Chapter 124: Act 56 – The Invitation of Everything Returns
The battle had already ended before it even began.
Brendel ordered the mercenaries from Lubis to toss the two unconscious Silverwing cavalry officers into the corner of the room. He suddenly thought that the swordsman might have followed him all the way here. He clutched his left shoulder—the wound from the previous sword jab was burning painfully. With his current level of strength facing a first-tier golden swordsman, even the slightest instability could be fatal; the gap in strength was almost twenty times that of the butcher of Crusaders or the White Knight Aibodun, rendering experience all but useless.
In other words, if Test went all out, Brendel’s senses wouldn’t even be able to catch a glimpse of the other party’s movements.
He wiped away the sweat from his forehead, which was pounding with anxiety. Although he didn’t understand the opponent’s methods, their immediate focus on him raised Brendel’s wariness. He wondered if they were assassins from the Everything Returns Society, as they were the only group he had offended.
Yet, that didn’t seem right. The Everything Returns Society operated in a low-key and secretive manner; even if they sought revenge, they wouldn’t choose such a public place as an auction house.
Unless they were colluding with Madara. But that was even more absurd; the Everything Returns Society revered chaos and followed the Duskgazer Dragon in secret, making it impossible for them to ally with Madara, who represented order in darkness. Brendel shook his head, dismissing the chaotic thoughts in his mind. He pointed at a few of his subordinates and instructed, “You six, scatter.” The priority now was to ensure his own survival.
He issued this command but immediately felt it was somewhat redundant. An impulse hit him to call them back, but after some thought, he decided against it. It was better to be cautious; having them around or not wouldn’t make much difference.
In the world of the “Amber Sword”, having twelve black iron-tier warriors at his command would undoubtedly be a thrilling affair for someone of his level. But in this cold, unfeeling reality, there was a swordsman with third-tier powers seemingly intent on causing him trouble, and that made him restless.
A person who had unlocked their third-tier power possessed an average strength exceeding a hundred Energy Levels. Brendel presumed his opponent was a swordsman using a fine sword, likely practicing the elegant elven swordsmanship. If he had over a hundred and twenty Energy Levels in elegance, then his reaction speed would be twenty-three times faster than an ordinary person, with an explosive speed nearly forty-seven times greater.
With such capabilities, the opponent could reach speeds over seven hundred kilometers per hour in a straight line, nearly doubling the maximum speed of a Formula 1 car and approaching the speed of early jet fighters. His physique would also be resilient enough to handle such speeds, counteracting air resistance and the pressure on his organs.
According to the calculations in “Amber Sword”, a character with a hundred and twenty Energy Levels in elegance would require at least sixty Energy Levels for their physique. Such a person could generate defensive power surpassing two hundred millimeters of sloped armor through sheer skin.
Brendel pondered what damage one of his strongest attacks, the “Wind b*llet”, would do to a two-hundred-millimeter sloped steel plate—
At best, it would create a dent.
In other words—a third-tier swordsman was practically a humanoid monster.
Brendel couldn’t help but think that if he crossed swords with such a person, he might be sent flying out of the auction house. This kind of individual could comb through the entire auction house in mere seconds; even if he sent all twelve men out, it would only buy him a few seconds of time.
A few seconds meant nothing to him, but for the other party, it could be enough to k*ll him several times over.
Brendel took a deep breath, reflecting that since arriving in this world, everything had generally remained within the scope of his design. He had been cautiously avoiding these high-level presences throughout his adventure; the only flaw had been inadvertently provoking the Everything Returns Society, but he had always tried to stay out of their sight.
However, no matter how he racked his brains, he couldn’t fathom that this was merely an unfortunate coincidence. He turned and drew the guardsman’s sword, glancing back toward the door. The remaining mercenaries from Lubis had blocked the corridor, and the disheveled space, now devoid of air, was suffocated with an uneasy silence.
Brendel displayed the Sacred Sword card, as a massive sword adorned with mysterious golden patterns appeared behind him, its snow-white wings unfurling; this was the third time he showcased this card. The power of honor flowing from the sword seemed to infuse his body, giving him the semblance of being able to crush walls and destroy vessels with a mere snap of his fingers. However, Brendel understood this was merely an illusion born of a sudden surge in power; in reality, the Sacred Sword card had only compensated for his attack abilities, elevating him to a mid-silver level in one aspect.
