Chapter 134: Act 67 – Brendel’s Swordsmanship
The ‘Shubli Lantern’ inn is situated at the highest point of this small town, facing east on a steep cliff, resembling a giant arched wooden hall where wild heroes and gods from classical mythology reside, standing atop the rocks, having weathered storms and soaked in moisture until it has now taken on a faint black hue. Below the hall, rows of tightly packed windows open out from the grayish-white cliff, creating a scene that looks like a giant beehive or a dragon’s lair in the cliffside.
But in fact, those were the inn’s guest rooms.
In the room temporarily occupied by the ‘Maned Wolf’ Makarolo, the door had already been pushed open fifteen minutes ago. The experienced mercenary captain lifted his head from a rough sketch of the Shubli area, having heard a certain term from the story told by his subordinates, his thick brows involuntarily raising—his right hand, still holding the bronze-handled magnifying glass, opened his mouth to ask: “Article 314 of the Codex?”
“In a formal mission, if both sides of the mercenaries come into conflict over any objective, they should attempt to merge temporarily, considering it as a mutual achievement. As for the details of the merger, they should be negotiated by both parties.”
An elder, with white hair and a beard, seated on a wicker chair by the window, responded. The old man kept his gaze fixed on a thick red-covered book in his hands, seemingly uninterested in the topic.
“Master Livwz, can this be interpreted in such a way?”
“It’s not impossible,” the elder replied.
“Good, let me first see who that young man is,” Makarolo waved his hand towards the young man standing before his table and said, “Go on, let Leidi give him a try.” But he immediately called him back: “Wait a minute, has Aike found that guy?”
“No news yet, Captain.”
“Alright, I understand. You go on.” Makarolo shook his head and snorted, muttering, “This time, I have to teach that kid a lesson. It seems I’ve spoiled him a bit too much lately. At this rate, I won’t be able to explain myself in front of the lord.”
The elder glanced at the book, a faint smile passing across his face as he shook his head slightly.
……
“Your name is Brendel?”
“My name is Brendel.” Brendel raised his head to look at a young man who was nearly a head taller than him. This young man had rare pure white hair, and his eyes were the clear, transparent golden of amber, with a feminine face that resembled that of a woman.
A Yabuli person? Brendel thought to himself, the only impression he had of this minority group living in the Destiny Land was that young silver-haired Sword Saint—GureKais—who had been active more than thirty years ago in the land of Vaunte.
He anticipated that the other party would not easily accept his request but did not expect that the ‘Maned Wolf’ Makarolo would send such a young man to test him. To be honest, besides the Seer and the Chosen One, there were very few in this era around Brendel’s age who could best him.
With a level 23 power rating, he was already at the upper level of black iron. Besides, a professional level of 15 was the first threshold for any profession. Once crossed, the profession’s attributes’ enhancements would begin to transition from the first level of power to the second level.
In fact, although Brendel had now lost his shining needle of light, his strength had taken a step further, reaching an impressive level 15, approaching twelve or even thirteen times that of a trained soldier. Although he seemed like a thin young man, if he wished, he could easily deliver a punch strong enough to kill a wild boar.
As long as Brendel opened his attributes panel, he could clearly see that his absolute strength had reached the terrifying value of 220. This meant that theoretically, he could single-handedly confront any squad of a second or third tier military from any country in this world and easily make it in and out.
Such strength is generally referred to as mid-squad leader level within the adventurers of Erluin.
Furthermore, Brendel’s hidden strength was far from just that; his ten-level Erluin military swordsmanship was enough to make the majority of Erluin’s officers and knights ashamed. Of course, Brendel himself did not feel this and believed he had yet to reach the level of his grandfather.
However, before he could finish thinking, he saw the young man already drawing his sword and pointing it at him, the tip trembling slightly, flashing cold light in his vision.
“Listen well, merchant, I do not accept weak challenges, nor will I show mercy; on the contrary. Because duels between warriors are sacred, it is about life and death, trying every means to end your opponent’s life.” The white-haired young man said: “The captain has instructed me to fight you, but I will not go against my own will and hold back. Have you thought this through?”
Brendel turned to look at Romaine.
“Brendel, does he mean to say he is somewhat better than you?” The Business Lady widened her eyes, in fact, trying to widen them even further, and then blinked and asked.
“No, I don’t think that’s what he means.” Brendel barely managed not to let Romaine’s words annoy him, replying in an unhappy tone.
“Lord?” Antinna asked.
Brendel shook his head, thinking to himself, can’t you all have a little confidence? But he had already drawn his sword from his waist. Ever since he lost the elven sword, the Needle of Light, he had been using a standard steel longsword, just like the one he held now. The white-haired young man looked at his sword, revealing a hint of disdain—his sword was brand new, as if it had just been bought from the blacksmith’s workshop.
