Chapter 476: Act 225 – Your Sword Shines Forever, Erluin (Part 1)
The Black Wolf Lord ran at the forefront, its fur black as coal, hard as steel spikes, with eyes that seemed to burn with a green flame, resembling a demon just born from hell; as it sprinted on all fours, its sharp claws glimmered coldly, crunching and scratching the dry leaves of the forest floor, the soldiers could not keep up with its speed, watching helplessly as it raced from one mountain peak to the valley and then from the valley to the opposite woods, all the arrows falling behind it, seeing it approach.
The herald shakily issued the command to level their spears, but the noble soldiers of Gruce retreated in waves, as if visible ripples appeared in their formation. Sir Gruce and his knights, holding long swords, were supposed to supervise the battle, but the wolf disaster was the nightmare of Duke Toniger and the forest folk for generations—shadows fleeing in the woods, a harbinger of doom that devoured everything as foretold in myths—the knights also turned pale.
“How could we encounter this foul creature!” Gruce cursed endlessly.
While the Gruce soldiers held their ground, the mountain folk were even more terrified of the wolf disaster. Several tribes in the rear had already secretly scattered, and the tribes in front were thrown into chaos; it was a fear rooted in their hearts since childhood, a disaster that descended like an act of God, making even the bravest warriors feel their guts churn, dropping their helmets and abandoning their armor.
The pack of black wolves was now less than a hundred paces from the front line, and the archers’ attempts to sh**t them had no effect whatsoever. Sir Gruce was at Gold level, with exquisite eyesight, and he could see that their feeble shots couldn’t even penetrate the fur of the black wolves. The army behind him was advancing forward, but the Gray Bear Lord was cunning and inconsistent, unreliable; he could only order his soldiers to advance. No human could outrun a black wolf, nor could horses. Sir Gruce had lived in the Southlands for thirty years and knew this very well.
The air in the forest was chilling, but the coldness in his heart was even worse. There were only a few hundred black wolves, appearing like colts, their speed seeming endless. Sweat gathered in his palms, chilling on the hilt of his sword, as if his breath froze.
Yet, a young knight was the first to emerge from the woods.
Brendel raised his head.
Gruce first assumed it was his scout, but then realized it was not. The young man looked up at him, and although they were at a distance, Gruce felt as if he were being completely seen through.
“Who are you?” Gruce felt a sense of foreboding rising.
“Sir Gruce, do you still remember that resolute moment you turned back on the battlefield of Condal? You lost your honor there, but now I have brought it back to you.”
Brendel’s words made him scream, his face pale as if he had fallen into the deepest nightmare. Sir Gruce trembled, pointing at Brendel: “You… you…” The incident from twenty years ago, when he abandoned his comrades and fled the battlefield, was something he thought no one knew, yet now a young man had pierced it straight through.
Brendel fell silent, as he had no intention to mock his opponent; as he said, he was just there to bring back the lost honor.
Behind him, the pack of black wolves surged forth like a tide; horses and wolves were opposing creatures, but Brendel, atop his horse, could stand unyielding amidst the tide of wolves. That eerie scene instilled even more fear in the hearts of onlookers. Then the black wolves crashed into the noble soldiers of Gruce.
It was as if black paint merged into the gray-green lines.
At that moment, time slowed. The leveled spears pierced into the black wolves, about the size of ponies, but the metal tips could not penetrate the black wolves’ tough fur, much less the rocky ground beneath. The spears bent, their textures cracking, popping, and breaking wood chips sent up a cloud of smoke at the frontline.
Most of Gruce’s noble soldiers were only at White level, and among the infantry, the lower-ranking officers often only had the strength of Black Iron. How could they compete against the Silver-level black wolves? The first line, composed of over a thousand infantry, was almost instantaneously pierced, becoming a sieve riddled with holes.
Human soldiers began to retreat in droves, mixed with cries and screams.
Sir Gruce seemed to finally snap back to reality from his nightmare, immediately ordering his knights to reinforce the second line. The knights, all at Silver-level strength, took over the command as they entered the formation, attempting to stabilize the troops’ morale with the common soldiers’ assistance.
But the Gruce formation had already begun to collapse inward as a matter of habit, the wolf pack tearing a huge gap, directly confronting Sir Gruce at the mountaintop. It seemed that because of Brendel’s earlier words, this knight of Rendener never retreated, silently watching the unfolding situation below with his long sword in hand.
The knights, as if receiving a signal, entered the flanks, and the least attacked wings quickly stabilized. Gruce’s men gradually realized that the number of black wolves was not actually that high; after a moment of agitation, the soldiers began attempting to flank from behind.
Had they abandoned the main formation?
What a bold decision!
