Chapter 234: Act 1 – The Letter (Part 1)
“Something feels unusually quiet here,” Gael said. The afternoon sun poured onto the fallen leaves, and the light in the surrounding woods kept changing. “My lord.”
“There is a legend among the mountain folk that in places of distinct silence in the forest, one must not look back easily, for the gaze of the Lake Goddess is upon them,” Tyrus said, the pale and slender hand of the viscount resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the woods where a game trail had been made by a passing beast.
“My lord, you jest,” Gael replied, feeling a chill. He glanced around, as if there truly were eyes hiding in the shadows. “Chaos reigns; the gods are nothing but illusion.”
“No, Gael,” Tyrus replied. “I believe the gods are real.”
Gael looked at the young viscount, as if trying to discern the source of such heretical words from his kind eyes. Test, the Saint of the Everything Returns Society, was someone who had been carefully selected for his position, a rare breed of wisdom, talent, and loyalty to the doctrine. Although his temperament could be somewhat erratic, it was hard to believe he would utter such a thing.
“If there are gods,” Gael countered, “then our actions would be nothing short of blasphemy.”
Tyrus regarded him, a glimmer in his eyes seeming to mock the young knight’s weakness. “If there are gods,” he said, “does that mean they must necessarily be right? I think not.”
Gael fell silent, realizing the difference between him and the viscount.
The young viscount turned around, and at the edge of the forest, the knights had finally managed to drag the boat ashore from a small cove. “Let’s move,” he snapped his fingers. “In a place like this, we might encounter something like a ghost at night. Though they pose no real threat, it could be a nuisance.” He supported the sword’s hilt with one hand, the hem of his gray robe brushing against the ground, and stepped forward.
Gael followed closely.
Not long after, a knight caught up to them, whispering, “My lord, teams three, four, five, and seven have arrived.” He reported, “We previously received signals from the north, and everyone else has landed to the north of us. As for the other teams, it seems they couldn’t make it through the outer fog.”
Test gazed with interest at the scenery of the forest, as if the shifting light within the woodland softened as it streamed into his narrow eyes. “So, we have thirty-seven of us here, yes?” he asked.
The knight nodded.
“Thirty-seven silver-ranked, plus me,” he pointed to himself. “That should be enough to deal with a Lake Knight—if our intelligence hasn’t failed us—”
Gael remained silent.
The rustling of footsteps filled the forest. Viscount Test turned back. Gael’s hand remained tightly wrapped around the hilt of his longsword, a hissing sound escaping his nose. “How big is this island?” he asked. “My lord?”
“Are you scared?” Test inquired. “Gael, the fishermen say that the Lake Knight won’t emerge beyond the Saintly White Mountain.”
Gael inhaled deeply and reluctantly relaxed his grip. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
Test smiled kindly.
The group made their way through the woods, reuniting with their northern companions. They managed to reach the base of the Saintly White cliffs before the sun set in the afternoon, the afterglow illuminating the white stone walls, dazzling their eyes. The young viscount placed his hand on the stone wall in front of everyone, his slender fingers tracing the uneven surface, and the rough texture responded with a sense of historical weight.
It felt heavy, as if his gaze had pierced back through the millennia, to a time when a king, sword in hand, had come here to rest quietly in this forest.
“Within here sleeps a king,” he said. “Do you know who it is?”
“Eke?” Gael guessed.
“No,” Test shook his head. “Not him.” He answered ambiguously and then lowered his hand, walking along the stone wall. Before long, they discovered a hollow leading into the rock. Through that cave lay a patch of emerald green forest, which the local mountain folk called the ‘Dreaming Forest’. The young viscount paused and turned back, asking, “Is it here?”
“Yes, my lord,” the knight behind him replied. “Intelligence suggests the Lake Knight is lurking in that forest behind us.”
“Then are your weapons ready?”
Everyone patted their swords at their waists.
Viscount Test nodded in satisfaction. “In that case, follow me.”
“Chaos reigns!” the knights echoed.
…
Brendel sat at his walnut desk, suddenly feeling the Philosopher’s Stone in his arms tremble lightly. Again? He paused for a moment, then set down the quill pen, reaching in to retrieve the object from his cloak and place it flat on the desk—next to the open letter. The Philosopher’s Stone trembled lightly, seeming to come alive on the wooden surface.
But after a while, it settled down again.
Staying perfectly still.
