hung up.

Tristan's face turned as cold and hard as a frozen lake in the dead of winter. His hand, clenched tightly around his phone, trembled uncontrollably, as if he might crush it at any second.

"So your job really does matter more than your daughter, Claire…"

But right now, he didn't have the time or energy to be angry with Claire. The only thing that mattered was that Ruby came out of surgery alive.

Tristan moved toward the cold bench outside the operating room and slowly sank onto it. Just as he was forcing himself to calm down, the doors to the operating room suddenly swung open. Ray Lohan, the surgeon in charge of Ruby's operation, looked grave as he stepped out.

Before Tristan could even ask how it went, Ray let out a quiet sigh. "Mr. Mercer, I'm truly sorry. We did everything we could, but we still couldn't save your daughter…"

The words hit Tristan like a bolt from the blue. His vision went dark for a heartbeat, and he staggered back in shock. In an instant, it felt like every ounce of strength had been drained from his body. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor.

Ray hurried forward and gripped his arm, pulling him back up while trying to comfort him. "Mr. Mercer, you have to stay strong."

But Tristan couldn't hear a single word. His world had already shattered. The grief he'd barely been holding back broke loose like a dam bursting, surging through him in a tidal wave that tore a raw, guttural scream from his chest. "Ruby!"

He shoved Ray outside and bolted for the operating room. The doctors inside instinctively reached out to stop him. "Sir, you can't come in here—"

But Tristan had already lost all reason. He threw his weight forward, forcing his way past the hands trying to restrain him, and burst into the OR.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. Ruby's body lay on the table, lifeless and still. His vision blurred instantly as tears flooded his eyes.

His legs gave out beneath him, and he dropped to his knees beside her with a heavy thud. He could no longer hold back the agony tearing him apart from the inside. He opened his mouth and sobbed, loud and broken.

His cries were raw and desolate, as if he were trying to pour every ounce of sorrow in the world into that one sound. Memories flashed through his mind in brutal clarity; he remembered all the hardship and cruel twists of fate he'd endured. It all felt unfair, like the universe had singled him out for punishment.

When Tristan was 18 years old, a gang of masked men had broken into his family's house in the middle of the night. What followed was a massacre so brutal it seared itself into his bones.

He'd watched helplessly as his parents and younger sister were butchered and left in pools of blood. He'd taken several knife wounds himself but had somehow managed to escape. Just when he was about to collapse, he was saved by Claire, who'd been passing by.

Back then, he'd sworn to himself that he would stay alive, no matter what. It wasn't just to take revenge, but also to repay Claire for saving his life.

Once his injuries healed, Tristan had enlisted in the army. There, relying on sheer grit, iron will, and razor-sharp instincts, he'd racked up one meritorious achievement after another.

In the end, he was selected for Drovenia's premier special forces unit, the Fenrir unit. He rose through the ranks and ultimately became its legendary commander, the Alpha.

After retiring from active duty, Tristan returned to his hometown of Ravelton. To repay Claire for saving his life, he went so far as to hide his identity and marry her, willingly playing the part of a useless live-in son-in-law everyone looked down on.

Life with the Grayson family was bitter and humiliating. Day after day, Tristan endured their nasty jabs and mockery. But every time he thought about the night Claire had saved him, he gritted his teeth, swallowed the insult, and bore it in silence.

After Claire gave birth to Ruby, she basically washed her hands of her. Tristan had no choice but to shoulder everything on his own.

From then on, he played a double role in Ruby's life. He wasn't just a devoted, protective father; he was also the gentle, meticulous mother she never had.

On countless long nights, he'd fought off sleep, gently rocking his wailing daughter in his arms, patiently coaxing her back to sleep. He'd carefully changed her diapers and mixed her formula.

It was no exaggeration to say that Claire had never changed a single diaper for Ruby from the day she was born. Forget breastfeeding—she'd never once cared for Ruby.

And yet, the little girl Tristan had raised with so much love and care… was just gone.

Her smile, once as bright as spring sunshine and as vivid as wildflowers in bloom, now replayed in his mind like a slideshow on loop.

Every image was painfully clear, as if she were still right there in front of him, laughing and bouncing around. Yet reality was brutally unforgiving. Ruby had left him forever.

The more he thought about it, the harder Tristan sobbed. His cries grew hoarse and ragged, torn from a chest filled with endless grief and longing for the little girl he would never see again.

Just then, his phone chimed. It was a text from Claire.

"Tristan, Adrian just flew back to Drovenia, and he's running a high fever. I'm really worried about him, so I have to stay and take care of him. I probably won't have time to visit Ruby, so you'll just have to look after her yourself."

Tristan's expression darkened the moment he read the message. The fury in him roared to life.

The "Adrian" Claire had mentioned was Adrian Bennett, the man she'd never gotten over—the old flame she'd always kept in her heart.

Tristan's eyes turned bloodshot, and he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. He thought, "This is what you call 'work,' Claire? Why are you off caring for Adrian now? I can ignore that, but there's no way I'll forgive you for not being here for Ruby now that she's dead. This marriage is over!"