Regressor of the Fallen Family

Regressor of the Fallen Family Chapter 124

“What on earth are you saying!”

“To a faction with Bifrost?”

“They wouldn’t even take us in, would they?!”

“Why join a faction that’s even now losing?”

An uproar was inevitable.

From any angle, Logan’s words defied common sense.

“Your Highness. Why do you think that way? It seems there might be a problem with that plan…”

Dwayne stepped forward, awkwardly voicing the concern with his expression.

Acting on behalf of the questions of everyone present, as the head of the civil official vassals, it was he who stepped up.

But Logan’s response was unsatisfactory.

“Why bother helping the winning side? Would they be grateful? At best, the decline of our family is merely delayed. Joining the losing side and turning the tide will yield us much more.”

Logan’s reasoning held merit.

If one could assume that the McLaine family had the power to influence the civil war that had torn the nation in half.

“I just fear that we may be boarding a sinking ship too late.”

Dwayne was essentially asking—’Are you out of your mind?’

“A sinking ship? Not quite. Maybe a ship with a couple of broken masts and a nearly breached hull. But still, it has the strength to sail on.”

One was left to hope it was a sign of reality-check or to despair that it was madness known, yet pursued.

Dwayne, overwhelmed by a surge of conflicting emotions, briefly lost his words.

Though he had not confirmed it with everyone, he was certain most of the vassals wore similar expressions.

However, it was all too clear that the heir apparent would push his opinion forward, regardless of their stance.

And above all…

“Have I ever led us astray with my decisions? Trust me. I can do this again.”

No one dared counter the excuse that sounded all too familiar—none remained in the family who would.

“Ugh…”

“What if this leads us to ruin?”

“Eh?!”

Dwayne, who was agonizing over it, turned towards the voice of salvation.

‘Philip!’

When the talented young man with notably grey eyes brazenly raised his question to Logan,

Dwayne looked at Philip with eyes filled with moved emotion, as if he had found an oasis in a desert.

And then…

“We won’t fail. I’m confident.”

“Can’t you provide any rationale?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Hmm. Just as I expected… Well, I trust your words, my lord, since you have never failed us whenever you spoke so. I’ll count on your explanation later.”

Why ask?

If you have no intention of arguing, why step forward!

Dwayne quivered with fists trembling in betrayal, realizing too easily he had collapsed into acquiescence.

He couldn’t imagine Philip’s question was prearranged with Logan merely to assuage potential dissension among the vassals.

‘Somebody challenge him! Let’s uncover this with logic! Is this a consultation or a dictation?’

Unable to bear the frustration, Dwayne approached the heir apparent.

Then, he whispered angrily.

“That incident back then – you said it was Yordan’s doing! Then why are you considering the Second Prince’s side?!”

Understanding the context was enough to predict a conversation like this, but unacceptable in an open setting.

“Don’t worry. I’ll ensure we are handsomely rewarded for that.”

The reply was predictably non-committal, leaving Dwayne deflated.

His heart sank as he saw the cool smile at the corner of Logan’s mouth, a warning aimed probably at him.

“Ugh…”

Ultimately…

“Vassals, prepare for war! As soon as negotiations with the Second Prince are concluded, we march!”

Unable to stop the lord’s declaration, which basically delegated most of his powers to Logan.

That day.

McLaine’s communication reached the ducal household of Valdermaine.

* * *

“We will join with the faction of the Second Prince.”

McLaine’s declaration startled the officer in charge of communications, promptly summoning the castle’s master.

Despite the welcome message, the master maintained a cold attitude.

“Join us now? How can I put trust in those words?”

Disdainful skepticism. Yet those irritating red eyes within the communication device only smiled.

“Well, if you insist on refusing, I have no qualms going to the First Prince’s faction. Do you really reject our offer, Your Excellency?”

One word was enough to set Yordan Valdermaine off.

Crash!

“How dare you play with me?!”

Papers flew as the desk turned over, and the trembling clerk barely caught the flying communication device.

A calmer Yordan wouldn’t have reacted so explosively to mere words. Yet, the looming sense of impending doom was steadily robbing him of his tranquility.

“Ha. Gift, you say. I have no idea what you mean. Anyway, is that why you’d join our faction?”

“Well, not exactly. But if I join the losing side and help reverse the tide, won’t we stand to gain more eventually?”

The losing side.

Even external perspectives saw it was that way, which further contorted Yordan’s features, though he tried to appear composed.

“If you say you’re joining the losing side, you mean the First Prince’s faction. Why mention it here?”

“Hmm. It seems we disagree. But if you say so, so be it. Anyway, our joining comes with conditions.”

Inside, Yordan scoffed.

To stoop under the one who had sent assassins?

It was as good as saying he was aiming for a stab in the back.

“Conditions… Do I really need to entertain them?”

Nevertheless, the opponent laid out his terms unabashedly.

“We require recognition of the lands we conquer in Bifrost, half of the adjacent lands of Marquis Callian, and at least the title of an vicount, if not a count, which our ancestors lost. What do you say?”

The audacity of Logan’s demands was beyond skeptical doubts.

Yordan involuntarily retorted.

“Claim lands without permission and seek my recognition? On top of this, you want half a count’s territory? Ha, this is absurd. Are you serious?”

