Chapter 117: Act 50 – Fishing in Troubled Waters (Part 2)
When the red giant fell, the wooden platform immediately shattered, debris flying in all directions. Mister Brendel raised one hand to shield his face and looked ahead, just in time to see a giant skeleton about three people high, dressed in blood-red armor, standing up amid the swirling dust—it wore an enormous crusader helmet adorned with fiery red hydra patterns, causing Brendel to gasp.
This was the general guard of Madara, the Crusader Executioner.
Brendel felt his scalp tingle, the sensation akin to being doused with a bucket of cold water from head to toe, his heart turning icy, let alone the mood he had for fishing in troubled waters—he could hardly concern himself with that now.
He almost lost his breath and couldn’t speak—but he coughed once, not daring to hesitate, and immediately told those behind him, “Step back, step back, get away from here, follow me—!” His voice was unusually stern, even more so than when he faced the Undead Army that day.
If possible, he could almost curse. What were those bastards Bruglas doing letting this thing in? Why didn’t they just surrender the city outright?
Balthom and Antinna might feel a bit confused, but Brendel was clear on what the Crusader Executioner was. In this place, calling it the Grim Reaper was not an exaggeration. This was not an ordinary undead creature; it wasn’t even one summoned by an undead wizard. It was a nest creature. One of the few superior physical undead from Madara, its only equals among physical undead were blood flesh puppets and black knights.
It was a high-level undead.
A silver intermediate level.
Brendel saw that the Crusader Executioner seemed momentarily dazed from the impact of falling from the sky, not thinking of anything. He immediately pulled the others to run left. There was a small door leading backstage under the platform, which had always been their target.
Balthom and Charles reacted quickly; this battle-hardened mercenary sensed the aura of despair emanating from the Crusader Executioner right away. It was a scent filled with the essence of slaughter, detectable only by seasoned warriors like him. This giant skeleton, clad in fiery red armor and wielding a massive axe, was definitely no easy opponent.
They swiftly crossed under the platform, but the bad news was that the undead finally stood up, and the only enemy by its side seemed to be them.
Brendel shoved Antinna and Romaine through the door, followed closely by Charles and Balthom. He turned around to take a glance. The monster’s dark eye sockets had locked onto them, the fiery red souls within blazing menacingly. It raised its axe, wobbling and standing up from the platform, making creaking noises.
“Brendel?” Romaine asked, confused.
“Don’t speak; you all listen to me,” Brendel said as he entered the door and closed it tightly—luckily, whether out of defensive considerations or not, this door was a heavy iron door, affording them enough time.
“Is that thing really that strong? What do we do?” Balthom asked.
Brendel took a moment to calm down and replied, “Let me think, I might have a way.” As he spoke, he calmly released wind elemental spiders, allowing those little creatures to scurry out through the gaps in the room. In an instant, he formulated a rough plan in his mind, but he hesitated, feeling it might be too dangerous to proceed this way.
His greatest hope was that the creature would go after others instead; after all, there were many people still in the hall, and it had no reason to hunt them down.
But before he could finish his thoughts, the iron door suddenly shook violently, the tremendous force against it sent him stumbling forward. The others were startled, and Balthom and Charles hurriedly rushed forward to brace the door. Brendel climbed back up from the ground to his original position; at that moment, he decided to abandon all hope and resolutely said:
“There’s only one way. You all run first, split up. I’ll hold this guy off.”
“Brendel!” Romaine, seeing the young man exhibit that uncertain look for the first time, felt her thrill of adventure wash away like water—her worry mirrored what she had shown back in Buche’s old manor. The Merchant Miss wanted to stay and face the formidable enemy with Brendel, but this time the young man was insisting she leave first.
This was not her fight.
Brendel knew full well that the Crusader Executioner possessed a power close to level 47, a force far beyond what Balthom and Charles could contend with. Engaging this monster would likely leave them obliterated. Charles might be fine; at most, he would just be hindered from using the highland servant card for a time, but losing even one of Balthom, Lohn, Antinna, or Romaine was something he could not afford.
In a flash, he realized that only he could take advantage of his familiarity with this terrifying creature to draw it away and seek a chance to escape. But as he turned to look at the enormous monster that had just lifted its head—the dark eye sockets locking onto their group with those two fiery red lights—he felt absolutely no assurance. After all, this creature was close to the strength of a silver intermediate level, not on par with the flesh puppet captain or Aibodun of this era, who had yet to reach silver or was only newly promoted to silver tier.
Brendel had considered abandoning Balthom and Lohn, even Antinna, letting these nominal subordinates buy him time. He could easily do this because they lacked his familiarity with this fearsome undead creature, and sometimes a minor misjudgment could alter everything.
In reality, this notion flickered across his mind, but he almost instantly shuddered and dismissed the seductive idea. He could not tolerate the thought of doing such a thing; even entertaining it sent chills down his spine. He thought if he could betray his promise and abandon Balthom, Lohn, or even Antinna, then perhaps one day he could forsake even more people.
Freya, Romaine, the Princess, and everything he stood for would be reduced to a cold-blooded monster solely looking out for himself.
Brendel shook his head, expelling that chilling thought from his mind—just for a moment, feeling as if he had experienced a heavenly battle, he said solemnly: “You all run first, split up. I’ll hold this guy off.”
Balthom halted his steps: “Lord, you are the lord; how can we abandon you?”
