Regressor of the Fallen Family (Novel) Chapter 113

Chapter 113

"Victor is training you well, I see."

"That man surely hasn't forgotten the past and harbors a grudge. He's torturing me like a maniac who couldn’t finish off his enemy, and now Layla 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.

"I'll give you a letter to deliver. Take a break for a few days. I'll talk to Victor, so you don’t have to worry."


"Why? You don't like it?"

"No, it's 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. There's a branch of Nox at Bifrost Castle you’ll 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 McLaine. 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? You're not cheating on Eileen, are you?"

A swift punch silenced him. "Don't talk nonsense! They're 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 Baron Nadal family in the southeastern region. His family was so insignificant that most didn't 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 Kaihl? 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 couldn't 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 I'll brag about it. "I drank for three days and nights, but this tough old life won’t 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.

"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. "I'm from the information guild. Our client asked me to deliver this to you."

"A letter? For me?"

Confusion swirled in Damien's 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, I've delivered the letter. Here's the acknowledgement...ugh. There, done. I'll 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 it's from a runaway lover."

Laughing, an old drunk at the next table made a teasing remark. Damien thought, 'Let's 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 Sir Damien Nadal,

I am Logan, the eldest son of the McLaine family. I was deeply impressed by your poem 'The Drunken Moon', which you left at the Grandia 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 McLaine.

Sincerely, Logan McLaine.

"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 noble's 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, that's not the point. I'm 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?"

The next day, Damien Nadal, who in the future would create and manage the encryption systems for the Grandia Liberation Front, set out for the McLaine estate.

Around the same time, dozens of heirs and soldiers from small noble families devastated by the civil war received letters from the same sender. Most were intrigued by the personal attention and praise from a noble family head who remembered their personal achievements.

Two months into the civil war, McLaine Manor was bustling with the training of new recruits and a private militia. Many people started visiting McLaine Town, drawn by rumors of its prosperity and the need for more people in the expanding domain. However, the recent arrivals were not ordinary refugees – they were displaced knights and impoverished nobles.

"I heard you were looking for masterless knights."

Among them were properly equipped knights and many others who appeared like ruined nobles in their worn and dirty fine clothes. They all carried letters from the young lord, Logan McLaine.

'Knights are one thing, but what about these others?'

Confused but unable to turn them away, the knights and soldiers brought them to Logan.

"Damien… Nadal?"

"Yes, that's me. I…"

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Logan McLaine. Please, sit down."

Despite Logan's youth, he was the acting lord of the estate. Damien's shabby appearance and hunger made it hard to feel awkward about the informal address. Moreover, Logan seemed genuinely pleased to meet him, as if reuniting with an old acquaintance.

'Did I ever meet him before?'

But no, Damien would have remembered someone with such distinct red hair and eyes. Yet, Logan seemed to know him.

'It must be because of the poem.'

Clutching at straws, Damien sat down cautiously.

"So, you've accepted my offer, I presume?"

"Yes, but... what can I do here? My only skill is writing a few lines of poetry. You might be confusing me with someone else."

"Not at all. Being talented in poetry means you can understand and succinctly express complex matters. You'll be an asset in administration and management."

'Even as I say it, it sounds absurd.'

'What kind of nonsense is this?'

Both the speaker and listener thought this was ludicrous, but Logan was determined to recruit Damien.

'Damien Nadal. A genius of code and a master of information management.'

His contribution was key in protecting the identities of the resistance members throughout their long struggle.

'Even if his talents aren't immediately applicable, he'll be more than useful in administration.'

And more importantly,

'Damien has already lost his family in the civil war. Yet he fought for decades out of sheer patriotism. If we win his loyalty, he's someone we can trust implicitly.'

Regardless of his skills, individuals like him were invaluable. Confidently, Logan offered him a position.

"Hmm. Weren't you an administration graduate from the academy? That's trustworthy enough. I'll give you a position. You'll start as an assistant to our chief administrator, but with proven skills, you might manage a whole sector. Let's start your salary at 300 gold, shall we?"

"Why are you doing so much for me?"

"Don't you want it?"

"No, it's not that! I...I mean..."

"Just accept it. Why overthink?"

"Wh-what if I'm a spy? I could bring enemies inside... Oh, what am I saying? I'm not a spy...sorry."

"Ha! I know, I know. Alright, I'll arrange a room for you. Start tomorrow. First, let me introduce you to your superior."

"Okay, yes."

Stunned by the whirlwind hiring and assignment, Damien followed the young lord, who felt a sense of pride in his decision.

'That cold-hearted genius had such a look when he was young. Interesting. Very interesting.'

Among the recent arrivals, twenty-five would become Force users in the future. But securing Damien felt more satisfying than all of them combined.

'Maybe he can manage an information guild for us someday.'

Dependence on Nox or other guilds for information wasn't sustainable in the long run, especially as the family grew.

And when that time came,

'Damien Nadal, not just an administrator but an information manager. Until then, even if it's not his forte, he'll have to endure.'

So Logan introduced Damien to Dwayne, confident in his decision.

And sure enough,

"Ha ha ha! Lord, you're amazing. Philip and that Damien guy alone are worth more than ten others. Where did you find these gems? Just three more like them, and I won't have a worry in the world."

In just a week, Damien Nadal had earned high praise from McLaine's top vassal.

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