“I believe that’s quite fair, given the risks we assume.”

The cheeky smile on the other’s face nearly made Yordan burst.

At any other time, he wouldn’t be so brazen before me.

Exasperated with pride-wounding dialogue, he decided to cut off the conversation.

“If you’ll kneel, come here and talk. Repeat the same words in front of me, and I may recognize you.”

He didn’t expect compliance—an escape clause, essentially.

But the brazen man across the communication only nodded.

“Ha. Alright then.”

“What? You’re coming? Heh heh.”

With a mix of emotions, Yordan reluctantly nodded.

* * *

“Aren’t the demands too excessive? Surely, they have already divvied up those lands among themselves.”

“It would be the end for the Second Prince’s faction if we bothered about that at this point. Besides, such high demands help dissipate any doubts.”

“Doubts? They will use us as cannon fodder once we join them.”

“That’s a risk we have to accept.”

“An effort spent grooming our family’s forces could shatter in vain.”

“Ah, come on, you’re at it again. Dad agreed to this after seeing Libertatio.”

To those in the know, McLaine’s real military strength vastly differed from what others perceived.

Apart from the basic military force, an incredibly powerful new weapon had been readied.

Aware officials believed that even if used as cannon fodder, they were competent enough to defeat the opposing forces.

Yet Patrick’s concerns were elsewhere.

“It’s that Libertatio… What was it? I grow old and timid – can we really protect it?”

“Don’t worry, sir. Once our power is proven, no one will be able to flippantly discuss such matters. That’s why we are assisting the unfavorable side.”

“Is that truly all you think about?”

“Yes?”

“I find it hard to believe you truly intend to make Prince Romaine king.”

Patrick remembered the event at Grandia Noblesse well. The incident that had sparked full-scale civil war showed him his son, smiling amidst the chaos.

The deceased count, Larry Clatt, was a senior civil official noble of the Second Prince’s faction.

He feared this participation in the civil war was an extension of that incident.

“Well, Prince Romaine isn’t exactly fit to be king.”

And his son’s smile brought the ominous suspicion to the surface.

“You’re not planning…?”

“It’s turbulent times, father. Today’s enemies may become tomorrow’s allies, and vice versa.”

It seemed as if no reconciliation was possible between the two sides.

“We just have to seize the most for our family in this.”

His son’s confident smile shut down any rising objections.

“Right. It must be so.”

Having long passed the family reins, his path was now to tread trustingly.

Patrick looked at his eldest son’s face, grown out of his influence, patting his shoulder without a word.

He didn’t need to voice the ominous premonition creeping in, spoiling the mood.

‘I must be truly old. What nonsense are these baseless feelings?’

Still, he ardently hoped deep inside. May only glory accompany this path’s end.

If unforeseen obstacles emerged…

‘I’ll break through for us. Even if it costs my life. So, oh Divine, I pray you bestow only light on the future of my sons.’

Without ever embracing faith in his life, Patrick found himself resisting the urge to call upon a higher power while enduring the unsettling premonitions.

* * *

Ronian felt quite pleased with the recent developments.

The internal conflict had unsettled the country, but it was an external worry.

His family, instead, had restored their ancient homeland and reclaimed the glory from two centuries past.

And through this civil war, he aspired to attain even greater influence.

Perhaps they could achieve the omnipotence like when the founder of his house, the Sword Sage Adam McLaine, was a living legend during the days of the founding of Grandia Kingdom.

‘With my brother there, it’s surely possible!’

He would be the sword forging this glory by his brother’s side, guiding and chronicling all history.

Honing his skills daily, Ronian committed to this resolve.

Never again to fall short of power, failing to execute ‘his brother’s plans.’

Then, one day.

When he heard they were preparing to march again, Ronian received an unexpected command.

“To stay and protect our lands? Me?”

“Six knights and a hundred soldiers each in ten castles, including two towns. Sparse numbers for our expanded territory. A direct descendant must command the knights and oversee the militia, and in the event…”

“Brother.”

Ronian cut off his brother, who was reciting the same explanation for the third time.

“Hm?”

“It is a necessary task, right?”

“Yes, strictly speaking, it’s not our war, so not all direct descendants need to join.”

“If the worst occurs, I will have to carry on our legacy.”

“Such a case won’t happen but…”

“Brother. I am no longer a child. I understand what you’re saying, the necessity of it.”

Hearing that, Logan simply looked at his brother.

Only eighteen, yet standing nearly as tall with radiant red eyes, confident smiles facing him.

Logan used to think of his brother as a youth, but now he saw the face of an Aura User who had led the family and fought against an empire when the odds were against him.

Blinking repeatedly at this overlay, Logan let out a soft chuckle.

“Ha, right. Maybe I went too far with my concerns.”

“Go and return safely. I’ll protect our lands with certainty until your return.”

“Alright, I trust you.”

Logan patted his brother’s shoulder as he turned, feeling an inexplicable pride welling up inside.

Trusting his now dependable brother completely…

“But if by any chance, just in case…”

“Brother, please…”

Though his dignity took a slight hit, some worries he couldn’t shake.

‘Times are critical, after all.’

Certainly not because he was overly anxious, Logan deceived himself.

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