This old mercenary, with his fiery red beard and a knack for reading the situation, completely immersed himself in the role of a vassal. He didn’t even realize it himself; it came naturally.
“Lord,” Charles replied earnestly, pressing his hand against his chest, “this is the general guard of Madara’s Undead Army; you are no match for it. Please allow me to buy you some time.”
“Do you know it?” Brendel paused in surprise.
“Brendel,” Antinna said, pulling her hand from Balthom’s grip, she turned around, seriousness on her face as she asked, “We don’t need you to be a hero. We’ve placed our ideals upon you; at the very least, we hope you can consider the promise made to a weak woman!”
“What are you saying, Antinna?” Balthom grabbed the girl’s shoulder, growing angry.
But a second impact quickly followed; the three felt the terrifying force on the door again. Brendel realized time was running out; he waved his sword towards the back, speaking in a deep voice: “Since when do men’s battles permit women to interrupt? Balthom, take her away.”
“Mister Brendel, you…” Antinna was taken aback, but she inhaled sharply, as if suddenly understanding Brendel’s meaning. She paused and cast a complicated glance at the knight.
“Brendel, what about me?” Romaine blinked, asking.
“Aren’t you a woman?” Brendel replied, irritated.
“Oh—” Little Romaine looked somewhat disappointed.
Since it was an order, Balthom had no grounds to defy it; he could only nod, leading Antinna and Romaine away from the opposite side of the platform. He looked back and already saw a hidden small door behind the curtain; most underground auction houses had such an emergency passage directly leading to the exhibition room—sometimes it was an elevator run by manual or magical means—partly to facilitate transporting goods, and partly to deal with potential inspections.
Of course, the latter scenario had an almost negligible probability of occurring.
At the same time, Brendel breathed a sigh of relief; had he been in the ‘Amber Sword,’ he would have dared to say that women should not participate in war. The senior apprentice who had been with him would have surely beaten him into a pulp. But unbeknownst to him, he had unwittingly become a competent commander. Those old players and seniors who had weathered storms with him had all left one after another, with him remaining to fight alone.
It was this way in the game, and it was the same here.
Though Brendel had comrades like Romaine and Freya, loyal subordinates like Balthom and Retao, and a highly intelligent Antinna as his advisor, he could not help but feel isolated. Perhaps no one could understand why he tried so hard—
He turned to look at Charles.
The wizard apprentice still stared at him resolutely, answering, “Lord, you understand my identity. In a sense, your safety is more important than my life. Because even if I disappear, as long as you, Lord, are alive, I can reappear again. Otherwise, everything would be meaningless to me.”
“You’ve convinced me,” Brendel nodded. “If that’s the case, then stay.”
The door finally cracked open with a loud sound—a blood-red axe thrust through the opening.
The door trembled violently, throwing Charles and Brendel back. This time they did not rush to block it; Brendel waved to Charles, shouting, “Come, let’s go to the other side.” With that, he stood up and pulled his servant with him, glancing back and then sprinting toward the door on the other side.
With another axe strike, the Crusader Executioner finally broke through the door. It bent down to enter, just preparing to survey its surroundings when a flash of white light struck its forehead—the spell shattered instantly—the terrifying undead turned its head and immediately spotted Charles and Brendel, the young wizard apprentice still maintaining his stance.
“This way, you brainless undead,” Brendel taunted.
Wearing blood-red armor, the skeleton roared and immediately charged over. It straightened up, the stone-carved ceiling crumbling like tofu upon impact. The Crusader Executioner, with 22 levels of agility, despite its appearance of clumsiness, moved with astonishing speed. As it moved, accompanied by the sounds of cracking, its massive figure was already before Brendel.
But Brendel had anticipated this; as soon as he saw Charles’s attack was ineffective, he swiftly pulled the latter into a roll, slipping into the door behind. They had barely made their escape when the Crusader Executioner smashed the door frame into rubble—the monster, stepping on the debris, flew into the room, seeing Brendel and Charles already climbing up from the other side.
Brendel stood up, panting, but he didn’t feel as tense as when he was fleeing in Buche—on the contrary, his mind was clear at this moment. He knew that he and Charles would not be able to inflict any damage on this high-level undead, but he was not entirely without hope. At least he knew that he still had two paths to choose from—first, to hold out until the Silverwing Cavalry arrived; although the captain of the Silverwing Cavalry was a lackey of the Everything Returns Society, he wouldn’t be on the same side as Madara. Moreover, as a knight of golden lower intermediate strength, taking on this creature would be a walk in the park.
There was no need for him to face it personally; with the Silverwing cavalry as elite forces of the White-Maned Legion, any one of their squad leaders, all possessing strength above silver, could easily dispatch this mindless undead.
However, with the Crusader Executioner right across from him, he had doubts about whether he could hold out that long; perhaps at any moment, the separation of his head and body could become a reality. After pondering for a while, Brendel realized relying on himself was the most realistic option, leaving him with only one choice.
That was to find that scroll of elemental revelation.
(PS: It hurts, I shouldn’t have eaten that squid strip, I really only had one, why is it so bad. My stomach hurts like hell again today.
Gritting my teeth to type out two chapters, this is the first chapter, the second will be released later.
Gritting my teeth to ask for the guaranteed monthly tickets for next month; look at me injured but still on the battlefield, please support me.)(To be continued; for more details on what happens next, please log in for more chapters and support the author, support legitimate reading!)
