Chapter 243: Act 10 – The Territory (Part 4) (First Update, Seeking Subscriptions and Monthly Tickets)
Test raised his head and saw that the forest in his view was a mottled, dreamlike green. Knights lay strewn about in disarray around him, thirty-seven bodies quietly resting amidst the piles of dead leaves, long devoid of life. The young viscount felt a dull ache from the sword injury beneath his ribs; each breath accompanied by a series of stinging sensations that made him a bit dizzy.
He spotted a ghostly green knight behind a chestnut tree, coldly staring at him from the shadows like a ghost. Only then did Test, in his dizziness, realize he had been tricked. However, the intelligence had come from within the Everything Returns Society, and the letter from Megsco (the leader of the Silver Wing Cavalry) bore the mark of the serpent; unless that damned cavalry leader himself was a two-faced traitor—Test spat out a mouthful of foul air, cursing inwardly, while one hand instinctively reached back to grasp the sword that had been knocked aside.
This was more of a reflexive action; even at his peak, he had only managed to exchange a single strike with the knight fully clad in emerald armor before sustaining serious injuries. The kind of power was unfathomable, and what made it unbearable was that the opponent had not even activated elemental powers.
He had been defeated purely through swordsmanship.
Test glanced at the white stone altar in the center of the open space, where a plain long sword lay flat on the smooth rock. The hilt of the sword was intricately carved with golden-red patterns, adorned with the holy images of three unknown heroic spirits. That was the Lionheart Sword, the legendary holy sword that encapsulated the king’s mercy, bravery, and justice. Yet between the sword and him lay the unmoving Knight of the Lake.
It was as if a chasm divided them.
The Knight of the Lake stood silently among the trees, adhering to the ancient knight’s code by not striking at someone who was incapacitated and unable to fight back. If an ordinary person were faced with such an opportunity, they would likely choose to retreat wisely. But Test merely sneered and resolved to crawl forward. Even though the injuries to his thigh, abdomen, and ribs made standing impossible, the young viscount nonetheless continued to inch forward on his hands.
He was gravely wounded, aware that his life was nearing its end. Yet even if he was to die, Test believed he had to die a little closer to his goal than anyone else. Growing up in disdain as the illegitimate son of Duke Golan-Elsen, he understood well the coldness of human nature; if everything was unreliable, then one could only rely on oneself—if he was weak, he would lose everything. It was through this kind of ambition that he slowly attained his current status.
An ambition that would fight even at the cost of life.
The young viscount crawled through gritted teeth, uncertain of when the Knight of the Lake’s long sword would pierce his heart or if he would succumb to blood loss. But what he did not expect was for the knight, draped in emerald armor, to merely glance at him from beneath his metal visor, then sheathe his sword and silently turn to leave.
What was happening?
Test was momentarily taken aback, but after a brief moment of alertness, he did not miss the opportunity and immediately exerted himself to crawl forward. No matter what, the chances were fleeting; if he was to die, he would at least retrieve that sword from the altar. He felt himself getting closer to the saintly white rock altar, inch by inch, until he could finally reach out and grasp the hilt of the sword.
However, at the moment he held onto the Lionheart Sword, a warm current flowed through his body. He distinctly felt his body becoming invigorated, as if every pore were expanding, and the wounds on his body began to itch slightly, accelerating their healing. Yet the young viscount was momentarily taken aback; looking down, he discovered that aside from a bloodstain on his chest, the wound beneath his ribs had vanished without a trace.
The Holy Sword!
Test took a deep breath, laboriously kneeling up to inspect the sword in his hands. Unexpectedly, the Lionheart Sword began to emit a faint glow that soothed his wounds; however, in the next moment, the light swiftly faded away. The sword had transformed into a piece of stone.
The young viscount was startled, almost dropping the stone sword from his hands. Yet as he calmed himself and began to feel the sword with his hands, he could no longer detect any signs of magical energy, as if he were truly holding a cold rock. Aside from its peculiar shape, it was indistinguishable from the other stones in the forest.
“What is this…” Test, having survived the ordeal, bewilderedly held the longsword. From the earlier anomaly, it should undoubtedly be the Lionheart Sword, but how had it suddenly turned to stone? Embracing the sword with both hands, a strange sensation filled his heart; although it was clearly a stone, there was an implicit sense of resistance around it, as if the sword was in his hands yet somehow felt not present here at all.
Test tightly gripped the sword that had turned to stone, feeling puzzled for a while. But as he surveyed his surroundings—this part of the forest behind the rocks was not open; they had already thoroughly searched it inch by inch, and there should be nothing else inside. Thus, considering things, the sword in his hands should not be a fake. However, why it had transformed like this remained unanswered, and such a conundrum was not something he could contemplate in a short time. After a moment of thought, he decided it was best to take this thing out first.
