Chapter 11: Prelude – Monologue
The sergeant at the militia training corps did not deceive me; necessary experience can save your life at critical moments.
If it hadn’t been for those weeks of intensive training, I might not have reacted in time to evade that fatal blow in my sleep — the sudden attack triggered an instinctive alertness that yanked me out of my deep slumber. When I opened my eyes, the glint of a sharp blade was the first thing I saw, eliciting an involuntary chill that ran deep through my core.
It was truly chilling!
Honestly, I don’t know exactly how I managed to react. Perhaps it was the instinctive reflex developed from intense training that caused me to turn my head at the last moment, allowing the blade to narrowly graze my ear as it plunged downward.
At the last second —
I then noticed the distinctive emblem of the blooming black rose of Broamente engraved on a square iron disk embedded in the gleaming steel sword — the mark of Madara’s Undead Army. It was as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over me: those wretched apparitions, what were they doing here?
I clearly remembered vacationing in an old country manor in Buche left by my grandfather, a property he left behind. With the old man’s permission, I had taken residence there to temporarily manage and look after the old house.
My mother is from Cardilego, likely the only noble blood in my veins. However, my father was just an ordinary miller — he never participated in the famous November War, never received the Candle Badge like my grandfather — but was a straightforward middle-aged man.
And me, I’m just an ordinary young man like any other in the kingdom. My greatest dream is to join the military or go on adventures, to amass a grand fortune and return home.
Perhaps to find a beautiful wife and spend the rest of my life together — truly perfect!
But let’s not digress. The fact that a fearsome undead was trying to kill me from the side of the bed left my thoughts in disarray. Fortunately, all the things the drill instructors taught during our training remained in my mind and didn’t vanish amidst my turmoil. In an instant, I remembered that my sword was by the bedside, but that skeleton would certainly stop me from reaching for it — I now realized this was indeed a bad habit, and next time I must remember to place it under my pillow.
Of course, these thoughts were fleeting within my plan.
Instinctively, I flung myself outward, rolling off the bed while simultaneously pulling down the skeletal construct that stood by my side. In this moment, I vividly recalled every word our instructor said during our first combat training session:
Remember, these are Madara’s lowest-tier soldiers. Driven by pure soul-fire, they are slow, lack intelligence, and possess only weak strength —
But before I could complete my thought, an immense force surged from beneath me, as if I weren’t pressing down on a skeleton but a bull. The powerful force threw me across the room, violently slamming me against a nearby cabinet. The groan of my bones and the wooden cabinet reverberated through my body, filling me with excruciating pain, yet I quickly shook off the dizziness. My mind raced with what must be done — and when I stabilized my vision, the skeleton had already stood upright, reaching for its sword still embedded in the bed.
Its movements were indeed rigid, but that strength was certainly no longer trifling.
I needed to flee at once, for the “thing” had successfully drawn its sword and was once again posing an immediate threat. I knew my strength would be no match for it; even three of me combined wouldn’t stand a chance! Moreover, I lacked a weapon.
My sword had fallen out of reach, but I consoled myself that this was merely a coincidence, after all, a skeleton lacks intelligence.
I scrambled toward the doorway, only to meet my misfortune again when I saw that the main hall’s entrance had been smashed open, allowing the bright silver moonlight to pour in. Though picturesque, the sight was spoiled by another ghastly skeleton in the moonlight.
I noticed this lower-tier construct from Madara must have just entered — it firmly gripped another steel sword, adorned in their uniform chain mail, and wore a heavy black helmet.
Most dishearteningly, it tilted its head, its hollow eyes glowing with two reddish flames that directly locked onto me.
It seemed it had spotted me.
This wasn’t a good situation — between a wolf and a tiger.
Respectful Martha, I couldn’t help but pray to the deity in my heart: I’m only nineteen years old; I can’t die so senselessly in this remote village.
That’s right, I’ve yet to confess my feelings to the woman I admire. As soon as I thought of the alluring merchant maiden, my heartbeat quickened. Her family lives across the street from mine; how could I allow her to be in danger?
I managed to calm down somewhat and attempted to think of an escape. The drill sergeant’s teachings echoed in my mind:
“Only by remaining calm can you fight!”
This insight fit perfectly with my current predicament. But, I had no weapon in hand; can I seriously fight an animalistic creature with bare hands? As I nervously leaned against the wall, catching my breath and glancing around, the old house wasn’t entirely barren, but there was nothing in the hall that could serve as a makeshift weapon.
