Logan turned the cover page slowly. An image filled the parchment.
A man stood there, his presence almost leaping off the page. He looked intimidating — calm, cold, and absolute. Long hair was tied neatly behind his head, revealing a sharp, hardened face. From behind both shoulders, the hilts of two swords emerged, angled slightly outward as if they were a natural extension of his body.
The clothes he wore were simple, yet they could not hide the solid structure of his muscles. Every line of his physique spoke of battle, of endurance, of countless trials survived.
He looked no older than his thirties. Yet his eyes…
They carried weight.
Logan felt his breathing slow. "…This is him," he murmured.
He turned the page.
'Seika Solwyn.'
The words beneath the name were blunt. Merciless.
'His mother died during childbirth.'
Logan's fingers paused for a moment before he continued reading.
