Chapter 321: Act 88 – Storm Gathering (2) (Sixth Update, Stay Tuned)
Our attention temporarily shifts to Paidalson—
The core area of the Rendener Province is located at the border with the Anlek and Vlada territories. Initially, it was established to prevent mountain people from encroaching from the north. However, as the kingdom’s rule over the south gradually solidified, this area has become more of a political symbol.
Today, the largest fortress in Rendener is Balaso Castle, but Count Rendener still prefers to keep the administrative center in the city of Paidalson.
The Paidalson Castle has a history of nearly one hundred thirty years. Its style originates from the revival of elven architecture during the year of the Return of Radiance. This castle is now considered one of the few surviving artworks from that era.
It is also one of the pride of the Rendener family—symbolizing this historically distinguished family’s respect for tradition, which has earned them a high reputation among the upper nobles.
Of course, this stands in stark contrast to the “good reputation” of the current Count Rendener among the nobles of Erluin, known for his duplicity.
Just like the veteran doorman Hood, who has guarded this castle for most of his life, he has never seen a knight dash toward the gate at such a speed since the November War.
The sound of hooves shook the ground, and the old soldier almost thought he had seen it wrong. Peace had reigned for now; could it be that fighting had already begun in the north?
The veteran quickly recognized the outfit of the approaching knight—it was one of their own.
There was urgent intelligence!
Hood, experienced and quick, shoved aside the slow-moving novice, gripping the winding handle with his gnarled hands, and the gate immediately creaked open.
The knight didn’t pause, dashing across the drawbridge and straight into the castle.
The intelligence in his hand was soon transferred to the attendants inside the castle, then handed to the steward, moving up the chain without wasting much time. Count Rendener had established three emergency levels for his correspondence, and this particular letter was marked as an urgent level one.
It had been nearly a decade since such a level of intelligence had appeared.
Because it mostly consisted of military reports.
Soon, the steward rang a bell connected by a wire to Count Rendener’s room—nobles could freely use magical devices, but this lord had a quirk: he practiced a bit of magic himself, holding the belief that such mystical things are not dependable.
If it could be done mechanically, he definitely wouldn’t use magic.
This had become a well-known peculiarity among the nobility.
When the bell on Count Rendener’s left side rang, he was conversing with his guest.
The count, with hair now fully grayed, had his age difficult to ascertain. He had participated in the November War—though the brutal details of that war hardly affected the upper nobles, it had undoubtedly dealt a heavy blow to the kingdom, leaving a vivid memory for these nobles.
Today, the count wore a monocle, dressed neatly in a black mink coat adorned with silver frills—his beard well-groomed, a faint smile on his face, almost betraying a hint of kindness.
However, for others, this smile meant unpredictable emotions.
Especially for the guest seated below—this guest was not a Crusian, and many like him do not even acknowledge themselves as Erluin people.
In the eyes of the Erluin population, this type of person is collectively referred to as mountain people.
Mountain people, as the name suggests, are the denizens of the mountains, but there are many ethnic groups labeled as mountain people in Vaunte, most of which are barbarians; the mountain people of Erluin belong to a branch of the Thain Tribe. Two hundred years ago, they were indeed considered uncivilized, but after the kingdom’s governance, they have gradually integrated into the civilized world.
However, one thing that hasn’t changed is that mountain people continuously pursue their own independence—of course, this independence is intolerable to the kingdom, thus the borders of the Rendener region have never been stable, facing various conflicts and border wars throughout the year.
Not all mountain people are like this; some are willing to accept the kingdom’s rule—such as the guest sitting below the count, who comes from a region under the count’s jurisdiction. His purpose here is straightforward.
That is to hope for Count Rendener to reduce the taxes levied on the south.
Due to the invasion of Madara—indeed, it is an open secret that the Madara army still occupies the southern territories—the war has had a devastating impact on local agriculture and production. Many areas have virtually no harvest, making heavy taxes unbearable and survival exceedingly difficult.
Yet, the kingdom seems oblivious to this; its governance over these mountain people has grown increasingly harsh.
Count Rendener patiently listened to the guest recount their difficulties, maintaining a smile without expressing his stance. For a man his age, the smile made him seem like a kind elder, but the guest below would hardly dare to think so—those who did often met with an undignified end.
When this mountain envoy reached the end, just as he was about to voice his request, the bell to the left of Count Rendener chimed.
The count’s expression slightly shifted; for the first time this afternoon, he was unable to maintain his smile.
He remembered just how long it had been since he received urgent intelligence.
The old man frowned slightly and stood up. However, he did not show rudeness; instead, he courteously nodded in apology to his guest, saying, “Excuse me, I need to step out for a moment.”
“Of course, my lord,” the envoy replied, standing up with a look of trepidation, showing no sign of dissatisfaction.
Old Count Rendener left the study, opened a door to enter an adjacent room, and immediately saw his aide and deputy waiting for him. In front of this long-term aide, Count Rendener did not maintain his usual impassive expression; instead, he immediately turned serious and asked, “What’s going on?”
“It’s related to Duke Toniger,” the aide replied.
