Chapter 471: Act 220 – The Sword Against Fate (Part 1)
The cries of battle shook the heavens and the earth.
It was as if dark feathered arrows obscured the sky, and countless undead surged past her on the crimson earth. Behind her, indistinct shouts of human despair, desperation, or anger echoed. Freya wanted desperately to turn back, but found herself unable to move. Then she saw a knight enveloped in white phosphorous flames riding a skeletal warhorse approaching her, looking down at her from a height. That fiery gaze, burning with intense flames, was something she had relived every night for the past week.
But this dream felt so real that Freya was too nervous to speak, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
“You should not have woken up; the fate borne by the Valkyrie’s descendant is far too heavy,” the knight’s hoarse and hollow voice said. “Do not sacrifice everything for unrealistic beliefs.”
The knight raised his long sword: “Step back, or you will have no way to retreat!” His voice was a stern warning, and his hand thrust forward, the cold blade piercing her heart.
“Ah—” Freya screamed in fright, sitting up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. She couldn’t help but cover her chest and gasp for breath. This nightmare, which tormented her daily, had ensnared her for some unknown time. Freya didn’t know whether this was some kind of omen or simply a result of the overwhelming stress from her recent training.
She felt her heart racing, but the hasty footsteps in the corridor outside soon drowned out her heartbeat. The dim light reminded Freya that she had returned to reality. The footsteps belonged to the knights delivering news—ever since the war broke out in the south, the number of personnel delivering intelligence seemed to have increased several folds. Various factions were temporarily drawn away by the sudden war, even forgetting that the kingdom itself was on the brink of civil war, as everyone knew full well that the dukes of the north would at least wait until the ice and snow melted before moving south past Ampere Seale. In comparison, Count Rendener’s war felt more like the ‘appetizer before the main course’ as Overwell so aptly put it.
This appetizer was not without irony for the nobles of Erluin, yet they seemed unconcerned, cheerfully waiting to see how many teeth would remain in the mouth of this tiger named Rendener. For most, the question remained as to how many teeth Count Rendener had left. However, there were still those at the Royal Knight Academy who believed Brendel could win. At least Freya anxiously awaited news from the front lines every day.
The messenger hurried down the long corridor, passing through the yard behind the dormitory, where the news of the war would first be delivered to Princess Grifian. The half-elf princess coldly read the few lines on the thin parchment in her hand and then set it down. The news of the Pallas army clashing with the ‘rebels’ had arrived, but there was no substantial progress.
“A day or two more,” Grifian thought, and she said to the messenger, “Make a few copies and take them to the other lords.”
“Should I bring the other lords here?”
“No need; there are the Winter Lyre Month tournament and the Winter’s End hunting event later. Prepare for me; I want to see it myself.”
The messenger bowed and exited.
…
The ‘Cunning Fox’ Makarolo chuckled quietly as he read the information in his hand. He initially intended to place the intelligence on top of the towering pile of documents on his desk but paused and withdrew his hand, deciding to carry the thin parchment out of his room instead.
With the information in hand, Makarolo headed directly to Count Violet’s residence, only to be stopped by a servant who informed him that his friend had gone to observe the tournament. Makarolo then remembered and hurriedly borrowed a carriage to the tournament grounds, a few miles away.
The Winter Lyre Month tournament had a long history in Erluin and throughout all of Cruz’s south. The events included equestrianism, marksmanship, and swordsmanship, primarily held to give the knights from various regions a chance to showcase their honor. Young people were keen on such activities, and the public could indulge their heroic fantasies during these competitions. At the Royal Knight Academy, such events held even more significance, as students would fiercely compete to prove themselves as the year’s best knight, contending for the laurel woven from holly leaves.
The preparations for the tournament began at dawn, and by morning it was already bustling with crowds. However, Makarolo, being Bal’s friend, quickly spotted him among the throngs of people. The Count Violet, who also hailed from Lantonrand, was meticulously dressed in a purple coat with silver trim, which bore three silver leaves signifying his rank. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but held a high-stemmed cup, standing alone at the highest point of the newly built wooden stand, exposed to the cold wind.
As Bal saw his friend approach, he raised his cup and smiled, “Five-seven-year-old Tordo wine. I know you don’t like to drink.”
“In fact, I don’t like any alcohol,” Makarolo replied irritably.
“I know, alcohol impairs judgment. Besides, I’m not making judgments,” Count Violet shrugged.
“Have you received any news from Duke Toniger?” Makarolo wanted to avoid lingering on the previous topic.
“Are you referring to the joke about how even old dogs have a few teeth left?” Bal asked lightly.
“I meant to ask how long you think the ‘rebels’ can hold out.”
“What do you think? Do you not believe that young man has a chance to win?” Bal toyed with his cup. “He’s backed by the Silver Elves and the Dragon race.”
“The Silver Elves are merely passing by.”
