Chapter 120: Act 53 – The Traveling Mage
The massive skeleton took a step forward and raised its battleaxe. Though it was still behind a wall, Brendel, with his experienced judgment, realized he was already within the range of its attack, sending a chill through his heart. For a brief moment, he could not think of any way to resist the coming blow, realizing his only chance might involve sacrificing a hand to save his life.
He had already clenched his teeth and made the difficult decision.
Just at that time, a young man with silver hair and purple eyes, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, and stunningly handsome, walked around the corner with a brooding expression, his lips pressed tightly together. He collided straight into Brendel. Behind the young man followed two soldiers dressed in deep blue knight uniforms, adorned with silver breastplates, long swords at their waists, and silver-scaled epaulettes—uniforms identifying them as regular cavalrymen of the Silver Wing Cavalry.
This young man was none other than one of the lieutenants of the Silver Wing Cavalry’s regimental commander, the regiment’s sergeant major, and the illegitimate son of Duke Golan-Elsen, Viscount Test. Upon seeing Brendel, his expression flickered momentarily as if recalling something, then quickly turned grim. Without a word, he drew his slender sword and thrust it towards Brendel’s left chest.
The speed of his strike was astonishingly fast, precise and ruthless, almost impossible to track with normal human vision—like a fine silver line drawn through the air. But Brendel was no ordinary man; he instantly recognized enmity in the other’s gaze. Though unarmed and uncertain of his opponent’s strength, his instincts prompted him to instinctively guard his vital areas and sidestep.
Viscount Test momentarily hesitated, having not anticipated the alertness of a seemingly average low-tier black iron mercenary. In the heat of the moment, he adjusted his attack angle. Nevertheless, the slender sword still found its mark, like the fang of a venomous snake piercing through Brendel’s shoulder, drawing a streak of blood.
Brendel grunted and tumbled sideways. His heart was racing. He had observed every detail in the fleeting moment of the attack—intermediate knight swordsmanship, wielded by someone with at least gold-level strength. Fortunately, the opponent seemed distracted; otherwise, he would already be a frozen corpse.
Brendel didn’t have time to ponder why he had crossed paths with such a powerful third-stage force master of such young age—this individual had to be an Awakener. In truth, Brendel’s assumptions weren’t far off; his opponent, Viscount Test, was not only an Awakener but also the Holy Son of the Everything Returns Society (one of the Twelve Ring Elders’ candidates). Hence, this young prodigy had ample reason to be proud compared to his peers.
Yet, this was the second time his pride had been shaken by Brendel. Test had never faltered before, but the disappearance of the daughter of Bogu Nessun’s days ago had been gnawing at his mind. They had obtained intelligence indicating that the Bogu Nessun family might have ties to the royal lineage of the Western Siphai Dynasty a hundred and several decades ago—an affair of great significance. He had confidently dismissed any potential antics from a nobleman’s daughter, only to find herself vanished under his nose. Test, despite his outward nonchalance, was precise and thorough, but this matter had given him his first taste of failure.
And then, there was this man before him.
Intelligence gathered in recent days pointed to a prior oversight in their information collection: based on various sources, there was someone above the Bronze Dragon Retao in charge of the Everything Returns Society’s operation in Bruglas. That someone was young, which naturally directed Viscount Test’s suspicion to the figure who had been seen accompanying Balthom—none other than Brendel.
Of course, it was only a suspicion that Test himself didn’t take seriously, yet he hadn’t expected to encounter Brendel in this place. The moment he saw Brendel, probing him was the first thought that came to his mind. To Test, the act of probing was synonymous with attempting to kill him—after all, even if a mistake was made, there would be no consequence.
After all, it’s not much loss to let a nameless mercenary disappear.
However, Brendel was about to deliver something unexpected—a big surprise—to him.
As Brendel tumbled down, he managed to slip past between Test and the two soldiers. Viscount Test involuntarily hesitated for a second, about to turn around to deliver a follow-up strike, but the wall in front of him suddenly shattered with a thunderous boom. The blood-stained skull of the Executioner of the Crusaders first peeked through the small door, then surged forward, its axe tearing apart the entire wall, collapsing it to one side.
Test was taken aback, blocking the axe with a swift counterstroke—his sword unleashed a powerful wind that scattered the shards of the wall back. However, he still exclaimed, “Executioner!”
The colossal skeleton would offer no mercy merely because he was a key member of the Everything Returns Society. The blazing gaze from its burning eye sockets first fixed on the slender sword with which Test had deflected its blow. The soul flame flickered momentarily, and its right skeletal claw swiftly followed through, piercing straight towards the ribcage of this Erluin nobleman.
If this attack were to succeed, the upper half of an ordinary person would likely explode. Yet, Viscount Test showed no panic, extending his left hand to block the skeleton’s assault. Though his motion was limited, the enormous skeleton’s claw was completely immobilized under Test’s firm grip.
“Seize that young man!” The Executioner, infamous as much in lore as he was menacing, possessed a prowess at the mid-Silver stage, which was formidable even for a new Gold-tier swordsman like Viscount Test. Thus, he could only gravely instruct his subordinates to stop Brendel.
Yet, Brendel was far shrewder than he assumed. In fact, while rolling forward, he had already considered provoking a conflict between the Executioner and Test. And even before the huge skeleton could initiate its attack, Brendel had already slipped away from them, vanishing swiftly. The scroll of elemental awakening awaited beyond the door of the adjacent room.
