NOVEL NEXT 128- The Eñeforte Rebuilding Project
Volume 03, Chapter 128
The Eñeforte Rebuilding Project
Célestin, Arthur, and Lumi step into the tent.
Inside, under the glow of a single lantern, André and Uther sit side by side at a battered folding table, a collection of maps and documents strewn between them.
André's face softens as he sees them enter. "Good to see you both," he says, his voice steady despite the grief in his eyes.
Lumi bows her head with grace. "Monsieur André, in helping rebuild the Eñeforte territory, how can we be of assistance in this collaboration?"
André nods, but before replying, he turns to Célestin. "It's simple, but first… Célestin, I know we've only met a handful of times, but you've traveled widely. What do you think of Eñeforte's landscape?"
Célestin blinks, caught off guard by the question. "It's beautiful, Uncle André," he answers. "There's a quiet strength here. It's… different from the rest of Verdant Haven."
André offers a small, grateful smile. "Thank you. Now, as the heir to the Moreau Aether Mining Corporation, do you think your family would consider setting up a mining area here? Not for strip-mining or destruction—just… exploration and research, to see what potential we truly have."
"A mining area?" Célestin repeats, his brow furrowing. He glances at Lumi and Arthur, unsure if they are as surprised as he feels.
'In the past… Uncle André never asked anything like this. Was it because he was always overwhelmed by disaster? Because we spent so much time trying to fix what was broken, we never tried to imagine something new…?'
Célestin turns back to André, his curiosity piqued. "Uncle André, I know your territory has natural resources, but mining? Eñeforte is known for its agriculture, with fields, vineyards, and groves. Mining feels… out of place."
"You're right," André admits, his gaze dropping to the table, tracing invisible patterns on the wood. "But before La Peste Noire began their campaign of sabotage, we were close to opening a mining research facility with several investors. They believed we had rare mineral veins beneath the northern hills. When the attacks began, our partners withdrew. We never had the chance to prove what we might discover."
Célestin's eyes widen, pieces of a puzzle falling into place. 'I never knew this. In every regression, we fought just to survive, never to rebuild, never to innovate. How much did I miss because I was so focused on revenge?'
He straightens, feeling the weight of possibility settle on his shoulders. "It's a great plan, Uncle. I think my parents would be interested if the project is handled right, with care for the land and the people."
A real smile, small but genuine, breaks through André's grief. He slides a thick envelope across the table. "This is a proposal for your parents. I hope it'll help open the conversation. It's handwritten, no Ethernet out here since the attack, and besides, there's something more personal about ink on paper. Rare these days, isn't it?"
Célestin takes the envelope. 'Paper. Not an email, not a hologram, but a real letter. In all these timelines, I don't think I've ever carried hope in my hands like this.'
He glances at Lumi and Arthur, then back at André. "Thank you. I'll make sure they see it. It… might not be easy, but I'll do what I can."
André nods, meeting Célestin's eyes. There is the unspoken gratitude of a man too tired for speeches, and the first real flicker of hope since the smoke cleared.
André turns to Lumi. "What about you, Lumi? What do you think of the natural resources of Eñeforte?"
Lumi pauses, her expression thoughtful. She taps her finger lightly against her chin, considering the landscape not as a rival guild heir but as the strategist she was raised to be.
"In addition to Célestin's points, I believe Eñeforte's strength lies in its agriculture, your fields, your unique crops, your old-world orchards."
She pauses, then continues, "There's immense potential here, not just for feeding the region, but for innovating. If you developed new plant breeds, disease-resistant, mana-enriched, higher-yield varieties, you could strengthen your food security and create a new source of revenue. Perhaps even lead research programs that would set a standard for the Golden Fields Region."
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A quiet pride flickers in André's eyes. He reaches into a stack of carefully organized papers and pulls out another envelope, this one sealed with a wax crest stamped with the Eñeforte family sigil.
"That's exactly what I hoped you'd say. Please, Lumi, would you deliver this to your uncle? It's a formal project proposal for expanding our agricultural research and development. I want Eñeforte to be more than just the breadbasket of the region, I want us to be innovators."
Lumi accepts the envelope with both hands, treating it with the same respect she would a contract or rare artifact.
"Thank you, Monsieur André. I'm looking forward to working with you and your territory. I believe we can accomplish something extraordinary together."
"It seems this partnership is going to go well," Uther says, a smile flickering across his usually stoic features. He turns to André. "André, since this is a major rebuilding effort, I'd like to offer my support as an investor. Not just as a friend, but as an ally committed to seeing Eñeforte rise again."
