The Next Day
Soho sat on a chair facing a vast, luxurious desk.
Behind it sat a man in his late fifties—dark blue hair, a thick, neatly groomed beard, and a powerful build despite his calm posture.
He was the head of the Griffenmark family.
The Patriarch: Heinrich Griffenmark.
Soho spoke in a steady voice:
— I don't know what to say… I'm truly sorry. But I couldn't resolve the matter in any other way.
Heinrich looked at him for a long moment, then said in a heavy, calm tone:
— It's fine. You simply did your job—and you did it perfectly.
The fault is mine… for focusing too much on strengthening the family and expanding its business, and neglecting my duty as a father.
Soho replied without hesitation:
— Don't grieve over the past, sir.
It isn't easy to fulfill your role as a warrior, manage the family, and govern the province all at once.
— In such a life, personal matters become a luxury.
Heinrich smiled sadly, then said:
— By the way… your reputation has spread tremendously lately, yet I haven't seen a single photo of you in the news regarding your achievements.
Soho chuckled lightly:
— I don't like the spotlight. And I don't want my face to be known everywhere.
Heinrich laughed as well:
— That's the thinking of someone aiming for vast horizons.
Soho smiled faintly:
— Who knows what the future holds.
The Following Day
In the main hall of the family mansion, Heinrich Griffenmark sat in the distance.
Beside him was the eldest son of the family, and in front of them a journalist, studio cameras surrounding them.
It was a live interview about the incident.
On the second floor, Soho and Martin stood watching what was happening below.
Sadness was clearly visible on Martin's face.
Soho said quietly:
— I hope you don't hold a grudge against me.
Martin replied:
— That's not it…
I'm just wondering how things ended up this way.
Soho said:
— From what I learned, he was less talented than his siblings.
That may have been the cause.
Martin said quickly:
— No.
He fell silent for a moment, then said:
— The reason… was my mother.
Soho replied:
— I don't want to pry, but—
Martin interrupted him:
— I wouldn't have started if I wasn't going to tell you.
Soho hesitated:
— But we're not that close, and—
Martin cut him off with a laugh:
— Yes, you're right.
But sometimes trust and secrets come first, and the relationship follows later.
Then he added jokingly:
— And I think this team needs someone politically active.
Soho laughed softly.
He recalled what he had been through with his companions so far—the situations they had faced, the growth of their bond.
A short time. No more than eight months.
He smiled and said:
— Yes. You're right.
Martin continued:
— Erik's mother was a simple woman from a very ordinary family. She wasn't even highly educated.
He added:
— I wasn't old enough to remember, but my father told me she was kind, unrelated to anything happening in the world.
She cared for the household and treated other people's children as her own.
— She even took care of me more than my own mother when I was in the cradle.
She spoke with the servants, cooked with them, and sometimes cleaned our rooms herself.
He paused briefly, then continued:
— But she suddenly fell ill with brain damage.
— And you know… it can't be cured, not even with elixirs.
— She died when he was only eight years old.
— He trained diligently despite his lack of talent.
He trained day and night more than anyone in the family—more than anyone in all the branch families.
— But over time, the children began avoiding him and mistreating him, out of jealousy for his effort, and because he was of the direct bloodline despite his weakness.
— Time passed, and my mother began inciting our sisters against him,
while the eldest brother followed a separate path with my father.
— He gradually became alone.
— And yet… he was always good to me.
— In the end… things turned out like this.
Soho looked at him with silent sorrow, then said:
— Humans are always weak before their desires and selfishness.
Without a balanced, strict guide, people fracture and are led by their thoughts without restraint or control over their will.
Martin smiled and said:
— Sometimes, when you talk, you sound like an old man.
Are you a regressor or something?
Soho laughed:
— My life just forced me to be this way.
Then he said:
— But why assume something absurd like time regression?
Martin replied:
— Hah… well, I can't think of anything else that explains you.
He paused, then added:
— But some strange people have appeared in the world over the past few years.
Overwhelming abilities at a young age, sudden radical changes, behaviors as if they knew the future.
— Those people disappeared from the world, and their information was erased.
I think that's because their paths became selfish, sometimes filled with crimes.
— But I don't remember names, and there's no information at all.
It feels deliberate—almost making you doubt whether it was ever real.
He sighed.
— In the end… it's unlikely.
It's impossible for this to happen to so many people if it were real.
Soho looked at him, then remembered:
His overwhelming instincts.
His involuntary reactions in battle.
His ability to resolve complex matters without thinking.
And finally… his dream—himself seated upon a throne.
He didn't say another word.
But his expression changed.
A face carrying heavy weight and illusion, as if weaving the threads of a story within his mind.
And he said in a low, heavy voice:
— If I were a regressor…
at least I would have protected them.
He fell silent.
Martin looked at him.
He didn't speak.
He read his face and understood the meaning behind those vague final words.
He didn't ask about the reason for his sadness.
They continued watching the interview below.
End of the Chapter