### Chapter 1060: Act 232 – The Old Chancellor
In the west of Rustra, a corner of the vast Hazel Plain could be seen. Under the vast night sky, the black heavens blended with the horizon, and the stars reflected in a seemingly endless expanse.
Brendel’s group had halted in a grove of trees. Nearby was a farm, with lights flickering through the forest shadows from afar. The edge of the grove to the south sat atop a small highland, looking southward where, more than ten miles southwest, there was Sang Fort, and the bright outline of Lake Stroy was clearly visible.
They had been out of the city for half an hour.
The search parties soon returned dejected.
“Didn’t find any witches?”
“No.”
“Didn’t find Babasha and the others?”
“No.”
“Have Charles and the others returned?”
“Not at all.”
Brendel questioned each person, but the answers were all disappointing. As customary, he remarked that if the witch had succeeded, she should have been waiting for them here.
Even if they had lied, Babasha and the others should have arrived by now.
However, the reality was that both groups were entirely out of contact.
Even Charles and Himelam had no news, as if they had disappeared in the city. The presence of the Nightmare Clan had disrupted the mental network near Rustra, leaving Brendel with no means of communication with his subordinates.
The situation was worse than expected. Although he had anticipated various unforeseen circumstances in the plans, the current developments were still beyond his expectations.
Fortunately, they eventually found Kehua, who had remained outside the city. When they encountered her, the black-haired girl was sitting barefoot atop a massive white wolf, illuminated by the bright moonlight, looking like an elf in the forest.
“It seems you’re in trouble,” Kehua expressed her delight at Brendel’s gloomy mood. She used to find joy in the suffering of mortals, but now those amusements had diminished, or rather, she had become particular, tasting only Brendel’s pain.
But it seemed to still have a good flavor.
“Do you have any news about Babasha and the others?” Brendel frowned, staring at the female wolf.
“They left a message for you so that you’d find me,” she replied.
“Your sister is with me.”
Kehua’s good mood instantly evaporated, as she let out a growl, like a low snarl.
“Speak! What did they say?”
“Your woman is still in the hands of the Silver Queen, but the witch did not lie to you; she was simply moved in advance.”
“Our information was leaked?”
“You’re not the only one with ill intentions around you,” Kehua scoffed. “There are many who wish for your downfall, and of course, I count myself among them.”
“Are you saying it was Delphine?” Brendel’s expression darkened slightly. “Impossible, she had no opportunity; Medisa is watching her.”
“She didn’t betray you, but she only needed to remain passive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dreams.”
Brendel realized that at their level of power, it was easy to control their own dreams, so the witches’ dreams manipulation spells were meaningless against those with strong willpower; one merely needed to avoid easily entering the dream state.
With Delphine’s intelligence, she would have thought of this, but she had never brought it up, which meant that while she was dreaming, the witches had already intruded into the Cat and Whiskers Inn more than once.
He and Medisa had thought of placing Old Kent outside the inn but overlooked this point.
He paused for a moment before asking again, “Is that all Babasha and the others said?”
“They went to chase after your woman.”
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know,” Kehua looked at him mockingly. “Hey, what are you planning to do?”
Brendel shot her a cold glare, showing no intention of answering her question.
He returned to the group, where the Crusian nobles had previously shown great interest in Kehua. However, ever since one had almost had their arm bitten off by a black wolf she commanded, they had kept their distance from the witch and even regarded Brendel with a bit more respect.
“What are you going to do?” Chancellor Nidwen asked after hearing Brendel’s account, echoing the same question.
Brendel was stunned for a moment before realizing that Delphine was the granddaughter of this prominent figure. However, while Delphine was calm and humble, radiating wisdom, Nidwen was evidently far from it, though equally intelligent, his sharpness making him daunting.
Sometimes, he seemed like an uncontainable bomb, a ticking time clock.
Such a person, he thought, would not be favored by the Queen either; the supreme ruler would not tolerate the existence of such an unruly figure within her domain.
