Regressor of the Fallen Family chapter 1



“I’ve never met anyone with patriotism as fervent as yours.”

That was a comment Logan often heard from his comrades while he roamed the world for the independence movement.

But each time, his answer was the same.

“Patriotism, my ass…”

To those bewildered by his response, he had only one thing to say.

“It’s just revenge.”

At those words, most nodded in understanding.

Others interpreted it as a form of patriotism—a revenge for the loss of one’s nation.

The truth, however, was entirely different, but he never bothered to explain.

It wasn’t a story he was proud of.

An unfilial son, expelled from his family for the sins of his foolish youth.

It took him more than a decade of struggling in a cruel world to realize just how pathetic he had been.

But by then, regret and remorse were all too late.

Confronted with the sight of his family’s home in flames as he approached to seek forgiveness, he wept tears of blood and vowed to avenge them.

The revenge for his family.


The revenge that stole even the chance to seek their forgiveness.

Which came first, he had forgotten over the years.

All he did now was live with a single purpose, regretting the past day by day.

A life that was nothing but suffering.

When he felt the end of that burdensome life approaching, a miracle occurred.

He had a long dream.

Memories of happy childhood days.

Times mired in jealousy, committing wicked deeds.

The regret he felt once he came to his senses after being cast out and wandering.

The war that led to his family’s downfall and the despair he felt witnessing it.

Decades spent striving for atonement and revenge.

And until the last moment.

The only thing that satisfied him was his own death.

He had given the worst of the bastards their just deserts, after all.

But the biggest regret that haunted him even in death was one he couldn’t shake off.

“I should have apologized.”

Though the calamity that struck his family may have been beyond his paltry power to avert, the sins he committed himself, he should have sought forgiveness for.

And so, with his last wish, he hoped.

Having died, he hoped to meet his family in the afterlife.

To meet them looking as he did in those days, so they might recognize him and offer him a chance to apologize.

And at that moment.



An intense headache spontaneously wracked his skull.

With a groan, he realized something felt off.

Pain? Moaning?

“Am I alive?”

His eyes snapped open, and his body bolts upright.



As he clutched his head, reeling from inexplicable pain, he heard a commotion around him.

“Young lord?!”

“The eldest young lord has woken up!”

“Inform the higher-ups!”

The bewildered voices spurred Logan to finally look around, and the faces that met his eyes felt both familiar and strangely foreign.

As he stared at them in dumb silence, a familiar face approached him.

“Young lord, are you alright?”

A brown-haired youth, mischievous in expression but impossible to forget, moved closer.

As Logan stared blankly at the brown eyes matching the youth’s hair, his response came automatically.


“Huh? Yes, Young lord. I’m Rick. How do you feel? Your eyes… Can you see this?”

The chatter from the familiar voice was overwhelming.

Rick, his dedicated attendant who had died some thirty years ago, now stood before him, concern etched on his ageless face.

“How is this…”

“My god, someone call the doctor! They said he’d be fine!”

As he grappled with the incomprehensible situation, the commotion around him grew.

‘What the hell is going on…’

As Logan’s eyes absorbed the long-missed, unchanging scenery from the window—


The training yard outside the window and the manor, the ancient walls in the distance and the glimpses of knights…

Every corner bore the same emblem engraved everywhere.


The symbol of the McLaine family.

A humble noble family from the outlying nation of Grandia, it was an emblem he had once held in endless pride.

The sight he had longed for spread before him, unchanged as if time had never passed.

‘Is this a dream…?’

Even as the surrounding noise left him dazed, he stared blankly at each corner of the view from the window, his mind unable to comprehend the reality of the situation.

Then Rick’s voice grew louder in concern.

“Young lord? You can see this, can’t you? Oh lord, our young lord! Somebody fetch the doctor!”

From being his dedicated attendant since childhood, Rick had always been rather dramatic.

And now…

“Rick, I must insist on complete rest for now…”

The maids began to join in on the fuss.

It was all too much to take in as he stood in confusion.


The door to the recovery room gently opened.

“Bi-big brother, are you okay?”

A voice he couldn’t ignore made Logan turn his head swiftly.

Just beyond the slightly ajar door, a round-cheeked boy peered in tentatively.

The boy’s red hair and eyes were strikingly similar to Logan’s.


His younger brother, with talent monstrous enough to defeat him—a 19-year-old who undertook knightly training for a decade—within just 3 years of holding a wooden sword.

The same brother he once envied and despised, and whose tragic end he deeply regretted, longing for forgiveness in his final years.

‘This is…’



“Master! You need rest.”

“Eldest young lord, please lay down.”

A sudden headache struck again and Logan clutched his head as Rick barred the doorway.

Rick looked panicked as he tried to usher Ronian out, still keeping an eye on Logan.

Watching this scene unfold, Logan was struck by déjà vu.

The bandages wrapped around his head, the pain…

And the youthful face of Ronian.

An all-too-familiar sensation of déjà vu finally dredged up long-buried memories.

If this was indeed reality, it would mean—

‘The first time I officially dueled…’

The day when jealousy and inadequacy reached its peak amidst the gasps of knights and vassals.

He had lashed out at his brother, who came to visit him in his sickroom after the duel.

– Get out! You bastard of a concubine, how dare you…

It was an extension of the abuse he had heaped on his brother for three long years.

But those words also drove his brother away for good, a brother who had tolerated all manner of mistreatment up to then.

And in his final days, Logan regretted that moment until his last breath.

That added to his confusion.

‘Is this another dream? Or, do I dream even in death? Besides, this pain…’


However, he couldn’t stay idle any longer.

‘Even if it is a dream, or especially if it’s a dream.’

Just like he had wished for decades.

Even though it might be in vain, he wanted to alleviate any guilty conscience.