But this power could only offer him a sense of comfort in being able to potentially harm his opponent; he knew full well that if it came to a real fight, he might not even be able to catch the other party’s movements and would be pierced through the throat in an instant. Of course, not everything was absolute; Brendel believed he wasn’t entirely without opportunities.
At that moment, he finally heard horrified screams echoing from the corridor. The “Lubis Mercenary” card maintaining the auspices of the Sacred Tree suddenly dimmed by half.
A tightness gripped Brendel’s heart as he looked up just in time to see the silver-haired young noble slowly emerge from around the corner—the person wearing a short black cloak, one hand grasping the hilt of a fine sword, the crystalline blade stained with several streaks of bl**d. Brendel recognized that sword: the Crystal Scorpion’s Stinger. In “Amber Sword”, the damage of this sword was not even among the top ranks of level sixty weapons, yet its toughness and resilience were among the strongest. He recalled hearing from an experienced player during his rookie days that if someone regularly used such a sword, it indicated a high level of confidence in their own strength.
Brendel couldn’t fully trust this judgment, but based on this young man’s previous performance, he certainly seemed confident in his own abilities.
While managing Test, this noble swordsman was also sizing him up with his glass-like purple eyes. The silver-haired young man’s gaze first landed on the spectral image of the Sacred Sword behind Brendel, narrowing slightly, and then swept over the others. All were of black iron-tier strength. This young man had some capital to work with, though in his eyes, it was still less than enough. Since revealing teeth or claws could intimidate others, it was better to keep them concealed—therefore, Test sheathed his sword, smiling faintly, his smile as sweet as that of a serene woman.
Then the young man raised an eyebrow and asked, “Where have I seen you before?”
Brendel didn’t know what was on his mind and could only feign calm, forcing a disdainful smile before bluntly replying, “Naturally, because you just stabbed me in the shoulder about a minute ago. Before that, I can confirm that I’ve never met you, sir.” He replied rather unfriendly.
As he answered, he quietly opened his attribute panel, and lines of data flowed down like a stream before his eyes.
First was the available experience: 4730.
After a series of battles, his reserve experience had once again risen, especially since acquiring the Elemental Revelation Scroll, which not only saved him nearly 2000 experience but, more importantly, omitted the series of tasks needed to unlock the elemental pool. This was incredibly crucial given his time constraints.
At this moment, Test shook his head slightly, appearing unbothered: “No, that was from earlier. I’m certain I saw you at the Cavalry Headquarters.”
“The Cavalry Headquarters.”
“Precisely.”
“Who are you?” Brendel suddenly realized something, but upon contemplating the question, he felt more relaxed, taking a breath to regain his composure as he looked steadily at the other man.
“My name is Test, which I chose for myself. It’s derived from the ancient language of the Crusian people, ‘Tiryhd’, meaning ‘struggle’,” Test answered with a smile. “As for my identity, I am the deputy commander of the Silverwing Cavalry, a third-tier sergeant of the White Mane Legion, and the Viscount of Manowell in the Kingdom of Erluin. However, compared to these lengthy titles, I prefer this name of mine—simple, yet with profound implications of sacrifice.” Brendel rarely encountered someone who could speak so extravagantly about their name, but now he witnessed it firsthand.
So it was him. Brendel’s mind clicked. Could it be that what they did on Gray Rat Street was uncovered? But that seemed unlikely, unless Lohn sold them out, though would he have the gall to do so? Brendel shook his head, forcing himself to calm down, lest the other party seize on anything.
Viscount Test.
The illegitimate son of Duke Goran-Elsen, the figure of Viscount Test from the Manowell region hadn’t shone particularly bright in the brief recorded history of Erluin, nor was he as nameless as an ordinary commoner. Brendel’s impression of him lingered on a tragic love story involving a female bard—of course, that was something that came later.
However, Brendel knew this person’s character; this viscount appeared laid-back and unconventional, yet his inner workings were meticulous to the point of rigidity. Brendel had once suspected that Test, as the deputy of the Silverwing Cavalry’s commander Makgske, might be connected to the Everything Returns Society. Moreover, his secretive movements further confirmed this suspicion. But seeing this historical figure of Test for the first time, Brendel couldn’t help but be taken aback; the other had none of the psychological distortion described in poems and novels that stemmed from long-term exclusion or suppression. Instead, his openness came through clearly, perhaps with malicious intent—but this malice felt quite straightforward, devoid of derogatory terms like ‘insincere’ or ‘hypocritical’.