“What’s wrong?” Antinna asked, gently blinking. “My lord.” She sat quietly in an elegant high-backed chair beside Brendel, framed by the sunlight from the window—her posture poised and graceful, her neck long and beautiful like a swan. Brendel turned to look at her, momentarily lost in thought.
“Nothing,” he said, pushing gently against the stone. But it remained silent. “It must be another low-frequency resonance,” he mused. “It’s been happening frequently lately.” As he said this, he opened a drawer and placed the stone inside. He then reached for the ink bottle and drew out the quill pen, but with his thoughts interrupted, he didn’t know where to begin.
Brendel rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
“Are you writing to Miss Freya?” the noble girl glanced at the letter on the desk.
“Yes, my head hurts,” Brendel replied. “Though we defeated Grudin, the real troubles are just beginning.” He looked up again. “Tell me, Antinna, how should we deal with Count Rendener?”
Antinna lifted her eyes and gave him an annoyed look. “I thought you had a plan, my lord,” she replied. “When you acted stubbornly, why didn’t you consult me?”
“If I back down,” Brendel smiled, “would that put your mind at ease?”
The noble maiden turned away and fell silent.
“Tsundere,” Brendel thought. He prodded the paper with the quill tip and asked, “By the way, what did you mean by your words to that female mercenary leader?”
“The superficial meaning.”
“I don’t think so,” Brendel shook his head. “I understand you harbor grievances against me, but we both know you’re not someone who would speak without thought, especially not in front of outsiders.” He crumpled the parchment and tossed it out the window. “Quite clever, isn’t it, Antinna? I’m truly lucky to have you as my aide—”
Antinna turned to him, a glimmer of appreciation in her eyes.
“It’s because I thought of how my lord is trying to win over those mercenaries,” she replied. “That’s why I took the initiative.”
“So you don’t blame me anymore?” Brendel sighed in relief. “Thank goodness.”
“I’ve never blamed you,” the noble girl smiled gently. “I was just a bit upset about being left behind.” She frowned slightly. “To be honest, I’m more worried about not being able to keep up with you. I don’t know; perhaps there are some deeply rooted things that will pull me further away.”
Brendel chuckled, thinking that as long as she had heart, she wouldn’t stray too far—though he didn’t say so—he took out another piece of writing paper. “So do you have any ideas?” he asked. “Secretary?”
Antinna nodded. “Almost,” she said. “My lord, taking a bold approach probably won’t suffice to resolve the coming dangers. However, in terms of struggles between nobles, using small to defeat large involves both neutralizing force and leveraging power. First, we need to see if we can find any supporters. But traditional allies probably won’t work; our foundation is too shallow, and others won’t risk offending Count Rendener,” she paused, “then we could look into his enemies. However, aside from our own limited influence, our actions have already challenged the game rules—” she hesitated and thought, “the remaining options are those more unconventional choices. For instance, the Southern Army; Madara shouldn’t be ruled out—”
Brendel shook his hand. “Let’s forget Madara,” he said. “Tell me about the Southern Army.”
“Count Rendener’s alliance with Madara likely comes from a few reasons,” Antinna replied. “One is to weaken the Southern Army via Madara; the second is presumably to suppress the power of the mountain folk within Rendener’s territory. Did you notice? The Undead Army of Madara has yet to cross a single step beyond the Lake of the Goddess. And from the information coming in, they seem to operate most frequently within the autonomous areas of the mountain folk.” She continued, “This leaves the Southern Army isolated; they probably resent Count Rendener’s indifference towards them. But the areas where the Southern Army is stationed are largely barren wastelands or deep in the forest, and their biggest issue is the lack of supplies. If we can form a defensive alliance with them, not to mention against Count Rendener, at least we can ensure our backs are covered.”
“You mean Madara?”
The noble maiden nodded.
“That’s a good plan,” Brendel began to absentmindedly doodle on the parchment, his gaze drifting to a point outside, as if pondering something. “But the Southern Army has been mired in conflict for so long; after their battle with Madara, they’ve long since lost contact with the outside world. The very existence of this formation is uncertain, and even if they exist, how would we contact them?” He paused, inhaling deeply, “We cannot rely on luck, so this plan can only serve as a backup consideration. I can dispatch people towards Glarys Mountain, but until we hear any definitive news, it remains just a contingency.”
He turned back to her. “Any other considerations?”
“What about the Silver Elves you’ve encountered? Could they be of help?” Antinna inquired. “Speaking of leverage, they would offer the greatest support—”
…
(PS. The plot for the following chapters is being designed, one update today.)