“And the Dragon race?”
“The Dragons know that intervening in human affairs will provoke a backlash from the Temple. Nobody wants to ignite a holy war, especially those unruly dukes in the kingdom.”
“That may be true, but that young man is no better than those wasteful nobility sheltered by their families. Given Pallas’ nature, he might very well suffer a major setback at his hands.”
Makarolo scoffed, “Is that so? I find him laughably foolish.”
“Why do you say that?” Bal feigned curiosity.
“I thought he would disassemble his forces, dragging Pallas into Toniger. The attrition of an army of thirty thousand is astronomical. Besides, humanity and Madara have always distrusted each other; over time, Pallas is bound to fail.”
“But that young man is building a defensive line where he stands, preparing for a proper clash with Pallas, leading our ‘Cunning Fox’ to disappointment, yes? Indeed, having someone to restrain Rendener is troublesome, though I’ve heard he manages Toniger well. Perhaps this is to ensure next year’s food production. Have you considered that if he survives this battle, he may quickly stabilize and become a true thorn in Rendener’s side?” Count Violet raised an eyebrow and inquired.
Makarolo looked at his friend.
Bal chuckled quietly, “Indeed, I think he won’t hold out, but perhaps miracles occur. You know, miracles tend to appear when hope arises. Right now, we need that miracle, and I earnestly pray for it; perhaps Lady Martha will grant me a miracle in consideration of me.”
Yet relying on the elusive hope of miracles seemed terribly unreliable, and Makarolo knew his friend was merely jesting. Such was his nature. However, the two of them, standing at the pinnacle of Erluin, likely had no idea that their casual conversation was inadvertently overheard by a young girl preparing for the upcoming competition beneath the wooden stand.
“Freya, what’s wrong with you?” a girl from the academy nudged the dazed girl, who seemed to have just come back to her senses. “Eh? Ah?”
“Hey, why do you look so lost? Are you thinking about a guy?” The girl couldn’t help but giggle.
“…What are you talking about?” Freya’s face flushed. When it came to matters between men and women, the noble girls were much bolder than she was. Although they were all still at the verbal stage, this girl from Buci township still found it quite overwhelming.
But more than that, she was troubled by the things she had just heard. She couldn’t help but ask, “Tisa, who were those people speaking up there?”
She was referring to the girl next to her, her dormitory mate named Tisa, who, as she herself said, came from a minor noble family and had been selected for her magical talent.
“It seems like they were on the noble’s stand; those are all important people,” the girl replied. “Someone like us from minor nobility, when compared to those real nobles up there, is akin to the difference between commoners and nobles. Without permission, we can’t rashly approach and talk to them; that’s considered extremely impolite.”
It seemed she had just remembered Freya’s background and couldn’t help but apologize, “Ah, I’m sorry, Freya. You know I didn’t mean it that way. But then again, once you leave here, you’re at least half a noble now.” The girl said somewhat awkwardly.
Freya just smiled at her, but her heart was in turmoil. She didn’t know how things were going with Brendel, but now that even those great figures who held the fate of the kingdom did not look favorably upon him, did that mean the situation there was already very dire? After all, Freya was a native of Erluin, and her reverence for authority was not something that could be instantly changed. At that moment, she desperately wished she could sprout wings and fly to Brendel’s side to face this crisis together, or at the very least, die side by side—
Freya didn’t even know how she felt. She couldn’t help but think of the moments she had shared with Brendel, not all of which were good memories. She remembered when she kindly went to find him and Romaine at the Golden Tree, only for him to snap at her and frequently take advantage of her and Romaine.
Thinking of this made Freya’s face flush, but somehow, there was a small sweetness in her heart. However, this small sweetness was quickly transformed into fear and oppression, and she didn’t even hear the voices calling her name outside at that moment.
“It’s your turn, Freya!” The girl beside her finally couldn’t stand it any longer. “What’s wrong with you? Are you feeling unwell?”
“N-no…” Freya just then remembered she was there to participate in the tournament. She hurriedly picked up her spear but was shot a glare, “This is a swordsmanship competition…” the girl replied impatiently.
“Ah!” At that moment, Freya wished she could find a hole to hide in.
“Forget it, but don’t push yourself too hard,” the girl sighed, looking at her with concern. “Make sure to achieve a good result! If it weren’t for my familiarity with you, I’d almost think you were daydreaming about some guy…”
As Freya stepped out to the arena, she nearly stumbled at the girl’s words, of course, she would never admit that she had been thinking about Brendel. However, speaking of achieving good results, that was easier said than done; her rankings in marksmanship and equestrianism were both mediocre, and though she was somewhat better at swordsmanship, it was still nothing to write home about among the outstanding young talents selected from all of Erluin.
… (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please come to Qidian (qidian.com) to cast your recommendation votes and monthly votes. Your support is my greatest motivation.)
