Regressor of the Fallen Family chapter 148


Regressor of the Fallen family

Regressor of the Fallen Family Chapter 148

Chapter 148: Tymon and the Unforeseen War

Tymon, a soldier in the Douglas Duchy, considered himself to be a man of strong misfortune. He had survived alone when a plague struck his village, claiming the lives of all his siblings, and had also been the sole survivor when the caravan he was working for was annihilated by bandits. Even when he became a soldier during the civil war, he found himself among the few troops left behind to guard the rear estates.

Given his life experiences, it was only natural for him to believe that he was plagued by bad luck. Recent events seemed to follow the same unfortunate pattern. When he was transferred to the frontlines due to a shortage of soldiers, he thought his world was collapsing—only for the announcement to come that the war was on hold and they were being sent to occupy some remote village instead. Ignoring the cynical comments that it was just a small war within a larger conflict that was merely postponed, Tymon and most soldiers preferred to engage in a battle where victory was certain over an imminent death in uncertain warfare.

If by some chance he could distinguish himself in this “easier war,” perhaps he could be reassigned to the rear in the upcoming battles. With such thoughts, Tymon bravely charged forward behind the knights. But the outcome of the battle was nothing like he expected.

With a sharp swoosh, as if the sky was being painted black, screams echoed.


His advancing companions tumbled down in heaps.

As mighty knights pushed forward, deflecting volleys of arrows, a fiery explosion erupted nearby, painting several meters around it in a fierce red glow.


Tymon couldn’t peel his eyes away from the knight in front of him, now rolling on the ground, engulfed in flames.

‘This… This isn’t what I was told!’

The scene before him was more horrific than any war he had heard of, with his own forces collapsing around him.

“E-easy they said! An easy war this was supposed to be, damn it all…!”

Before he could fully voice his frustration, he fell just as easily as the others, Tymon’s lifeless body pierced by arrows, another victim of his bad luck.

“What in the world is going on?!” shouted Yordan Valdermaine, observing from behind the advancing allied forces, his expression contorted with disbelief. Facing the onslaught of bolts and arrows, he could estimate from the barrage that they were outnumbered by at least seven or eight thousand soldiers.

As he came to this realization, he saw the Prince’s army also being bombarded. Even though they were essentially rivals, the cries of their soldiers grated on his ears.

‘It’s much worse. There must be more than ten thousand. What is happening here?’

Though disconcerted, withdrawing the troops at this time wasn’t an option.

“Luther! Break their lines! We need to see the faces of these hidden cowards!”

“Understood,” responded the giant superhuman as he began to move.

Another superhuman, wrapped in a white wind, charged towards the citadel from the south. The sight of them approaching terrified the enemy knights despite their rain of quarrels and Liberatio.

“Here they come!!”

But Logan, close by the ramparts, sensed an unusual surge in energy, and darted towards it, his movements swift as lightning. In response, the golden edge of his Force Blade elongated into the emptiness before him.


An intense soundwave and a blast of cold whiteness spread across the ramparts, frosting them over.

“It’s freezing!”

“What is this?!”

“Fall back! It’s magic!”

While some soldiers retreated in shock, Logan turned his gaze toward a point over a kilometer away. Had he not countered that magic attack, dozens would have perished.

‘From that distance… Curse these mages.’

With another powerful surge of mana, Logan was forced back into action. Then, a call pierced through.

“young lord Logan!”

He looked back to see a bright white beam shooting upwards from the southern citadel’s walls.

“Damn it!”

The moment he saw it, Logan abandoned any further attempt to ward off Juan Douglas’ magic.

‘No mage can keep casting such spells without preparation.’

Trusting in this belief, Logan mustered all his might and swung his sword at the other superhuman emerging within the snowy whirlwind.


Wicken Callian, confronted with the golden Force Blade, could not hide a cold smile. This was his opportunity to pay back for the humiliation dealt him a month ago.

‘I shall kill you!’

He struck at the Force Blade with all his might, but his satisfying blow only pushed his foe back and failed to cause the severe injury he expected.


His full-powered strike should have been overwhelming, yet the enemy remained unfazed—a perplexing outcome.


Still, Wicken attacked again, refusing to be deterred by a lingering belief that it had to be an artifact at play. A concentrated white aura amplified his swing.


