Chapter 100: Act 36 – Brendel’s Preparations (Part 1)
Brensen, passing through the yard, noticed the palm-sized leaves of the Golan-Elsen’s Seasonal Tree scattered all over the ground. According to Erluin’s legends, each leaf of the Seasonal Tree is imbued with the spirits of the fallen warriors, which is why such trees are often planted in military camps to symbolize the enduring courage of soldiers.
As he looked at those leaves, he couldn’t help but think of the faces of comrades lost in war. For a moment, he even tuned out the words of his father, Sir Habuch, a city councilor in Bruglas, speaking in his ear.
“Once the commendation from above comes down, I’ll see if I can get you a transfer back to Bruglas. Would you like to join the Constabulary? I can still pull some strings at the town hall.”
“If you want to stay in the guard, there’s also the patrol unit on Pinel Avenue, which isn’t fully staffed. However, it belongs to Anzek’s command, so it might be a bit tough.”
“My plan was to get you a stable position at the Noble Assembly once you officially become a knight, Brensen.”
Brensen responded with an acknowledgment.
“By the way, what do you think?” Sir Habuch looked at his young and spirited son and couldn’t help but sigh. This son resembled him so much in his youth—confident but overly proud. Sometimes that wasn’t a bad thing, but it also wasn’t always a good thing.
Among the proverbs passed down among the nobles, being too proud often leads to setbacks.
Sir Habuch, at sixty-two, was still considered young in Vaunte but showed some signs of aging. Strands of silver hair escaped from his meticulously styled hair, and his temples had turned gray. He was known as one of the most radical figures from southern Golan-Elsen in his youth, but as he aged, he became more conservative and pragmatic.
Dressed in a blue coat that reached the ground, typical of councilors, with a white vest and black trousers underneath, he held a cane and looked at his only son with a warm gaze.
Brensen glanced at his father and replied, “I might go to the Royal Cavalry Academy of Bastia.”
“What?” Sir Habuch was taken aback.
“I got a tip from Walter; there are four slots available. The guard may nominate me, and the White Maned Legion is interested too. But, dear father, please don’t mention this to the nobles just yet.” Brensen continued, referring to Walter, the deputy commander of the Silverwing Cavalry, who was only twenty-three and had this position thanks to the influence of the previous generation—a close friend of his.
“The news is tightly controlled. Those military rascals around here don’t have a whiff of it. However, such commendations shouldn’t involve the royal family; is there something going on?” Sir Habuch furrowed his brow and asked.
“It’s hard to say, but I’ve made up my mind this time,” Brensen replied.
“That’s good; learn as much as you can. But remember, the views of the Vickfield family have always been biased towards local interests. Don’t clash with the royalists at the Royal Academy, though you shouldn’t worry too much about them.” Sir Habuch thought for a moment and changed his mind.
Brensen looked towards the yard and said, “Who would care about a small fish anyway?”
“I don’t like hearing that. The Vickfield family has its heroes. Your grandfather was the Speaker of the Bruglas Noble Assembly, and I was also well-known in southern Golan-Elsen when I was young. You’re my son, so you certainly won’t be inferior to that,” Sir Habuch reprimanded.
Brensen showed no expression on his face. The two suddenly stopped talking, noticing a young man approaching them. The newcomer wore a deep blue military uniform, with a cavalry sword of the 1932 model at his belt, and had long silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He pursed his lips, possessing a somewhat effeminate beauty.
“Sergeant Test.”
“Viscount Test.” Sir Habuch quickly pulled his son aside and greeted him.
The man called Viscount Test paused for a moment, looked up with eyes resembling amethyst, glanced at the two of them, nodded, and was about to pass. But his gaze fell on Brensen, suddenly stopping; he smiled and then continued walking past them.
“Strange?” Sir Habuch watched the young man walk away, unable to help but mutter.
“What’s the matter?” Brensen asked.
“Isn’t that lad the duke’s illegitimate son? Always so proud, why does he seem different today?” Sir Habuch replied.
Brensen glanced back at the figure as he walked away, saying nothing, but when he turned back again, his expression seemed pensive.
As Test pushed open the door to the Silverwing Cavalry Corps’ command center, Viscount Magisk was staring out at the office’s three-person wide arched window, deep in thought. The middle-aged man, with gray hair, relaxed when he saw Test enter.
He picked up his pipe and gestured to the side to indicate a seat, smiling as he said, “You’re not very quick today, Sergeant.”
“Had to go disperse some troublemaking kids,” the silver-haired man replied with a faint smile as he sat down.
Just as the rumors outside had said, Test was indeed the duke’s illegitimate son. However, his mother was of the Sue ethnic group, a legendary lost branch of the People of Silver, so he considered himself to carry the blood of silver. But unlike the outwardly indifferent and proud personality of young people, this Test had a notably shrewd side; otherwise, he wouldn’t have become a key member of the Everything Returns Society.
But this layer of relationship was a secret known only to these two individuals.
“So, have you seen those people?” Magisk asked.
Test nodded.
The young man leaned slightly back, adopting a relaxed posture as he replied, “A young man and that red-bearded Balthom are just small fries in the black iron tier, nothing noteworthy. However, surprisingly, there’s a militiaman from Buche among them. Commander, I assume you might have received this information earlier than I did?”