If the wind-essence spider had not misled him…
Brendel slammed the door open, and the first thing that caught his eyes were several phials of magical reagents on the table—items he recognized instantly, having crafted them alongside Tam. These were the phials he had turned over to the auction house, causing a pang to chill his heart.
Another wrong room.
But as his heart sank, his gaze found the box by the side of the chair, prompting his breathing to quicken. Lying calmly within, was that familiar burnt-yellow parchment.
It was the one, the very scroll that might just save his life. Should the ‘Holy Sword’ card unlock the second-level power, even if only temporarily, Brendel was confident he could face an opponent at the Gold-tier without falling, at the very least—escape would be manageable. He lunged forward, grabbing the scroll and bit his finger, smearing his blood onto its center.
The activation of an elemental contract was as straightforward as this—
The scroll faintly illuminated, then began burning from its edges. Unlike fire from the mortal world, this was a fire from the elemental plane of the Inferno Babbatal Abyss, the elemental flame, and also the flame of contract. In Vauntd, whether it be the angels of the Celestial Realm or the demons of the Underworld, they all utilized the elemental flame to engrave the markings of their contracts, a tradition that dated back to the very inception of the world, when Martha and the King of Fire Spirits formed the first contract. Such customs were not encouraged throughout history; indeed, even merchants in the human world prior to the Age of Chaos stamped their pacts through burning signs onto parchments, influenced by the same tradition.
After the fire of the contract was established, the same patterns emerged on the back of Brendel’s hand—these were the elemental marks, the symbol of an elementalist.
Brendel carefully reviewed the elemental mark on his hand, finding the most common fire mark of Erluin. He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, originally presuming he might have had some uniqueness—forgetting the prestigious Six-element Holy Mark of Tumen; at least having three-system or four-system would be better. Having only a single-system elemental mark was practically the definition of an elementalist with the least potential.
Nevertheless, becoming an elementalist was not his goal.
The prompt signaling the formation of the contract projected as usual onto his retina, a serene green streak. Then the elemental pool materialized within him, six grids for each element; seven for fire, with no light or dark elemental pools. Upon seeing this, Brendel once again confirmed the lack of potential within this body to become an elementalist.
A player elementalist would have seventeen grids for each element, equipped with a complete set of light and dark elemental pools. Even then, such attributes would only be considered adequate for an Awakener.
Certainly better than this state of Brendel’s.
If one were to describe Brendel’s current state poetically, it was nothing but an ordinary person ill-suited to become either a mage or an elementalist, who had inadvertently stumbled onto an elemental enlightenment scroll. Brendel knew performing a Flame Arrow required three grids of fire element, indicating that if he were an elementalist, his elemental pool would be exhausted in a week with merely two performances of a lesser spell (spells outside the twelve-ring system, like the magic arrow of Charles, classified under lesser spells).
Though not inclined towards becoming an elementalist, the sight of the peculiar elemental pool prompted a moment of wry amusement from Brendel.
He coughed once, detecting footfalls resonating outside the door. Whether or not it was the Gold-level youth, tension filled his chest, and instinctively, his hand reached for the magic reagents on the table. But this time, his hand seized nothing. The moment he extended it, it was as if he was no longer in that auction house.
He found himself enveloped in an infinite darkness—
The room, the table, the magic reagents, and everything that should have been here disappeared. There remained only an expansive, boundless darkness he had never seen before. No, suddenly, memories surfaced in Brendel—game moments when such darkness appeared were when he had fallen. He couldn’t help but panic and wonder if he had perished.
But this wasn’t a game—
Then what was this situation?
He couldn’t help but look around. First, he thought of whether he fell victim to some form of illusion. But putting it aside for a moment, he couldn’t recall any illusion capable of such an effect. Unless it was an illusion directly affecting the mind, but that would trigger his Unyielding talent, leaving him completely unaware.
At the next instant, Brendel froze.
Through the darkness, a young man with long black hair and blood-red eyes as eerie as a ghost emerged, looking at him, and smiling faintly, raising a delicately beautiful hand to brush lightly over the silver robe draped on him, then said, “You seem very confused?”
Brendel recognized the young man’s robe—Master Elementalist Robes—but the four interlinked blood red patterns on the sleeves caught him off guard. High-ranking elementalists who had mastered twelfth-ring spells became Elven Messengers, their robes displaying one pattern.
Two patterns belonged to the Grand Mentors of the Elemental Throne.
Three patterns, those venerable beings often called sages.
Four patterns—
Brendel could only think of one figure, Emperor Tumen, the Elemental Emperor. The young man matched the mythical description of the Minren people—black hair, crimson eyes, followers of the Dark Dragon. Yet, he hesitated—how could this young man possibly be that legendary individual? Wasn’t Tumen dead for thousands of years?
But the young man smiled as if seeing through his doubt and nodded, “Yes, I am Tumen.”
“Are you Tumen?” Brendel was astounded, momentarily forgetting his own situation: “How did you end up here?”
“That isn’t important, Brendel,” Tumen replied, “My last contractor passed away about three hundred years ago, and the last person who carried these cards refused to abandon his path as a knight. I never thought that in just a few decades, a new successor would have arrived.”
He paused a moment, laughing again, “What I mean is, would you, for a moment, stop and let me tell you a story about Traveling Mages?”
“Traveling Mages?”
Brendel was slightly taken aback.
… (To be continued)