“Still about that matter?” The count took a silver snuffbox from a nearby servant and sniffed, “That useless fool still hasn’t dealt with it? It’s been half a month!”
The old noble said, somewhat angrily.
“There’s new intelligence again, sent by Sir Parsons.”
“Parsons?”
Count Rendener paused. Although Parsons was a vassal of Grudin, he was also a long-time subordinate. Having participated in the November War together—albeit in a few small skirmishes at its end—most of Count Rendener’s core confidants were cultivated during that time.
Parsons was unwaveringly loyal to him and his family, so Count Rendener had no reason to doubt it. Therefore, upon hearing it was news from the old knight, he calmed down and asked:
“What did he say?”
The aide did not answer but handed him a piece of paper.
…
“Brendel?”
When Princess Grifian heard this name, her finely arched brows finally moved slightly, a glimpse of surprise flashing in her pale silver eyes.
This momentary surprise existed only between the girl’s expressions, as she furrowed her brow: “That young man revealed to you his name is Brendel?”
The half-elf princess slightly raised her lashes, looking at the few guests before her:
“Generally, in such circumstances, people wouldn’t easily disclose their real identity.”
“That’s the general case,” it was Count Bal who interjected for the first time, placing his hand on his chest, bowing slightly: “However, I believe this person is not ordinary; someone with such a close connection to the Silver Elves is unlikely to be average at all, Your Highness—”
Grifian intertwined her slender fingers under her chin, lost in thought for a moment:
“Golden Apple, Silver Elf, Dragon Clan Magic, Highland Knights—”
She lowered her head: “Are you saying he possesses Silver-tier strength?”
“Perhaps so,” Makarolo nodded.
“Twenty years old.” Princess Grifian looked at Aike. But in her heart, she was in turmoil, as Olfayel had clearly told her that the young man was at most at the Black Iron level: “That’s not the same as Mr. Aike.”
“That individual is a true genius—” Bud replied: “And there’s something interesting; his swordsmanship…”
“What about his swordsmanship?”
“His swordsmanship bears shadows I’m quite familiar with, almost like… a bit reminiscent of someone I know…”
“Mr. Bud, please continue,” Grifian urged.
“The Sword Saint Darus.”
“The Sword Saint Darus,” the half-elf maiden remarked, puzzled: “But Mr. Bud, you mentioned that the young man uses standard Erluin military swordsmanship. Isn’t that a different line from Master Darus?”
“The Sword Saint Darus also utilized military swordsmanship,” Livwz replied: “Your Highness, don’t forget he came from a military background.”
Improved swordsmanship, Princess Grifian’s heart stirred.
Yet her mental maneuvers did not reveal anything to the others. Livwz continued: “But a twenty-year-old Silver swordsman is already quite rare—”
As the old man spoke, he glanced at Aike.
The young man lowered his head shyly.
Princess Grifian felt a bit sentimental after hearing this, recalling the recent championship tournament that also produced a number of outstanding young talents—she couldn’t help but wonder, is it possible that Lady Martha truly still favors Erluin?
But if so, why are the circumstances so difficult, often leaving her feeling helpless?
This princess felt somewhat fatigued, but she quickly forced herself to shift her focus with her exceptional willpower. Taking a breath, she paled slightly.
Yet she still asked earnestly: “Moreover, Master Livwz.”
“Your Highness.”
“You said that the Golden Apple in that young man’s possession has not linked to his soul, is that correct?”
“Yes, I assure you I cannot be mistaken,” Livwz replied: “I can guarantee this matter with decades of honor as a court magician.”
This time, the half-elf maiden was genuinely moved; legends say the Golden Apple can change a person’s fate, leading to a transformative change.
If he possesses the Golden Apple, could her weak younger brother become the true king of Erluin?
Yet what puzzled her was that anyone who obtains the Golden Apple would likely find a way to claim it for themselves. Why, then, was that young man unmoved—was it merely a fake?
Impossible; her teacher would never be mistaken.
However, this princess believed that since the other party had such a close relationship with the Silver Elves, perhaps he truly wasn’t an ordinary person, and might have other plans for the Golden Apple.
Moreover, she recalled the legends regarding the Highland Knights, Dragon Clan Magic, and the Silver Elves, causing her heart to race. Grifian lifted her head, her eyes brightening slightly: “Is there a way to win him over?”
“Win him over?”
Everyone was momentarily stunned. They certainly wished to do so, considering the relationship with the Silver Elves and the ownership of the Golden Apple, but how would they accomplish this after having offended him? Although that young man had shown a favorable disposition towards the royal family, that did not mean much.
“It’s a bit difficult—” the most pragmatic Makarolo immediately replied.
“No.”
The princess, however, smiled and shook her head, finding the matter somewhat amusing: “It’s probably not as hard as you think— if this is indeed the same person.”
Everyone was left speechless.
The princess pinched a letter in front of her with two fingers and passed it forward.
“Take a look.”
…
(PS: The game has concluded, closing statement. (To be continued; for more chapters, please log on, support the author, support legitimate reading!)