But before leaving, he couldn’t help but carefully glance back.
The Knight of the Lake should be lurking within some shadow in the forest, coldly watching him. However, the knight ultimately did not make another appearance, which let him breathe a sigh of relief. “What a misfortune this trip has been…” Test couldn’t help but vigorously shake his head, avoiding the sprawled corpses on the ground, and staggered forward, clutching the longsword past the bodies of numerous knights as he made his way out of the forest.
…
The humming stone slab finally ceased its resonance in Brandel’s hands. He had never encountered a time when the sage’s slab had resonated for such a long duration. In the dungeon, several others were momentarily still as they stared at the mysterious rune-etched stone slab in Brandel’s hands. It remained silent for a long time until the others redirected their attention back to Brandel.
The dungeon fell silent, the faint sound of dripping water occasionally echoed from afar.
“This is the bound sage’s slab, my lord,” Berun stated, although he was both a captive and temporarily a subordinate of Brandel, he stood before the young lord without servility. It seemed he aimed to convey that he was merely a temporary ally—if the day came, he could still return to the royal faction at any time. To his surprise, Brandel seemed unfazed by this, which left him both astonished and perplexed—compared to this uncertain position, he even harbored an illusion that perhaps it would have been better to have this young man imprison him again. However, freedom was hard-won, and just feeling the warmth of the torchlight made him greedily want to inhale more air of freedom, so he would never utter such a remark.
Brandel glanced at the old man, as if reading this thought from his alternately bright and dim face, and nodded slightly. “Do you recognize it?” he asked. Brandel did not mind the other’s attitude, for he himself was no noble. He had been the head of a guild but had never been a lord. Truth be told, even though he was in this position now, he had never consciously recognized it; it was something he hadn’t even noticed himself. Yet this attitude earned him unanimous approval among his followers, even though Antinna had considerable grievances about it, she had to admit that Brandel’s approachable demeanor fostered a greater sense of cohesion among the group.
Moreover, the intense confidence that the young man exuded at all times was enough to motivate people to follow him.
Even a noble lady could not help but think that perhaps this was the so-called unique personal charm.
However, at this moment, Brandel’s curious gaze returned to Berun. The sage’s slab was described in the creation myth of the Crusian people in “The Ballad of the Azure” and in the ancient records of the mountain folk titled “The Howling Wind,” while Minren and witches believed them to be fragments of fallen stars, capable of connecting with the threads of fate above. In fact, for thousands of years, mortals have known much about the sage’s slab; the stargazer used it for divination—the method was to connect the slab with an object, after which she could accurately predict the developments related to that matter. The Rock Sage also foresaw the future by the same method; as long as the sage’s slab was placed on the Rock Sage, one would obtain the answers they sought—this had always been the folk tradition, and players had confirmed that such a setting existed in past games.
However, the craftsman master could tell that the sage’s slab in Brandel’s hands had already been bound, which was no simple feat. Not everyone understood rune magic, especially since the runes on the sage’s slab were from an ancient script. As a royal craftsman of a nation, having heard some legends of various artifacts could be explained, but being proficient in ancient runes took some explaining. It should be noted that even Berun, the craftsman wizard of Bud, did not specialize in rune magic. Therefore, Brandel paused and looked at him, but did not dismiss the possibility that it was merely a conjecture; hence, he asked, “Indeed, but can the master recognize what this slab points to?”
Brandel’s question was a bit challenging, since even he himself did not know what the symbols on the slab meant, at most he could guess it was definitely related to the Lionheart Sword.
“That is…” Berun suddenly stopped, his expression gradually becoming serious. Brandel quickly saw the master craftsman’s focus fixated upon the slab in his hands, his hands involuntarily began to tremble. “The sage, the emblem of the king, courage, justice, and mercy; how could it be…?” He gently inhaled, unable to resist looking again, but his expression grew increasingly grave. Finally, he stepped back, unable to hold back any longer, and looked at Brandel with disbelief as he tentatively asked, “The Lionheart Sword?”
Brandel’s complexion quickly became more shocked than his.
To the side, Xi also gasped. Although she did not know what the sage’s slab was or recognized rune magic, as a citizen of Erluin, one of the most famous stories she had heard since childhood was none other than that of the merciful king Eke and his Lionheart Sword. She immediately turned her head back, seemingly wanting to seek confirmation of the young man’s expression, but instead, she heard Brandel exclaim:
“How do you know?”
…
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