Chapter 84: Act 20 – The Knight of the Past (Part 1)
“Young man, your journey ends here.”
Aibodun held his sword in one hand, the blade named Pale Tooth. Though it was merely an ordinary magic sword, it bore witness to the achievements and honors of his life as a knight.
He pressed his left hand against his right wrist, and before his words had fully settled, a layer of frosty flame ignited along the thin blade; Brendel understood that this was the renowned swordsmanship of Aibodun—White Flame.
In comparison to him, Aibodun was the true royal swordsman. He became a knight at seventeen and had earned the title of master by forty. He fought for Erluin his entire life, being its hero until his death; however, ‘White Knight’ Aibodun truly became famous only after turning into an undead.
In his time, Aibodun was one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse of Madara, and his title of White Knight arose from this—‘Conqueror’ Aibodun, a name that could do more than simply silence a crying child.
Brendel took a step back, instantly aware of how challenging this encounter had become. Among Tagus’s ranks, there were two generals he dreaded to face—‘White Knight’ Aibodun, and the ‘Red Knight’ Redtaos, the King of Warfare. And it seemed Lady Martha had played a little joke on him.
But the White Knight was incredibly swift. Before he could finish his train of thought, Aibodun sliced down with his sword. It resembled a bright silver crescent of flame descending from above—before the blade even reached him, Brendel already felt an icy chill creeping into his bones. He felt a sudden suffocation and hurriedly rolled to the side.
The flame swept across the ground with a loud crash, instantly fracturing the rocks, leaving a frosted edge.
Just the pressure of the wind could shatter stone. Brendel felt a chill run through him; this was the raw power of silver. His technique with the White Crow style could only slice through wooden materials at best, even under a strength burst.
But as he rolled aside, Aibodun had already seized the reins of his nightmare steed and charged over—this undead knight cared little for his minions, practically trampling through a pile of bones to leap towards Brendel.
Fragments of skeletons whirled through the air—
Then the White Knight raised his long sword high and, using the momentum from the horse, split down towards the young man.
Brendel had no way to evade and could only raise his Zhan Guang Zhi Ci to block. A sound that made teeth ache erupted as their swords clashed, both swords bending backward to the limit simultaneously. Brendel felt as if his arm would snap; he was immediately propelled backward like a cannonball, rolling multiple times on the ground before managing to rise again.
At least a power level of 25.
Brendel pushed himself up with one hand, internally screaming in lucky relief, thankful he had managed to utilize his strength burst technique at the last moment; otherwise, this hand would have been rendered useless. Yet even so, he still felt tingling in his right arm, to the point where he almost believed he had lost feeling in it.
This was truly terrifying—the power of a silver swordsman was far beyond a simple strike, reaching nearly seven tons; he had nearly reached the level where technique was unnecessary to wield wind as a blade. Looking at the rapidly approaching pure white knight, Brendel couldn’t help but long for his Holy Sword cards, realizing that to defeat such a monster, he would need that kind of power, but at this moment, he had no earth element to pay the cost.
Aibodun and his steed arrived at his side—
Brendel gritted his teeth and raised his sword again. This time, he gripped the sword with both hands above his head—the tip slightly tilted downwards, adopting the stances for military swordsmanship that were best at unloading force.
“Chaotic and unrefined.”
The White Knight looked down at him, the cold, hoarse voice echoing from beneath the helmet. He swung his sword down, and Brendel met the blow with the crossguard of his sword against Pale Tooth. In that instant, he adjusted the angle of the sword just a bit. Sparks flew, and he managed to deflect Aibodun’s blade off his own sword—
Yet the remaining force still knocked him backward. Brendel quickly kicked off the ground, as if the subtle movement to regain his balance was now instinctual; he slid sideways but managed to crouch steadily on the ground.
After finally neutralizing that blow, Brendel was drenched in sweat. He often performed such maneuvers in the game, but it was always with the system mapping out routes, sword strikes, and body positions for him, correcting every move. Here, each action had to be taken solely by himself.
One slip could mean death.
Yet he had done it.
He shook his arm; it still felt significantly numb. The opponent’s power was immense; with every sword clash, it felt like crashing into a heavy-duty truck head-on. Even after unloading the force, he could hear his muscles and bones groaning.
From under his helmet, Aibodun let out a low, muffled sound. He regarded this young man’s swordsmanship as average but noticed his experience allowed him to find suitable counter-techniques; that was a veteran’s reaction.
He turned the horse’s head and began to accelerate again.
But Brendel, having finally extricated himself from the rhythm of the White Knight’s attacks, knew he could not allow Aibodun to gain the upper hand again. He immediately raised his right hand, pointing a silver ring at Aibodun and shouted, “Oss!”
“Magic activation incantation?” The fire burning in the White Knight’s eyes flickered as he quickly reined in his steed and placed his sword diagonally in front of him.