On this point, Delphine clearly displayed far less foresight than her grandfather; politics was an art of compromise, not a contest of cleverness.
One had to admit that this young lady had once again contributed to his poor mood. Perhaps noticing this, the elderly chancellor had taken the initiative to inquire.
In their previous discussions, though the chancellor had not shown malice, he had nonetheless conveyed a vague air of keeping his distance, as was common among the Empire’s upper echelons. Domestic chaos was, after all, the Empire’s affair, and outsiders had no place meddling.
Let alone someone like Chancellor Nidwen, who appeared humble but was extremely proud within.
Nevertheless, since it was Brendel who helped them, this group of old men, and the fact that he had indirectly saved his granddaughter’s life, this politician had not yet evolved to the point of reneging outright.
He stood up to do Brendel a favor but also to compensate for the faults of his granddaughter.
Brendel pondered for a moment.
“I must rescue Xi. If Babasha and the others haven’t caught up, then I’ll have to enter the city again.”
“That won’t do,” Veronica interrupted him before anyone else could speak. “You underestimate Her Majesty too much. Young man, do you think your arrangements at Cold Dew Manor caught her off guard? It seems now that was merely a test from her. If you go back to Rustra, it’s like walking into the lion’s den.”
The other nobles in attendance exhibited various expressions, but they clearly conveyed the same underlying sentiment: having successfully escaped the Imperial city, none of them wished to return.
They had made it out without encountering the Queen of Dragons, nor the Shepherds like Sidney and Andisha mentioned by Veronica, but that did not mean their luck would hold should they enter the city again. Moreover, everyone could see the situation along the way; Rustra was likely in utter chaos at that moment.
Who would want to step back into that danger?
Brendel understood this principle as well. He had already exhausted all his cards for this operation but had not anticipated so many unforeseen circumstances, especially the audacity of the Queen of Dragons to disregard the threats of the dragons, casually appearing in Rustra—it was far beyond his expectations.
If he had a fifty percent chance the first time he struck at Cold Dew Manor, now entering the city again would leave him with barely a ten percent hope.
That was nearly like a gambler going all-in.
Yet he had to make a choice.
Now, not only Xi was trapped in the city, but Charles, Medephis, Andrigraphis, and Himelam were also missing. He could not abandon any of his subordinates behind.
“Teacher…”
Faina evidently saw the predicament he was in. She looked at her instructor with a hint of distress. In her eyes, it was Brendel who had rescued these nobles, and to achieve that goal, he had paid such a cost. They should be accountable for it.
At the very least, they shouldn’t show such a careless attitude that was disheartening.
Veronica sighed and gently patted her student’s shoulder. “But if you’ve made a decision, no matter what it is, I will accompany you, young one.”
Brendel was not surprised by Veronica’s sentiment. He knew that was her way of swordsmanship; however, he was nonetheless deeply grateful.
Since he had encountered this Sword Saint, she had helped him more than once, and he had come to regard her as a figure akin to a mentor.
Not to mention the unspoken relationship between her and his teacher—Gray Saint Mephistopheles.
What surprised him was that many of the Crusian nobles were also expressing similar sentiments one after another. He looked at these imperial nobles in astonishment—what had happened to them? Even figures like Faina’s kin weren’t known for being good-natured; “calculating” was almost an understatement when it came to these noble factions. When had the upper-class nobles become so agreeable?
He couldn’t help but glance at Chancellor Nidwen. The old man was silent, quietly waiting for him to make his decision. Yet the mere fact that this prominent figure did not speak indicated something significant.
“We are first and foremost soldiers, my lord,” one noble addressed Brendel. “Right now, we are in the same boat. As long as you make the decision, we will follow your orders.”
Brendel finally grasped the underlying meaning in those words, emphasizing ‘we are in the same boat.’ The Crusian nobles were still as shrewd as ever. Regardless, he felt a bit moved.
