Chapter 44: Act 36 – The Superego
Brendel’s heart trembled; this was the greatest secret he held in this world. Although he had become one with Brendel, it was still difficult to explain where the memories of two lives came from. While he had forced himself to accept everything, the knot in his heart was undeniably present.
He had not expected that this hidden secret would be ripped open by the Golden Demon Tree. No, he shook his head immediately. The Golden Demon Tree’s mental infiltration could not have entered his innermost depths so quickly; that monster was using the inertia of his thoughts—if Brendel’s grandfather could say such a thing.
Suddenly, Brendel understood that it had to be what he himself believed this elder would say. Only a person could truly understand what they feared; in this scenario, his enemy was himself.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Realizing that his mental defense line had not yet fallen, the feeling of being fully exposed before the enemy disappeared, and Brendel quickly calmed down. He had utilized the experience from his past life to fortuitously dissolve the Golden Demon Tree’s initial assault, and his mental state became even more stable, causing him to inwardly exclaim in relief.
He drew the Lance of Radiance and replied, “Whether I have the qualification or not, we’ll find out.”
The elder nodded, “That’s right; this is the spirit of a man from the Damon family. But there are too many people in this world who talk big with no substance; I do not wish for my descendants to become such incapable individuals.”
Brendel’s heart stirred; this wasn’t a test. His grandfather’s reaction was a manifestation of Brendel’s self-affirmation. It indicated that his state of confidence was gradually returning, a sign that his mind was approaching a solid peak.
This was a good omen.
Brendel gestured for his grandfather to make the first move, even if it was in a dream; after all, he was facing his elder. Out of politeness and confidence, he should yield.
In the dream of the Golden Demon Tree, rushing ahead was not a demonstration of your strength; it could well be an undetectable trap arranged by this malevolent being. Only by tightly guarding every weakness inherent in humanity could he prevent it from finding any opportunity.
The elder nodded again, stepping forward with his left foot and positioning his sword behind his left arm. This starting stance was among the most seasoned military sword techniques. Brendel couldn’t help but feel a shiver run up his spine; he himself had never practiced military swordplay to this level. Compared to this, Brensen and Freya’s swordsmanship was nothing at all—Brendel, what kind of extraordinary figure is your grandfather!?
This thought flickered through his mind, and Brendel felt a slight heaviness in the sword in his hand. He couldn’t help but curse; such a brief moment of reluctance had been seized by the Golden Demon Tree—was there no escape?
He assumed a defensive posture; since he didn’t possess other sword skills, he chose a more established military defensive starting stance. In front of such a seasoned swordsman, displaying the advanced techniques he’d used in the past was meaningless; without accumulated experience, merely striking a pose meant he had countless flaws exposed before Brendel’s grandfather.
Brendel, as a seasoned warrior, deeply understood this.
The elder showed no signs and was already striking with a flash of the sword. Brendel noticed that his grandfather’s sword was not particularly fast, but it was stable—terrifyingly so. To describe it with more professional terms: from the front, there was no flaw apparent; even though the strike looked unremarkable, it felt as if all the gaps around him were within the range of counterattack from his opponent’s stance.
He gasped; was this his grandfather’s swordsmanship in Brendel’s memories? No wonder he had received the Candlelight Medal. Such monstrous swordsmanship, no wonder Brendel’s talent for swordsmanship was so outstanding—he had inherited it! He couldn’t help but think that if this elder had come from a slightly better background, he probably would have been directly knighted.
With no opportunity to retaliate, Brendel could only seal off his opponent’s ability to attack further. With a clang, their swords clashed—what great force! Brendel was secretly astonished. However, before he could fully process his surprise, he felt the weight of the opponent’s sword increase yet again.
Damn that Golden Demon Tree!
Brendel knew exactly what was happening; this was seamless, far better than the one encountered in the game, which had seemed like a toy in comparison. What it meant to manipulate the heart, this was it, yet at this moment, Brendel felt no fear—instead, a surge of fighting spirit arose within him.
He stared into his grandfather’s eyes. The elder’s expression was as calm as still water, but it seemed to penetrate into one’s heart.
Brendel suddenly found it strange. Why did such an outstanding grandfather appear so indifferent in his heart? Even when he first laid eyes upon the elder, he had to recall memories of his own childhood to confirm—this was indeed his grandfather.
This was clearly abnormal.
He searched through his memories, but the only recollection of his grandfather was one of strictness and solemnity, coupled with the heavy aura of the Candlelight Medal and the veterans of the November War. Other memories of this grandfather were less vivid than those of the old house and the oil painting associated with it.
Yet how could there be such a distance between a grandfather and grandson who had spent several years together? It was as if, upon their reunion, they were strangers. Brendel did not seem like the kind of person to forget the face of his grandfather over time.
