Chapter 23: Act 15 – The Piercing Light
The grotesque gargoyle stood almost two meters tall and its demon-like wings, even when half-folded, spanned over five meters. Its charging dive filled the entire space, a fierce gust of wind blowing past. Brendel’s breath hitched, and he instantly realized there was no room for him to dodge.
He immediately lifted his right hand, shouting with all his strength, “Oss!”
A high-pitched hum echoed as the air in the confined space expanded forward with a sharp howl. Four consecutive bangs resounded as tiny luminous crystals embedded along the tomb wall burst into pieces. A spiraling wind bullet collided with the winged beast, dagger-like air currents shattering upon the creature’s iron-like surface. Even as shards disintegrated, the gargoyle itself was thrust backward mid-air like a broken kite, flailing away.
A distant thud sounded, stirring up dust through the passage.
Amidst the swirling fog, Brendel coughed once, snatching his sword and charging ahead. His gaming experience told him that gargoyles had 60 hit points and weren’t easily defeated by a single wind bullet.
As expected, within the dust cloud, he located the wounded gargoyle. Half of its wing was completely shattered, streaming with neon-blue liquid that formed a bright trail on the ground. The creature bellowed a series of shrieks, its other claw hanging powerlessly, evidently injured.
Strike while the iron is hot!
Without hesitation, Brendel surged forward, swinging his sword with all his might. The first cut clanged against the creature’s chest, forcing it back in surprise.
The second strike followed immediately, but realizing his approach, the gargoyle quickly flared its wings, enclosing itself. The blade dragged along the steel-hard wing surface, sparking a bright streak.
Exhausted by the fruitless attempt, wounds across his body ached as though about to tear open. Yet, he remained undaunted; the prior attack was exactly what he needed to lure the gargoyle into a defensive stance — a golden opportunity to maneuver around the creature.
But screaming again, the gargoyle beat its wings, unleashing a force of level-four might. Brendel’s gripped his sword slipped, flying out of control — Romaine’s blade clattered against the tomb wall, sending sparks before landing distant in the corridor.
As for Brendel himself, he was flung against the opposite wall, groaning faintly as his whole body felt ready to fall apart. Yet, his thoughts remained clear, swiftly realizing that due to the unexpected maneuver by the gargoyle, he was now precariously close to Jirande’s tomb.
This thought acted like a tranquilizer, clarifying his next steps. He shouted, rejuvenating his strength, gritting through the tearing pains to struggle up, sprinting towards the direction.
Gargoyles were mechanical beings usually serving as tomb guardians in such places, implying there must be something to command them. Right, the gargoyle amulet!
Opportunities do not wait.
The light ahead grew increasingly bright, a warmth in the white glow permeating like a calming balm. Yet Brendel’s heart raced; he had only a few seconds. This was life or death.
But he soon heard the sound of something heavy rushing behind. His trained instincts from countless battles compelled him to leap forward instinctively, narrowly missing a blow. However, he was only a second too late. In mid-air, he felt his ankle gripped tight — the cold gargoyle had extended its long claw, dragging him back against its will.
Brendel slammed onto the ground, coughing blood. In the game, he had experienced worse situations. Yet none felt as pressing as now — failure meant death. What could he do?
Could he risk it? His Fortitude was still active for ten seconds.
He clenched his teeth, flipping over as if divinely inspired, once again raising his right hand. Using the cold-glowing ring on his index finger, he aimed straight at the gargoyle.
Eight seconds.
The gargoyle’s green pupils revealed a tinge of fear; it screamed and flew backward, instinctively releasing its hold on Brendel. The mage-constructors of Bud were undoubtedly some of the most brilliant in the world, creating fierce and cunning war constructs. Yet, Brendel had just capitalized on that very intelligence —
Wisdom acts as a double-edged sword, much like the forbidden fruit hanging from the tree. However, once a being gains wisdom, it learns to think, fearing and aiming for self-preservation.
As now.
Breathing heavily, Brendel closed his eyes, a sense of relief washing over him. But he knew better than to relax — time was running out.
Six seconds.
The young adventurer used sheer willpower to turn his body again. Crawling towards the sanctified chamber, the first thing he saw was the sword on the stone sarcophagus: the Piercing Light. But this was not his current concern; he sought something else.
Three seconds.
His gaze locked onto the left burial vault, the second row, the second niche. He tore away the webbing and reached inside. Alongside a swarm of bugs scuttling out, he retrieved the bottle.
A long-necked bottle, custom-made by the Temple, marked with a flame. Brendel embraced the bottle against his chest, breathing deeply to savor the relief.
Time was almost up, his racing heartbeat a constant reminder. Shaking, he pulled out the wooden stopper and tipped the bottle back, consuming its contents. Initially, the bitter taste filled his mouth, yet its purity caused him to praise the divine.
The Saint No. 7 Holy Water (16oz), ordered by the White-robed Priestess Tamara during the Flowering Year, was created to meet the increasing demands at the front lines. It was a replacement for Holy Water No. 5, capable of restoring 25 hit points but only effective for non-critical injuries.
Brendel remembered it as one of the most common items in the game.
The holy water took effect instantly, first mending the abrasions on his limbs, visible healing before his eyes. Then, the sword wounds followed suit, a tingling sensation persisting for several minutes before subsiding. Testing his breath, he found the sense of constriction completely gone.