If only my grandfather were a noble of considerable standing; I’ve been to Earl Remington’s house — their main hall, five times the size of this one, had shields, swords, and axes hanging on the walls. In such a place, I’m sure I would have easily found a suitable weapon.
Besides, my swordsmanship isn’t bad; I’m not boasting, but the drill instructor personally praised me, saying I was the best swordsman in our batch.
Even Brenden’s boy wasn’t my match, though I’ve always envied him for having a local magistrate as a father. If my father were also a county official, I could’ve certainly joined the security force.
Of course, these thoughts were irrelevant now. The sword stood between me and the skeleton. Even though they can’t run, their walking speed is about the same as an ordinary person’s, just slightly more rigid — only marginally slower.
On the training field, I bet I could make it dance around, but in such a narrow space, rushing at it would only result in a slash.
The two skeletons were drawing closer and closer. The ‘click-clack’ sound of their footsteps was pounding in my heart, while my own heart was like thunder, pounding heavily.
I felt a bit at a loss — the skeleton from the bedroom had stepped out, hesitated, then swiftly turned and advanced toward me. I instinctively took a step back, my back hitting a hard object.
Only then did I remember there should be a painting hanging behind me. This painting had been passed down in my grandfather’s generation and was said to be the family heirloom. The cripple from the Black Pepper Alley once offered ten gold coins to buy this painting, but my father refused.
My father was a stubborn old man, but I’m different from him. If nothing like this had happened, I often wondered that when I was destitute, I could sell this painting, buy a beautiful horse, and tour the continent with the merchant girl across the street who dreams of becoming a merchant.
But now, this heirloom needs to save my life. I turned around, grabbed the wooden frame of the painting, and tore it down. At this moment, I didn’t care about whether it might get damaged — after all, this painting is worth at least ten gold coins; though I suspected it was worth more, because the cripple from the Black Pepper Alley was known for his stinginess.
Ten gold coins is a substantial fortune; the most money I’ve seen in my life is probably ten silver coins.
I couldn’t help but draw in a deep breath, feeling my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I thought, as soon as I throw this painting at that terrible undead, I’ll slip past while it’s distracted, grab my sword, then use my skills to break these skeletal constructs into scattered pieces.
Of course, I might also repeat the tactic, but this time escape to the street. However, I couldn’t guarantee if there weren’t more of these ghostly things outside, rushing out unarmed would be sheer suicide. Therefore, I steadied my nerves, deciding that sometimes it’s better to be brave.
Though this was an idealized plan, there’s a chance it’ll do nothing more than strike me down, and pretty soon, I’d have to meet Lady Martha.
I couldn’t help but think, would they erect a gravestone for me, inscribed with —
“Poor Brendel, he clearly misjudged —”
I shivered, quickly shaking my head to shake off those ghostly, chilling thoughts that lingered in my mind — spit spit spit, I’m not dying.
Then I glanced at the dusty oil painting in my hand again — honestly, I couldn’t tell what’s so special about this thing — is this really worth ten gold pieces? I wonder if lobbing this at the lame merchant in Black Pepper Alley would leave him regretful?
But with the fearsome undead already right upon me, I no longer lamented losing this treasure worth ten golds or the opportunity of an adventure across the continent with the merchant girl — I instinctively hurled the frame.
My throw was eerily accurate; the painting flew in a perfectly straight line toward the skeleton, splendidly splitting the air until it was sliced into two halves by a savage horizontal slash —
What tremendous strength! But fortunately, the sergeant hadn’t lied about the critical details — these skeletons lacked intelligence, as expected.
As this thought flitted through my mind, my body had already moved instinctively.
My bedroom door wasn’t far from where I stood. Thank Lady Martha, a few more steps and I would see my sword lying there peacefully.
That sword was another of our family heirlooms, once wielded by my grandfather. He served a knight as a squire for a certain period, and this blade was that knight’s gift to him —
The sword was of the year 32 standard model, with ivy insignia engraved on it, made in celebration of the victory at the Battle of the Golan-Elsen plateau.
I remembered that year, Her Majesty revised the saber model, shortening the sword from the typical arm’s length to a hand-and-a-half length, and the ornamental bronze on the guard was replaced with simpler iron flowers, all in cost-saving measures for the ever-dragging “November War.”
Yes, it was a cavalry sword.
Hmph, as soon as I grab that sword —
“Madara bastards, it’ll be your turn to suffer —”
