Regressor of the Fallen Family novel Chapter 113

Chapter 113

Vector is training him well, I see.

That man surely hasnt forgotten the past and harbors a grudge. Hes torturing me like a maniac who couldnt finish off his enemy, and now Laila is needlessly interfering

What was meant as a light-hearted comment triggered an endless tirade of complaints and grudges. Clearly, the boy was going through a tough time. Logan chuckled and cut off his ramblings.

Ill give you a letter to deliver. Take a break for a few days. Ill talk to Vector, so you dont have to worry.

Really?

Why? You dont like it?

No, its not that I dislike it, but

He trailed off, and Logan gave him a sharp look that quickly brought him back to his senses. Make sure you deliver all these important letters. Theres a branch of Nox at Bifrost Castle youll need to visit.

As he instructed the teary-eyed boy on how to contact Nox, Logan thought about his true plan. He was to scout the surviving knights of recently ruined families for Macline. The conditions were to be communicated clearly, with instructions for interested parties to contact them discretely.

He handed dozens of letters to the boy, who was surprised at the sheer number. What are all these?

Just letters.

When did you write these? And who are they for? Youre not cheating on Eileen, are you?

A swift punch silenced him. Dont talk nonsense! Theyre all for men. Stop imagining things and just send them.

Watching Rick leave in a fluster, Logan sighed. The letters were addressed to descendants of minor territories that had recently fallen, knights-in-training, in short, soldiers people who were overlooked by others. But Logan saw their potential, especially knowing that many would become Force users in the future. Most importantly, some of them were people Logan remembered who never awakened their Force until many years later.

The Grandia Liberation Front. The true patriots who ultimately sacrificed their lives for their country. These were the real freedom fighters Logan had found it hard to befriend in his past life due to his personal vendettas. He hoped they would respond to his letters, offering a chance to join a cause that could change their future.

Damien Nadal was the second son of the minor noble Nadal Baron family in the southeastern region. His family was so insignificant that most didnt even recognize their name. Lately, he had even begun to resent his noble lineage. Why did we get involved in this factional conflict just because my great-grandmother was the daughter of the Duke of Kalia? This is why our family is in ruins.

Drinking his sorrows away, Damien lamented the fate of his family, one of the first to fall in the civil war. He drank to ease the pain and to mourn his family, whose bodies he couldnt even retrieve. What kind of memorial service is this, drowning in alcohol

He ordered another drink, hoping either his money would run out or his miserable life would end first. If I survive, maybe Ill brag about it. I drank for three days and nights, but this tough old life wont end.

Lost in these dark thoughts, a strange voice interrupted him.

Damien Nadal?

Startled, he clumsily reached for his sword, too drunk to find it at first. freёweɓnovel.com

Who are you?!

The man, a middle-aged individual with an ordinary appearance, looked at Damien with a frown. Are you Damien Nadal?

M-me? Being pursued? Why would anyone bother

His drunken ramblings were interrupted by his own self-deprecation.

What do you want? How do you know me?

He managed to ask coherently, and the stranger pulled out a letter. Im from the information guild. Our client asked me to deliver this to you.

A letter? For me?

Confusion swirled in Damiens inebriated mind. Who would send him a letter? How did they know he was here? The thoughts further muddled his already clouded mind, but the messenger showed no sympathy for his state.

Well, Ive delivered the letter. Heres the acknowledgementugh. There, done. Ill be off then.

The middle-aged man staggered away after clumsily stamping his seal, leaving Damien Nadal staring blankly at the letter in his hand.

What in the world is this?

It felt almost surreal.

Tsk tsk. Young man, making such a fuss over a letter. Just open it! Who knows? Maybe its from a runaway lover.

Laughing, an old drunk at the next table made a teasing remark. Damien thought, Lets see what this is about. If this was some cruel joke, he was ready to show them what a desperate man could do. He opened the letter, and as he read on, his expression grew increasingly solemn.

To Mr. Damien Nadal,

I am Logan, the eldest son of the Macline family. I was deeply impressed by your poem The Drunken Moon, which you left at the Grand Academy. I thought you were a talented individual, and hearing about your recent misfortunes, I felt compelled to reach out.

In these trying times, our family is in need of talents like yours. If you are looking for a place to start anew, please consider Macline.

Sincerely, Logan Macline.

What nonsense is this

That embarrassing poem he wrote drunkenly at the Academy. Yes, he was its author, and it had circulated in social circles for a time. But in this country, poetry was merely a nobles hobby. No noble would recruit someone for their poetic talent.

To think that he, a mere second son of a ruined noble family, was being offered a position because of a poem was absurd.

No, thats not the point. Im not in a position to be choosy.

Even if it was a scam, he had nothing to lose. He had nothing left but his own life.

Should I go?