His smile resembled that of a beautiful venomous snake, aware of the danger yet still exuding elegance and composure.
Test held a sword—much like a staff in its sheath—implying a clear threat. Yet the silver-haired young man seemed to express, “There’s a matter between us yet to be resolved. I don’t discount the possibility of running you through with one stroke, but aside from that, there’s nothing we can’t discuss.” It was as if for this kind of person, life and d*ath were already trivial; he had his own attitudes and pursuits.
Seeing this, Brendel knew he wouldn’t find any flaws in such a person, but ever since he had been Sue, he possessed a stubborn disposition to rise to the challenge in the face of strength, otherwise, he wouldn’t have clashed with Madara for ten years. Thus, he calmed down, breaking into a cold smile.
“I don’t recall ever offending you, Viscount.”
Test’s purple eyes glimmered momentarily. He had always felt this young man was not simple. Just a moment ago, he had suddenly attacked, yet the young swordsman, merely a black iron-tier, managed to escape with composure, proving he had some skill. Now, this further confirmed his suspicion.
A simple phrase held both counterattack and inquiry, as if the young man had grasped his personality. The silver-haired youth suddenly felt a bit awkward, unable to help but touch his nose. He certainly didn’t want to be led by the nose, yet he couldn’t pretend not to hear; his confidence wouldn’t allow it.
“Well said, but not everything in this world allows for choices,” he replied.
Brendel’s eyes narrowed slightly; Test was softening before hardening. It seemed that things were not going as smoothly as he had imagined. However, asking him to hand over Antinna was highly unlikely, he thought, while secretly allocating experience unreservedly to the mercenary profession. It leaped over levels eleven and twelve, bringing his total level to twenty for the first time.
At the same time, his strength broke into double digits for the first time, reaching ten points.
Although this bit of strength was still not sufficient for Test’s standards, it at least positioned him in the middle level of black iron strength.
“What do you want to say?” He pressed down on the power of the Sacred Sword with one hand, his palm slick with sweat, but his exterior remained calm as he asked.
“Let’s cut to the chase—what is your relationship with Retao?” Test appeared to have noticed Brendel’s subtle movements but showed no reaction, casually asking. Yet this demeanor made Brendel feel even more threatened; as an old soldier, he identified potential paths for Test’s strike from every angle, causing him to sweat profusely.
This Test, outwardly indifferent, was, in fact, highly alert.
However, Brendel was more shocked by Test’s question. In fact, when he heard it, he almost changed color; fortunately, his battle-tested heart calmed him, allowing him to reply with unyielding steadiness, “What Retao?”
Brendel maintained a façade of ignorance while internally roiling. From which faction was Test asking this question? Local nobility? The White Mane Legion? Or the Everything Returns Society? It seemed possible, but they lacked core evidence to support it. The key question was, how much did they already know?
Brendel forced himself to meet Test’s eyes, a specialty of his; he had deceived many top players in Madara in the game, but this time it seemed to lose effect.
Test couldn’t catch even a hint of a trace from Brendel but found that very absence aroused his suspicion. He chuckled slightly: “Your answer holds little meaning for me. Killing you would be the simplest task. But your performance has piqued my interest; I don’t mind what you say, as it holds no significance for me—”
He fixed his glass-like purple gaze on Brendel and smiled, saying, “Your name is Brendel, isn’t it? I’ll ask you just one thing. Are you willing to join us?”
At this moment, Brendel wanted nothing more than to feign ignorance: “You mean, ‘you’?”
But he couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of Test’s hand on the sword and the dark ring of the coiling serpent on his finger. He knew this was Test issuing the final ultimatum—either agree or face the consequences with Lady Martha.
However, joining the Everything Returns Society itself tormented Brendel. In his previous life, that group was his most significant enemy next to Madara.
And this was secondary; Brendel knew that once he joined that infamous organization, it would brand him for life. This was not the path he wanted to take; as long as he wasn’t completely out of options, he didn’t want to consider even a bit in that direction.
But now, he had to choose between joining the Everything Returns Society or being at the mercy of Test’s sword.
Brendel felt compelled to stop his attribute allocation…
A suffocating silence.
…
(PS. Visiting family and friends every day; shouldn’t the sick be resting? The word count is low these days, but once I’m done with this busy period, I’ll try to make it up!)(To be continued, for further events, please log in; for more chapters, support the author, support legitimate reading!)