Magisk put down his pipe. “That girl is named Freya; out of the four slots, she is specifically one of them. What do you think?”
“Interesting,” Test smiled. “You don’t expect me to believe she’s the illegitimate daughter of some high official, do you?”
“Come on, what does that have to do with us?” Magisk replied. “But that means those suspects can be ruled out. The one who killed ‘Thor’ was a person, so they should at least be a black iron upper tier or even silver.”
“I wonder how Retao feels about this,” the commander of the Silverwing Cavalry casually responded. “I’ve heard that ‘Silver Dove’ and the others are furious, questioning why we didn’t assign someone of silver or gold caliber to that fool.”
The young man snickered, “Just a stand-in; it won’t matter until they’ve truly replaced that famous ‘Wolf Knight.’ The organization doesn’t need dead weight. Moreover, I’ve always suspected that Overwell might have sensed something unusual that night.”
Magisk nodded in agreement.
“Additionally, I received word while investigating the refugees; there was a disturbance in Ridenburg that night, likely around the Noble Assembly and the Yusong Fortress. However, only the nobles truly know what happened that night,” Test shrugged. “Unfortunately, that bunch of fools left without a single survivor to tell the tale.”
Magisk inquired, “What do you think Lukesons knows?”
“That old tiger wouldn’t reveal anything even if he knew; he’s not on our side,” Test replied with a sly grin.
“Indeed, whether from the White Maned Legion’s perspective or ours, that guy is an anomaly,” Magisk agreed.
“So what do you plan to do?”
“You’re responsible for this internally, aren’t you? Why are you asking me what to do? Sergeant, that’s a bit out of order, don’t you think?” The cavalry commander was momentarily taken aback before breaking into a laugh.
But Test shook his head. “No, now it’s your responsibility. I’m here partly to hand over relevant matters and partly to request time off — in my capacity as the sergeant of the White Maned Legion.”
“What for?”
“The Lionheart Sword has turned up.”
Magisk was slightly taken aback. “So soon? How did they get wind of it?”
Test smiled slightly but remained silent.
After leaving Freya at the Silverwing Cavalry Corps’ camp, Brendel met the long-awaited Tam at the agreed spot outside the ‘Ragonbun’ market in Bruglas.
The future alchemy master probably never expected that he would also be a major figure in Madara during another part of history, but at this moment, he stood outside the market in a strange checkered robe under the scorching June sun, showing a respectful demeanor when he saw Brendel.
“My lord, the items you requested are ready,” Tam said, weighty backpack slung over his back, pulling his son along, standing respectfully beside Brendel.
His respect did not stem from Brendel’s noble status but rather from his gratitude to the man who had saved his life. However, his son didn’t share this degree of restraint and looked at Brendel with admiration—very few children from the refugee’s ranks didn’t idolize this knight.
“Did you manage to get it?” Brendel asked, a bit surprised, for he hadn’t anticipated that it would be possible to buy authentic elven-crafted alchemical instruments in the market of Bruglas. He prompted Tam to show him, but it was just offhand; after all, the exquisite alchemical instruments from Ampere Seale’s merchants could barely suffice.
Tam looked at the young knight and replied, “I rented them from the local Alchemy Guild; they asked for two thousand Thor.”
Although the future alchemist stated this, he couldn’t help but feel disgruntled; what high-end conditions were needed for typical alchemy? When he was at the Noble Assembly, he used a set of second-hand alchemical tools. This knight was good at many things but perhaps a bit too extravagant with his spending.
Brendel smacked his forehead, realizing he had forgotten about this aspect. However, if he could buy it, that would be even better. After all, he shouldn’t be too short on money after this period.
Unlike Tam’s thoughts, he had his own plans.
He intended to concoct a set of 15-ounce tree spirit poison daggers and a 32-ounce set of curse crossbow bolts. Although he had already gained some basic strength, lacking a hidden weapon was decidedly not in his style.
The poison dagger could be sold to the nobles, and the tree spirit poison was colorless and odorless; those who died from it would appear to have succumbed to a sudden illness, making it the best assisting tool for conspiracies against anyone below black iron strength.
The curse crossbow bolts were considered essential treasures for killing low-level characters, of course, an ideal choice for Brendel himself. This type of bolt had a chance to inflict curses like fatigue, weakness, and enhanced damage when hitting an enemy. Although higher tiers might resist, it was very effective against anyone below the upper silver tier.
The only downside of this was that the materials were quite expensive; the souls of mid-tier and higher necromancers were hard to come by for anyone under level forty, and this time, Brendel was benefiting from Ridenburg’s worthless nobles.
Of course, crafting 35 ounces of gear required a high level of 8 in alchemy, which posed a significant challenge for Brendel.
Fortunately, heaven has blessed him; the elven-crafted alchemy instrument granted him +1 alchemy level, and if he had a professional alchemist to assist, it could even add +1 level. Renting an enchanted alchemy workshop to barely reach level 8 would suffice.
(PS. I can’t sleep due to a bloated stomach and haven’t eaten for two days. This is all for today; I will catch up on the rest tomorrow.) (To be continued. For more chapters, please log in to support the author and read legally!)