At least, his efforts hadn’t been in vain—
“Thank you all very much,” he replied. “I understand your intentions. Rest assured, I will not make hasty decisions, but I won’t easily abandon my goal either. I’ll wait for another half an hour. If there’s no news, I’ll re-enter the city.”
Brendel looked around at everyone present.
“As for you, you can wait here for me or voluntarily organize to head to the Mez region. I believe that for a considerable period from now, the Silver Queen will not have the time to pursue you.”
He spoke these words not out of impulse but out of the understanding that even bringing these people along would be of no use. The combined efforts of these nobles in battle would not match one of Veronica’s.
It was better to earn a favor with them. For this internal power struggle, he could only choose to stand with the Crown Prince, as these people, once they returned to their territories, would become potential allies for Erluin in the Empire.
Now, he could only do so much for this ancient kingdom.
The rest was his personal matter.
The scene fell silent.
Clearly, no one would willingly volunteer to die if they could avoid it. Brendel’s words touched all the nobles present, and in the eyes of these upper-class imperial nobles—whom a mere Earl of Toniger would never have been able to reach—the peasant lord from Erluin seemed to grow monumental.
They suddenly realized that beyond the Empire, there existed figures who embodied the grandeur of ancient nobility.
He was unafraid of danger, compassionate, tolerant, and responded with utmost loyalty from his subordinates. Such nobility seemed only seen during the most glorious of times.
“Young man,” Nidwen suddenly spoke slowly, “I will return with you.”
Brendel was stunned, nearly thinking he had misheard.
All the Crusians present were also dumbfounded, instinctively turning to stare at the former Chancellor of the Empire.
What kind of figure was Chancellor Nidwen?
If you were not from the Empire, it would be hard to comprehend. Decades ago, the Empire called him “Our Chancellor,” a specialized title exclusive to him. No one but old Nidwen was worthy of such an honor; not even the most renowned chancellors from previous generations could share it.
He single-handedly forged the Empire’s most concentrated and prosperous era; no one could argue against him being a commendable minister, nor could he refuse the title of a prominent power broker.
In an era where the average political life of an imperial noble barely lasted ten years—officially speaking, eight years—Nidwen had served for fifty-three years, continuing to be a close friend even until the dying days of the previous emperor.
If any miracle existed in this world, he was it.
His influence reached every corner of the Empire but ultimately achieved a remarkably bloodless transfer of power. He gracefully stepped down from the altar, handing a prosperous empire to the Silver Queen and her successor, the Crown Prince, enjoying a tranquil retirement.
If history had continued along the lines Brendel knew, and not turned into such a jumbled mess.
Such a person couldn’t possibly be a hot-blooded, impulsive noble, could he?
Clearly not.
Thus, the context of his speaking was open to question, even the noblemen who had previously reached a decision seemed to waver.
Only Sidney, standing aside, frowned at this scene—this wasn’t to say that the Holy Lady of the Lion’s Palace wouldn’t frown, but in reality, her facial expressions were rarer than most, making even this subtle change stand out.
Brendel was unaware of this but Sidney thought that this was the second time the old chancellor had proposed to meet the Queen.
Did he truly believe he could persuade that obstinate supreme ruler of the Empire?
That was evidently a false proposition.
Old Nidwen could not be so naive. If he proposed such demands once, one could argue ignorance of the situation; if he kept making mistakes, he would no longer be Nidwen.
Sidney could not help but scrutinize the elderly man’s expression, yet regrettably, she could discern nothing. Old Nidwen seemed to have no intention of elaborating further on the matter and had only said this one sentence, afraid to pursue the topic.
Nearby, Young Nidwen appeared somewhat hesitative, yet was reprimanded into silence by his father’s stern gaze.
Brendel caught this subtle detail.
But he didn’t bring it up, thinking for a moment and not daring to easily respond to any of the Empire’s Chancellor’s words, he merely replied, “Thank you very much. However, for now, let’s wait for half an hour.”
Half an hour wasn’t long.
But during certain critical times, it could also stretch into an agonizing eternity.
