Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 208 - Two Hundred And Eight

Knock. Knock.

A sharp, rhythmic sound broke the silence of the room.

Derek didn’t look up immediately. He finished his signature, blowing gently on the wet ink to dry it.

"Enter," Derek spoke, his voice deep and calm.

The heavy wooden door creaked open. A guard stepped inside. It was one of the men Derek trusted, a soldier who had served in the family guard for ten years. He was currently assigned to the mining district, specifically to watch over the exiled Second Master.

The guard closed the door softly and walked to the center of the room. He bowed low, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Your Grace," the guard said.

Derek looked up. He set the quill down in its holder. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Report," Derek said. "How is my brother enjoying his new life?"

The guard straightened up. He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform and pulled out a piece of paper. It wasn’t a formal scroll. It was a rough, crumpled piece of parchment, likely torn from a ledger or a notebook. It looked dirty, stained with coal dust and grime.

"He is... unhappy, Your Grace," the guard admitted. "The labor is hard. He complains often. But he sent this."

The guard walked forward and placed the dirty paper on the pristine desk.

Derek looked at it with distaste. He picked it up with two fingers.

"A letter?" Derek asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," the guard said. "He demanded I bring it to you immediately. He said it was a matter of urgency."

Derek unfolded the paper. The handwriting was messy, hurried, and scrawled with a piece of charcoal rather than ink. It was Carlos’s writing, frantic and desperate.

Derek began to read.

"Brother," the letter began. "While I was staying in the old townhouse... after my labor... I found something."

Derek’s eyes scanned the lines.

"I discovered letters," Carlos wrote. "Letters that Theodore sent years ago."

Derek froze. His heart skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a second.

He looked up at the guard. His eyes were intense.

"He said he found letters?" Derek asked, his voice tight. "From Theodore?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. That is what he claimed."

Derek looked back at the paper. He read the sentence again, repeating what the guard who was made to keep an eye on Carlos said, even after reading the letter.

"Theodore sent letters," Derek murmured.

He continued reading.

"They were hidden," Carlos wrote. "In a false bottom of a drawer in the attic room. They are addressed to the family. But they were never sent. They are dated from the year of the war."

Derek placed the letter down on the table. He smoothed it out with his hand, trying to make sense of the words.

Theodore. His older brother. The hero. The man who had died in the ambush at Strathmore. The man whose death had haunted Derek for years.

"The Second Master said the letters were sent a few years back," the guard added helpfully. "Just before the General died."

Derek leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. He stared at the wall, his mind racing back in time.

"Theodore’s letters home," Derek pondered.

It didn’t make sense. Theodore had been stationed at the border. He wrote home often, but his letters always came to the main estate. They came to the Dowager. They came to Derek.

"Why were they sent to the old townhouse?" Derek murmured.

The old townhouse in the mining district was a ruin. It was a small, drafty building used decades ago when the family visited the mines. But no one had lived there for twenty years. It was just a storage place for old furniture and dust.

Why would Theodore send letters there?

"Did he hide them there?" Derek asked himself. "Or were they intercepted? Did someone stop the messenger and hide the letters in the attic to prevent them from reaching us?"

The guard replied, interrupting Derek’s thoughts.

"The Second Master said maybe it was misdelivered," the guard said. "Or perhaps the messenger was lazy and dumped them there."

Derek shook his head. "Theodore’s messengers were soldiers. They were not lazy."

This was something else. This was suspicious.

"He has kept them safe," the guard continued. "He says he has them in a lockbox. He won’t let anyone touch them."

Derek looked at the guard. He saw the hesitation in the man’s eyes.

"What else?" Derek asked. "What does Carlos want?"

The guard sighed.

"He says," the guard reported, "that when he can return to the manor... when his banishment is over... he will bring them to you."

Derek let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Of course," Derek said. "He is bargaining."

Carlos had found something precious. He had found the words of their dead brother. And instead of bringing them immediately, instead of sharing this discovery with the family, he was holding them hostage.

"He also asks you to plead with the Dowager to release him soon," the guard said. "He says the mines are cold. He says his hands are blistering. He says if you want the letters, you must end his punishment."

Derek stood up. He walked to the window. He looked out at the bright sun, but he felt cold inside.

Carlos was using Theodore’s memory as a ticket out of hard work. It was despicable. But it was also effective.

Derek needed those letters.

If Theodore had written them just before he died... if it had been hidden in a remote townhouse... they might contain the truth. They might contain the proof Derek needed to expose the plot at Strathmore. They might name the traitor.

"I cannot wait," Derek said to the window. "I cannot let Carlos keep them. He is careless. He might lose them. He might use them to light a fire to keep warm. He doesn’t understand their value."

Derek turned back to the room. His face was set in grim determination.

He looked at the guard.

"Does he have them on him?" Derek asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," the guard said. "He carries the box with him everywhere. Even to the dig site."

Derek nodded.

He walked back to his desk. He picked up the crumpled note from Carlos. He crumpled it further in his fist.

"I cannot trust a messenger," Derek said. "And I cannot trust Carlos to tell the truth if I just send a wagon for him."

He looked at the map of the kingdom hanging on the wall. He measured the distance to the mining district with his eyes. It was a few hours’ ride. A hard ride.

He made a decision.

He turned to the guard.

"Go to the stables," Derek ordered. "Prepare a carriage I will use discreetly. It must be ready by tonight."

The guard blinked. "Your Grace?"

"I am not going to wait for him to bargain," Derek said. "And I am not going to ask Grandmother to release him. He stays where he is."

Derek walked to the desk.

"I need to see those letters," He said. "I need to see the handwriting. I need to know if they are real."

He looked at the guard with intense, burning eyes.

"If my brother left a message from the grave," Derek said, "I will not let it rot in the hands of a fool."

He checked the hours remaining till nightfall.

He spoke," his voice final and absolute. "I’ll have to go there myself, tonight."