However, once more, the blade’s impact only repelled the enemy without conveying the desired pain onto Logan’s face. Instead, only a slight pallor—nothing more.

‘Not an artifact? How is this possible…?’

In the midst of combat, Wicken’s confusion was enough to make him forget about manipulating the winds as he plummeted down. And above him loomed Logan’s massive golden greatsword, striking down with ferocious force.


The battlefield was silenced as Logan, pale-faced from exertion, barely caught his breath atop the ramparts.

“Huff. Still not enough.”

Below, Wicken Callian, looking like a soaked rat in a ditch, glared back up at him with terrified eyes. Having anticipated panic from the enemy, Logan was instead met with resilience. But rather than despair, Logan smiled, relieved to know that he had survived the worst of the sacred aura.

Even more reassuringly, an uproarious cheer broke out among his allies.


Looking around, he saw soldiers celebrating between the ramparts, Luther Kaihl stumbling as arrows protruded from his large body.


Remembering what Clayton had mentioned about the Gravity Control spell—more effective against larger and heavier beings like the Count Luther Kaihl—Logan’s lips couldn’t help but curl into a grin.

Now, most eyes were fixated on the staggering superhuman—nobody had anticipated such a stunning sight.

“Keep firing! Take down the superhuman!”

As a furious barrage targeted Luther, the tremendous body that once seemed unbreakable now appeared pitifully frail.

‘I would finish it now if I could.’

But with another formidable superhuman lurking below, Logan hesitated.

Soon after, the order resounded.

“Retreat! Fall back!”

Whether it was the unexpected damage or the sight of a superhuman defeat that prompted it, the allied army began their withdrawal.

“What do you think, you curs!”

“We’ve won!”

“A legion couldn’t shake us!”

The self-assured shouts of the militia men led to an outburst from within the Aegis.


An uproar of victory erupted from the McLaine troops, the tension they’d felt giving way to a collective sigh of relief—an emotion Logan could sense without needing to look back.

Wicken Callian, whose grimace contrasted with Logan’s smile, did not proceed to attack again, instead following orders and retreating towards his base. And at last, Logan’s view cleared to reveal the retreating enemy forces—a well-trained but worry-free sight.

‘We’ve blocked them once, and what’s done once is never difficult again.’

His expression lightened, hope bolstering as the ultimate weapon in his arsenal remained unused.

* * *

“This just doesn’t make sense!”

With a resounding voice but no rebuttals, the confusion was palpable among the command structure. None could fathom civilians being armed, trained, and capable of standing against knights.

“Calm yourself, sir. At the very least, we still have the upper hand in troop strength. Don’t be hasty. Thoroughly crush them and uproot this nuisance,” counseled Lucen Talos, bringing some semblance of calm to Yordan in the chaos.

“Ugh. Of course. Now, what strategy shall we use?”

“If you merely wish to annihilate McLaine, we could bypass the First Prince’s forces and head north to decimate that central town they call Taun. However…”

“Destroying those peasants won’t change a thing. The true targets are all right there.”

“I thought you might say that.”

“Our real targets are that brat, Lord McLaine, and possibly the mage who developed those explosives. I must rip the one who made a mockery of me to shreds and capture anyone who knows the secrets of that weapon before Juan does!”

Bang! Yordan slammed down on the table with such force it shattered into pieces.

“That’s the real goal of this war. McLaine’s land be damned. Our true enemies are not those insolent fools!”

The burning ambition in his eyes conveyed his determination, which Lucen acknowledged with a nod.

“Yes, the real enemies are the First Prince and Duke Juan Douglas.”

“Exactly. So we must adjust our strategy to minimize our losses and achieve our goals as swiftly as possible.”

“Understood,” Lucen replied, swallowing many things he wanted to say but opted not to voice them.

“Either way, we’re going to win this war, and it’s the secrets of the weapon, not the land, that are at stake. Tell Juan that since Luther has been injured, we’ll handle that mage on our behalf.”

“He won’t accept it.”

“Isn’t that just a courtesy? Just in case. There’s a high chance the lord or that brat knows the formula, too.”

Yordan reminisced about the red-eyed boy who had sized him up with a cryptic stare.

“Tell him that brat is mine, too. Absolutely!”


He probably won’t accept it.

Without uttering this obvious truth, Lucen kept the words to himself, knowing well the Duke before him was aware of it as well.


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