He was not mistaken; in fact, that was true because the previous sword had shattered during a battle due to bearing the force Brendel exerted.
Brendel raised his sword, swinging it lightly as if getting used to this new sword. However, his actions immediately drew a wave of boos from the mercenaries and adventurers sitting around in the inn’s hall; no swordsman would ever adapt to their sword before the battle. Brendel’s behavior was simply like that of a rookie who had never been on the battlefield.
“Leidi, isn’t your idol that Yabuli Sword Saint GureKais? Defeat this rookie and let us see your strength!”
“Well said, as a fellow townsman of the Sword Saint, you cannot lose face.”
“Leidi, come on, take him down!” The mercenaries suddenly stirred up, a bunch of unruly individuals who would never settle down anywhere.
But upon hearing that name, Brendel couldn’t help but slightly freeze: “GureKais?” He had originally been preparing to enter the initial stance of Erluin’s military swordsmanship—but at this moment, his mind had relaxed, and he looked up and asked. This momentary distraction caused his move to end up half-completed, the starting gesture of the military swordsmanship suddenly went awry.
The mercenaries let out another round of boos.
“You’re not worthy to mention that name,” the white-haired young man’s face darkened as he had already thrust his sword forward.
That thrust might seem like lightning to ordinary people, but in Brendel’s sensory range of 3.7 levels, it was slow. Moreover, he hadn’t even finished speaking when his opponent launched an attack, and for a moment, he reflexively countered with a sword—more precisely, he raised his sword and swept the young man’s sword out of his hand—’clink,’ the white-haired youth simply couldn’t hold onto his sword, and it had already flown out of his hand, embedding itself in the ceiling.
The young man’s sword stabbed deep into the dark-colored wood, still trembling slightly.
The entire hall fell silent.
The mercenaries who had previously been cheering loudly were now as dumbstruck as if they had seen a dragon or something else, mouths agape, as if forgetting whether to cheer or to boo.
Brendel’s prior strike could not be considered elegant; put plainly, it was akin to a barbarian swinging a club. It wasn’t any known swordsmanship but purely an instinctive reaction. But the key to that strike was not its elegance but the force behind it.
Innate brute strength? Everyone unconsciously thought of this.
It wasn’t something new. On the road to Vaunte, legends spoke of some humans who inherited bloodlines of gold, some who were born as Chosen Ones. But there was another class who retained certain traits from their ancestors. For instance, the innate gift of great strength, or incredibly fast recovery abilities, or the ability to see the coordinating elemental powers from birth.
Generally speaking, this kind of power is only seen in those creatures who bear the blood of gold, such as dragons and unicorns.
But soon someone shouted:
“First-level power!”
“Black iron level!”
The white-haired young man stepped back five paces, gripping his wrist, looking at his hand that had already begun to swell from receiving Brendel’s single blow and was unable to accept it for a moment. Although he was not on par with Aike, the genius, having reached the lower end of black iron at just over twenty, he was considered exceptional among most. Yet he never expected he couldn’t even withstand a single strike from someone younger than himself.
Where could there be so many monsters like Aike in this world?
Leidi was momentarily stunned.
However, his astonishment lasted only a moment, as Makarolo and another tall middle-aged man had already come up from below the inn. Although they had not seen the previous scene, just by looking at the sword in the ceiling and the expressions of those present, the shrewd mercenary captain had already understood most of it.
His gaze fell on Brendel, and his brow furrowed slightly. While he knew the merchant who had proposed to temporarily join his team was a young man, he had not expected him to be this young.
“Bud,” Makarolo quickly lowered his voice and said to the middle-aged man beside him, “You go and test him.”
“Me?” The middle-aged man’s voice carried a thick accent from Anlek.
“Yes, I suspect this young man might be from the ‘Card’ side,” Makarolo fixed his gaze on Brendel and said.
“Is there such an outstanding young man over there, Makarolo, are you overthinking it?” Bud said as he began to unfasten the giant sword from his back. “But it’s fine, since you say so, I’ll go give it a try. Either way, there’s definitely something about this young man.”
Makarolo raised his eyebrows slightly, turning to look at his old friend.
“Nothing, I just smell a familiar scent,” the middle-aged man looked at Brendel, his eyes flashing with doubt.
……
(PS. I’m still writing, seeing some friends’ words is very warm, while others feel demoralizing. I will continue typing, I want to rebuild my RP.
Updates are unstable, I ask for your forgiveness; I definitely write as much as I can, I’m not slacking off.
Regarding the issue of stored manuscripts… I really don’t have that good of a habit. I’m sorry. This book only had a brief storage when uploaded, but it was finished quickly.)(To be continued, for more chapters, please log in, support the author, and support legitimate reading!)