Opening his eyes, he noticed the gargoyle lingering outside, hesitating to enter. It certainly wasn’t out of fear for the Wind Queen’s Ring; rather, the creature could not breach the sacred chamber. With a gaming background, he understood many such knight tombs possessed corresponding Holy Barriers, disallowing evil entities to defile them.
Relenting a sigh, he sat and examined his injuries.
Among them all, the sole remaining wound stemmed from the earliest stab — a fatal injury to his vital organs. Thus, the effect of the Saint No. 7 Holy Water was minimal.
Yet, it was more than sufficient. Standing up, Brendel exhaled deeply, feeling invigorated. It was perhaps the best he’d felt since coming to this world, free of pain and weakness, his strength fully restored. An overwhelming sense of pride and honor washed over him — by Martha’s grace, to have endured all this, even he struggled to believe it.
He clenched his fists tightly, eventually calming his heart. After all, Freya and Aissen awaited, and it was time to enact the next phase of his plan.
Before leaving, his gaze fell onto the brilliantly glowing sword resting on the sarcophagus — the Piercing Light. The leaf-shaped blade was rarely seen in human realms, indicating it was an Elven masterpiece.
Brendel’s eyes traced the silver-woven handguard upward, finding the familiar Elven script inscribed on the blade:
“A sword forged from light, its adversaries quake in fear —”
Though he had never seen this particular sword, its reputation was well known. Legends spoke of the Piercing Light as a grade-nineteen legendary longsword, not only unmatched in sharpness but capable of enhancing its wielder’s strength, willpower, and constitution by one level. At lower levels, this meant doubling a regular person’s strength and constitution if wielded by someone like Brendel.
Most crucially, within the game, this sword reputedly had the much-desired ability to detect undead, glowing brilliantly in their presence — hence its name.
Brendel marveled. He knew the elves had once forged seventeen such swords, most of which were collected and destroyed by the Dark Lords of Madara during the First Age. Only three remained.
This was one.
Holding the sword’s grip, a surge of power flowed through his body. He felt stronger, his arms more agile. But before he could fully savour the change, an impression surfaced in his mind:
“Young one, are you willing to walk in my footsteps?”
What?
Brendel’s brow furrowed, quickly understanding. A Certificate of Appointment! This was the very thing he needed most. However, he hadn’t anticipated that the Sanctuary Knight Jirande’s Certificate was that of a Mercenary, rather than a Church Knight or even a regular Knight.
“A career ‘Mercenary’ appointment discovered. Requires 2 experience points to level up to Level 1. Do you wish to accept?”
Of course, though not a knight, a mercenary was still a considerable option. Certainly better than a conscript, right?
“Accept —”
A message flashed across his retina.
Mercenary [Charge (-Level)]
Charge! Launch a swift assault against the enemy, burst speed increases ten times, one minute cooldown, unable to trigger while weakened. It was so familiar to Brendel, a basic skill for any warrior class.
Is this fate?
Brendel clenched his fists — glancing around the chamber, he wasn’t interested in relics. Instead, he sought Holy Water for warding purposes, invaluable and potentially life-saving in critical moments. Yet his gaze paused on a small ebony gargoyle statuette.
It was a statuette.
This!
Realization dawned on Brendel. This was the Gargoyle Amulet, the essential tool for controlling the gargoyle. Taking it in hand, to have control over such a stone guardian would be a pleasant and significant surprise, perhaps the greatest gain of this quest.
However, at this exact moment, the tomb shook violently as debris rained from the ceiling. Brendel turned to hear a distant explosion.
From the ranch direction!
His heart jolted.
Could something have happened to Freya and Aissen? That was the only plausible thought in his mind. He hurriedly grabbed two lesser No. 9 Holy Waters, wrapping them in a blood-stained cloth, and rushed back eagerly.
Yet, amid his haste, he failed to notice a small piece of paper flutter down beneath the Holy Water he had swept aside.
The moment he exited, the gargoyle blocked his path. However, this time wielding the gargoyle amulet, the creature dared not defy him, instead standing motionlessly as a statue. Brendel, slightly regretful that amulets of this kind required passwords for control, couldn’t immediately command the creature to accompany him. Even so, the mechanical nature of the gargoyle rendered it immune to decay spells.
Thus, two necromancers wouldn’t stand a chance against the 23rd level creature, even if they could manage the undead spells.
As he sprinted out of the tomb chamber, a dark wind rushed toward him.
…
(PS. Thank you for your support. Finally made it to the homepage. Second update served, third update at 6 PM. If you think I’m trying hard, support me even more.
The paths of fate diverge before me, two parallel and unrelated lines stretching straight ahead. One leads to the palace and city consumed by blazing flames, kingdoms toppled, the earth bearing hardships, all living beings enduring suffering, the sun never rising.
The other ascends to the peak of the ancient kings, where gods themselves crown me upon the clouds, the laurel placed upon my head, amidst cheers and acclaim. My vision pierces the mists of history, my knights expanding my territories, my sword cutting a path, leading my people to victory.
I grasp this sceptre, holding the sovereignty of the world in my hands, overlooking the countless souls, rewriting the course of history.
I am Brendel, King of Vaunte, and this is my legend.
Which of these synopsis versions resonates with you more?)
