There was a traitor in your lines. The hero knew of things they weren't at all supposed to know. You ordered your people to find the traitor and torture them, then bring them for you to kill them.

When a few of your henchmen came in, excitedly speaking about how they'd found the traitor and tortured him in the most horrendous ways they could, you smiled and grabbed your gun.

But then, when they threw the body, broken and bloody, you froze.

Because those pained moans were your son's.