As soon as Aibodun completed this movement, a tremendous blast of wind surged from the ground, carving a deep mark towards the undead knight. But when this violent cyclone struck his sword, it explosively split apart, instantaneously forming a beautiful ‘Y’-shaped gouge in the ground—every skeleton soldier caught in that gouge was lifted high into the air before disintegrating in midair and crashing to the riverbank.
Then came a cacophony of sounds, resembling a rain of bones.
The ‘White Knight’ Aibodun sheathed his sword—but before the dust settled, he raised his sword once more—then, with a clear chime, Brendel burst through the smoke, leaping out to exchange a blow with him.
No openings.
Brendel was not at all surprised; after all, an elite of this caliber was indeed stronger than the Golden Enchanted Tree. In fact, when he had faced the Golden Enchanted Tree, it was entirely reliant on his Holy Sword cards; otherwise, who would have triumphed was far from certain. And when facing ‘White Knight’ Aibodun, he dared not entertain any thoughts of luck.
Challenging a level above himself relied solely on thorough preparation and full commitment.
As he countered with a blow, falling backward, he turned and sent another sword wind back. Aibodun sheathed his sword again, his expression unchanged as he swung out once more, a silver flame extinguishing Brendel’s sword wind without a trace.
Aibodun sheathed his sword for the third time, but this time he didn’t rush to strike. Instead, he quietly observed Brendel from his horse. He looked at the young man as if recalling a distant tale.
In that story, resonating sounds of highland flutes flowed, soaring above the plateaus of Baltar, with swallowtail flags fluttering.
“White Crow Swordsmanship,” he spoke, his voice hoarse like a visitor from the depths of hell.
“You’re of the new royal generation?” Aibodun asked coldly, sitting atop his steed.
Brendel paused for a moment, wondering if Aibodun had some old ties to the Corvado Dynasty. That couldn’t be right; he hadn’t heard anything of the sort in the game. Still, he thought it best to deny it for now, lest the other party suddenly unleash any pent-up grudges with violent intent; it wouldn’t be amusing. It was said that a level 30 boss could suddenly spike to a level 40 elite, and a level 40 elite could probably eliminate them in one strike.
With that thought, he quickly shook his head.
But he hadn’t anticipated Aibodun tilting his sword to reply coldly, “If that isn’t the case, then killing you wouldn’t contradict my oath.” Upon hearing this, Brendel nearly spat blood. He truly regretted not faking this so-called identity of the new royal generation; it seemed he had brought this upon himself.
Of course, that was a mere thought.
Brendel understood that impersonating royalty wasn’t easy—after all, the Corvado royal line had a lineage of mist elves, known as a naturally silver lineage with a bloodline of silver.
Brendel’s bright red blood still symbolized that of mortals.
On the other hand, Aibodun, having asked, once again became one with his horse. He held his long sword, urging his nightmare steed to accelerate again. Facing such a harbinger of death, Brendel felt momentarily at a loss. He thought of a method to buy some time using the strength burst state of White Crow Swordsmanship to unload force, but that would deplete 9 points of stamina—and there was no way he could sustain that at Level 17, let alone Level 27 or 37.
In fact, he already felt a bit fatigued.
Aibodun, estimated to be at least a level 30 elite, possessed at least 200 health points. The 30 points lost from the wind blast he had previously unleashed felt more like a mere scratch to him, merely a jolt. Brendel believed that if he could stab Aibodun two or three times with Zhan Guang Zhi Ci, he would likely slay him—but only if he could land a hit.
With that thought, he couldn’t help but take a breath and glance into the distance, hoping for Retao and the others to come to his aid.
But he saw that the cavalry had just collided with the skeleton soldiers; perhaps due to the advantage he had provided earlier, they had gained some upper hand, but it looked highly unlikely that they would be able to detach and assist him anytime soon. He could only hope that the rear guard would hurry up—hurry up!
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Freya leading the rear guard had a similar thought.
But this future Valkyrie looked back at the stumbling citizens of Ridenburg and couldn’t help but frown, understanding that they were merely ordinary militiamen, and achieving this much was already thanks to their high morale—she couldn’t demand more from them.
Yet she lifted her head to look at the chaotic front lines. Even though she couldn’t see where Brendel was, she understood that such a massive undead army meant its commander must be a strong one.
She was no longer the simple village girl from days past; she had gradually gained her own insights. Unlike those blindly trusting that young man, she knew Brendel must be in a fierce battle. Therefore, she couldn’t help but glance around, her gaze landing on Charles and Sue beside her.
“Sue, could you help me with something?”
“Hmm?” the young girl paused slightly.
“Lead the defense team for me.”
“What?”
“I’m going to help Brendel,” Freya replied, turning the horse’s head, “Charles, come with me—”
“Miss Freya, I’m fine, but is this really okay?” Charles was startled; Brendel had told him to watch over the injured Freya. But compared to that, he genuinely felt a greater concern for the safety of the person he followed.
Freya took a look at him and nodded firmly.
(PS: Watching the monthly ticket count rising brings tears to my eyes.) (To be continued. For more chapters and to support the author, please log in for legitimate reading!)