He once again parried the elder’s sword with a metallic clash. He felt that the sword in his hand had become heavier, almost slipping from his grip. Brendel was startled and couldn’t help but glance at the elder.
The elder’s expression grew serious, seemingly displeased.
It had been ten years, and he still was not a match for his grandfather.
Brendel couldn’t stop himself from voicing the thought in his heart—no good, this was self-doubt! He was shocked, the fissure in his mental defense expanded further. His attacks became disjointed, and he was unexpectedly toppled to the ground by the elder’s aggressive strike. Our protagonist’s heart felt cold as he hastily scrambled back to his feet.
But when he got up and looked back, there was no grass; this was clearly a dim, gray house. Right, this was Buche’s old residence, where he had awakened that night to enter this world.
Cold sweat broke out on Brendel’s forehead—this indicated the Golden Demon Tree’s invasion had deepened. He couldn’t help but reach for his waist pouch, where lay the key to overcoming this scenario—but he hesitated. Should he cheat?
Suddenly, he felt a stubborn unwillingness. He lifted his head to look at the elder’s face, Brendel’s grandfather. The elder remained stern, but a hint of disappointment marred his wrinkled face.
This disappointment pierced him deeply.
It was as if the memories of the past twenty years suddenly became clear, as if wanting to escape from his body and fight with his grandfather alone.
I can do this; let me do it—
He suddenly felt a thought arise in his heart; he knew this was Brendel’s emotion influencing him. He had become integrated into this world, immersed in the memories of his own family.
Yet he shook his head again—no, this could be the Golden Demon Tree taking advantage of human weakness? He had to immediately escape this dream using that technique, but as he placed his hand in the relevant position, he could not help but be startled.
Because he saw the disappointment on the elder’s face growing increasingly evident—
“No, I cannot abandon Brendel.”
“But you must understand, the Golden Demon Tree is exploiting Brendel’s weaknesses.”
“But even so, that is still a part of me.”
“You will fail.”
“But abandoning my weaknesses does not mean I’ve conquered myself.”
Brendel suddenly calmed down.
He realized suddenly why Brendel’s grandfather had remained silent since the moment he drew his sword. Although the elder had many opportunities to fully overwhelm Brendel’s psychological defense, his face consistently showed profound disappointment.
Yet the elder said nothing; he merely watched quietly, waiting patiently.
Brendel suddenly felt a jolt of lightning pierce through his spirit, illuminating every dark corner of his heart. He suddenly understood: this was not the Golden Demon Tree feeling pity for Brendel.
No, it was that young man still clinging to the last pure land within his heart!
Why was that?
Brendel couldn’t help but lift his head to look at that elder’s serious, yet slightly sighing face—the one hidden in the shadow of the old house, seemingly carrying something deeper, was it disappointment?
Indeed, it was disappointment.
He suddenly trembled all over. What did that unspoken waiting convey? Was it a silent expectation, Brendel? That was the grandfather in Brendel’s memories—strict yet profound, filled with disappointment at this young man’s growth. But this deep disappointment wasn’t scolding—it was a hope that one day Brendel would understand, feeling the familial affection behind this expectation.
Family members never truly blame you; they only wait, awaiting the day you understand. Perhaps one day their years will fade, or perhaps one day they will no longer be in this world, yet they remain in your heart, waiting for you to understand.
Waiting for you to comprehend their love for you.
Brendel lifted his head, tightly gripping his sword. He raised his gaze, struggling to keep tears from flowing; he had always thought he understood this world, yet he realized he understood nothing at all.
“Brendel, do you remember what I told you? Your backbone must stand as straight as your sword. A man from the Damon family must live with his head held high; you are my grandson, the best in our hearts.” The elder raised his sword once more.
“Come, let me see what you have learned in the ten years since I left.”
Brendel nodded, tears streaming down his face. These were his grandfather’s words, yet they were also the answers his heart had given him—this was the path Brendel wanted.
He took a deep breath.
The two swords crossed—
“Stand up, Brendel, how can a man from the Damon family be so weak?”
“What are you crying for? A scratch won’t take your life!”
“Speak, how should I punish you this time?”
The grandfather in his memories should have been the one sitting sternly in the parental position, silent, gazing with disappointed eyes.
The grandfather in his memories should have been the one always dissatisfied with everything he did.
But the elder in those memories had finally completed the last journey of his life. Brendel stood in front of that wooden bed, feeling his grandfather’s hand gently placed on his head, as he had when he was a child by the banks of the Bruglas River, ruffling his hair. But ultimately, it was weak, grazing his young face.
So rough, yet reassuring. That sigh—was it still disappointment until the end, or did it carry responsibility and hope?
Brendel felt the dream of his grandfather unraveling around his body, while he held tightly to the Candlelight Medal that was turning to dust, remaining speechless for a long time.
“Thank you, elder.”
“Thank you, my grandfather.”
……