André feels the weight of those words settle into the tired lines of his face. He bows his head slightly, gratitude shining through despite the exhaustion. "Thank you, Uther. This means more than I can say, not just to me, but to everyone who calls Eñeforte home."
Célestin watches the exchange, the subtle warmth spreading through him. He hasn't seen anything like this in any of his countless timelines—not collaboration, but true partnership. Slowly, a small, relieved smile forms on his lips.
'Maybe, just maybe, this is the timeline where Eñeforte becomes something greater…' he thinks.
Outside, the muted noise of the camp continues, nurses calling for supplies, healers chanting spells, but inside, the future is being rewritten, one alliance at a time.
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High above the makeshift camp, shrouded in a thin mist of mana, Luo Minghao hovers silently, his arms folded behind his back as he observes the bustle below. The tents, the clusters of healers, the flicker of torches—none of it stirs the faintest emotion in his eyes.
"Guzman is dead. With their leader gone, La Peste Noire will scatter soon enough, lost without their head." His gaze flicks toward the distant, blackened ruins of Eñeforte town. "That part of the plan went smoothly. The town's destruction was Lord Malignor's desire, a message written in death and smoke. In that, we have succeeded."
But Luo's brow furrows.
"Yet, the outcome is incomplete. Both the Moreau child and Dominic survived." He pauses, contemplating the implications, weighing their survival against the grander scheme. "It seems the experiment's results are… mixed."
A trace of satisfaction creeps into his expression.
"Still, the demon I created managed to form a contract with Dominic. That alone proves the viability of my method. Though perhaps next time, I will erase every lingering fragment of humanity, every stray memory. Too much of the host's old selves remained. It could have compromised the entire operation."
He glances once more at the survivors in the camp—the children, the wounded—then exhales in a long, cold sigh. "There is little left to learn here. Time to report back to Lord Malignor. There will be new experiments. There are always more variables to test."
Without fanfare, Luo Minghao's form begins to dissolve, first at the fingertips, then at the shoulders, and at last his entire body, reduced to a swirl of glimmering ashes that drift away on the wind, leaving only the faintest echo of his presence behind.
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Maurice snaps his gaze skyward, his heart skipping for a moment. But there is nothing there, only an empty, cloud-streaked sky.
"I felt something… dangerous, just now," he mutters under his breath.
Syren, a heavy crate in her arms, shoots him a glance. "Maurice, what is it?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Nothing. Probably just my imagination. I thought I sensed something, but—" he shrugs, "seems I was wrong."
Syren lets out a low chuckle as she sets the crate down beside him. "You? Wrong about a gut feeling? That'll be the day. Come on, what did you sense?"
Maurice flashes her a half-smirk. "Honestly? Maybe it's just you. You're too flashy, impossible not to notice." He leans closer, his voice low. "You're distracting."
A glint of mischief sparks in Syren's eyes. She steps in, closing the distance between them, her hand brushing the front of his coat as she tilts her face near his. "Distracting, am I? And what about now?" Her fingers trace his jawline, teasing and bold.
Maurice's expression barely changes, but inside, his heart is racing. He has never seen Syren like this before, so brazen and close.
In a flash, he vanishes, teleporting behind her with a small gust of displaced air. "Not really," he says evenly, though a faint blush dusts his cheeks.
Syren whirls around, her smirk wide and satisfied. She doesn't need to say anything; the way Maurice avoids her eyes is answer enough. She knows exactly how to get under his skin. They have been childhood friends too long for him to hide it.
Despite all the tragedy swirling around them, moments like these keep them anchored, reminding them of the world that still lives beyond grief.
"Monsieur Maurice!"
Maurice turns to see Clark dashing up, breathless and bright-eyed.
"Clark, what is it?" Maurice asks, his tone softening.
Clark's eyes dart between the two adults. "Monsieur André told me to come find you while they talk about boring adult stuff," he reports, earnest as ever.
"Ah, so I'm the designated babysitter," Maurice replies, rubbing his chin with mock gravity.
Syren crouches to Clark's level, her smile gentle. "Hello, what's your name?"
Clark blinks up at her, momentarily captivated. She looks like a storybook princess, just like Lumi. "You're… really pretty!" he blurts. "Are you a princess, too?"
Syren laughs. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm not a princess. I do a lot of rescuing, though!"
Clark beams. "Oh, okay! What's your name?"
"I'm Syren Valmaris. It's very nice to meet you, Clark."
"I'm Clark Williams! Nice to meet you, Miss Syren!" he replies, offering a small, earnest bow.
Maurice watches the exchange, a quiet smile growing on his lips. For a moment, despite everything, hope flickers at the edge of tragedy, a reminder that, even now, new friendships can form amidst the ruins.
===Volume 3 End===