“It’s alright. Ronian, come in.”

“Young lord?”

“Forget it. Come here, Ronian McLaine.”

At those words, the boy’s expression brightened.

“Brother, I’m really sorry. I should have been more careful…”

Ronian, moving swiftly as the wind, stood before Logan’s bedside, constantly bowing his head in apology.

Shorter than his peers.

An innocent face and an even kinder heart.

Despite it being a common incident during training, the boy was genuinely saddened.

The foolishness of his past self, who had resented and envied such a person, was laughable to him now.

“It’s fine. I’m okay. Stop apologizing like that.”

The confused boy’s face, the warmth of his touch on Logan’s hand—it all felt too real.

And that made him want to say the things he had failed to say in his previous life.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all.”

“But I…”

“Rather, I…”

He wished to keep talking with a smile if possible, but memories of what followed that day made that impossible.

His past self viciously lashing out, getting worse and worse day by day, leading to the incident ‘that day’ when he was stripped of his heir status and eventually expelled from the family.

The ensuing memories were filled with nothing but regret.

“I—I’m s-sorry…”

And while dreaming or not, past memories—no, future memories surged forth.

‘This kid, he died like that…’

His brother led the family after their father’s death early in the imperial war, always fighting on the front lines by the kingdom’s decree.

Due to that, the already weakened family’s power steadily drained away.

As the McLaine forces held off the imperial army, the royal family took the opportunity to flee to another country.

In the end, Ronian was captured by the empire, tortured, and then executed publicly.

He was brutally used and died a miserable death.

That shouldn’t happen.

Absolutely not.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Logan’s hands that embraced his brother tightened naturally.

“I’m sorry, Ronian. Your brother is sorry.”

Words of atonement unsaid in his previous life.

Heartfelt regret spilled as tears.

“B-big brother? Why are you crying…”

“I’m so sorry. I really am sorry.”

Though he had much to say, only one phrase kept coming out.

The big young man wept endlessly.

And the kid—a little boy compared to him—patted his back with small hands.

As time, short yet long, passed.

– Brother, I’ll come back again.

Ronian left with a smile.

And as everyone around watched in surprise, Logan prayed with a fervent wish.

If this is not a dream, if I have truly returned to the past.

I will change everything.

And he closed his eyes again.

When he reopened his eyes,

Logan was still alive in the past, and he silently cheered.

* * *

Beyond the window, warm sunlight bathed the room.

The chirping of birds rode the refreshing breeze as it swept inside.

Upon awakening and rising from his bed, Logan looked at his body with disbelief in his eyes.

The numerous scars from ten years as a mercenary and twenty years in the independence movement were gone, and even his knees, which ached every morning, were completely fine.

“…So it wasn’t a dream.”

Decades of memories.

Up to the very last moment.

– Where is the holy relic?!

– How dare you steal the empire’s treasure!

– Let’s die together!


A total disintegration, the pain vivid as ever.

Yet, he was very much alive.

A visceral clenching tightened within him as excitement shot through his limbs.

The past he longed to rewind.

The chance to alter all that had come.

Of course, the questions remained.

‘How did this happen?’

Logically speaking, it was impossible.

The realms of time and space were considered, even in theology, to be territorys untouched by creating gods, not meddling in the world any longer.

If he went about claiming he had returned from the future…

‘At best, labeled a madman. At worst, arrested for blasphemy by the church.’

Yet, what explained his present situation?

“Really now…”

Only one guess came to mind.

‘That explosion. Much stronger than expected. But still…’

Returning to the past after being blown to bits, it was ridiculous.

He had seen hundreds face similar violent ends on the battlefield.

Could they have all returned to the past? It was absurd to even consider.


Wracking his brain for a while, no answer came.


“Let’s drop it.”

He spoke out loud, casting aside pointless thoughts.

If too much pondering failed to yield an answer, he knew better not to dwell on the issue any longer.

After decades of life’s harsh lessons, it was time to focus on what needed to be done.

First and foremost…



“Gasp! Your Grace!”

At that moment, a maid cautiously opened the door, and her eyes met his.

As if frozen, the maid trembled violently and bowed deeply.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“Huh? What for?”

The maid’s extraordinary reaction puzzled him, turning her face paler at his inquiry.

“I apologize! I shall take more care next time!”

What was she sorry about?

He was baffled but before he could articulate a thought, Rick appeared, almost running into the room.

“Dear me. Our Mary woke you from your sleep. I should have reminded her. My apologies, my lord.”

Rick’s stance, protective in front of the maid, waving her away, brought to Logan a sense of familiar guilt.

– I said to keep it down in my room! Even the maids don’t respect me?! You wretches!


– Aaaah!

– My lord, please!


A throbbing headache brought forth visions hazy as mirages.

Tiny acts of cruelty, overshadowed by great sins, paraded before him in succession.


The headache felt as if it had seeped right into his chest.

Shame burned on his face.


“Let’s calm down, our lord. This child, I will deal with. Don’t get agitated…”

“It’s not that. Mary… was it?”

“Oh, heavens. You there, come and apologize quickly!”

As he watched Rick making a fuss, the heat in his face intensified.


“No, my lord. I can handle it…”

“Stop. The maid did nothing wrong, let her be!”

“Ah… what? You asked for…?”

A sigh erupted naturally.

“Nevermind, Rick. Bring me paper and pen. A lot of paper.”


“Didn’t you hear me?”

“No, it’s not that. What are you going to do with paper and pen to Mary…”

“Nothing! Just let her go! Just bring it to me!”

By now, his face felt ready to combust.

And so, a new life began, not without its challenges.


One response to “Regressor of the Fallen Family chapter 1”

  1. Parabéns!!! Obra incrivel! Obrigado por trazer essa novel!

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