Brendel lifted his head among the wolf pack, gazing at Sir Gruce from a distance of only about a thousand meters. This distance on the battlefield of Vaunte was neither too near nor too far, a true test of the courage and wisdom of both commanders.
This noble stood there unmoving, watching him, seemingly wagering his own life to surround him and the wolf pack.
Such audacity did not surprise Brendel, for he had anticipated this.
In a mere moment, the wolf pack was completely surrounded. Two hundred black wolves, along with over a hundred shadow rocky beasts of Black Iron level, faced tens of times their number in human soldiers. Retreating was no longer possible; it was a matter of who could reach victory first.
Brendel raised the Sword of the Earth.
The wolf pack automatically parted a path for him, the seated pegasus seemingly sensing its master’s urging, beginning to accelerate. His mount was not an ordinary pegasus but a gift from the tree spirits—a pegasus flowing with the bl**d of silver, a descendant of the sacred steed Kalarnar, a Silver breed, an equal to unicorns in fantastical creatures. It was stronger, faster, and had the ability to manipulate plants and winds—at this moment, Brendel was riding on the wings of the wind, soaring forward.
Like a stretched white line, he no longer saw the wolf pack but the pale-faced human soldiers, holding their spears. Brendel’s long sword traced an arc, as if seven swords appeared simultaneously, clinking sounds reverberated as over a dozen spears were simultaneously deflected.
With his left hand extended forward, he shouted, “Gale, grant me your power.”
This was the Elementalist’s second-ring air spell, Binding Flow.
The explosive gusts of air burst outward, as if a hurricane erupted behind Brendel, surging forward; the soldiers blocking his path were propelled away, creating a half-spherical human wall, scattering in mid-air, and those unfortunate enough fell far into the crowd.
The towering Black Wolf Lord, like a giant beast, moved alongside its master; it was born with the strength of Silver peak. After its rocky transformation, banded rock plates appeared on its shoulder armor, forehead, and back, greatly enhancing its power and defense. It was now approaching the level of initial Gold, ordinary soldiers could not get close to it. With a single wolf howl, it could scare an entire crowd into trembling.
A man and a wolf instantly carved a path nearly fifty meters long through the throng. Behind them, the black wolves followed closely, widening this passage.
But two knights suddenly charged out, one to the left and one to the right, attempting to block Brendel’s path. Brendel leveled the Sword of the Earth, and with a swift strike, armor and flesh collided, sending the upper halves of both knights and the heads of their steeds flying.
A silver tier was dispatched in an instant.
All the noble Gruce soldiers surging forward suddenly froze in fear, halting in unison; the realm of Gold was no battle they mere mortals could intervene in.
Brendel continued forward, and the enemy soldiers actually retreated in succession, parting a path for him. This strange scene resembled the reversal of allegiance on the battlefield. Sir Gruce’s expression also changed; such a young Gold level was undoubtedly a genius emerging from Erluin.
And this was not even the initial Gold stage; seeing the glowing essence on Brendel’s sword, Gruce felt his hopes turn to ice.
“What is going on? These rebels…”
But noticing Gruce still had no intentions of acting, Brendel already understood. He scanned the surroundings; waves of Gold-level fluctuations erupted from the crowd, “As expected, there’s an ambush; not only two Gold levels.” He observed the two swordsmen charging at him, both at the initial Gold level, unfamiliar faces—either trained in secrecy or hired, given the wealth of the noble families.
Brendel did not show even a hint of tension; he pressed onward, raising his sword to cleave at the first Gold swordsman rushing toward him. The force behind this strike, fully propelled by his momentum, was unreserved, cleaving downward like a shooting star, relentless and forward.
The Gold swordsman of the Rendener family nearly broke down with fear; he had never seen anything so reckless, knowing full well it was one against two and completely abandoning defense. This strike was clearly ‘I’ll risk everything just to land a blow on you’—lacking any technical finesse, yet enough to terrify a person into a frenzy.
But of course, he did not wish to perish alongside Brendel; however, this sword came too quickly, and evasion was not an option—he could only raise his sword to parry. He felt utterly frustrated, originally intending to take the initiative, but now was being pushed back by the madman’s attack. He could only hope that his partner would seize the opportunity created by Brendel’s reckless gamble; they had cooperated for many years and surely would not miss such an obvious chance.
However, what happened next was beyond his expectations. He saw Brendel’s sword clash against his blade with a clang, an enormous force nearly shattered his hand; he staggered back, gritting his teeth, struggling to regain his balance, but when he looked up, he found Brendel seemingly had no need to regain his center of gravity and had already perfectly executed another strike aimed at him again.
The shock was truly overwhelming.
……(To be continued. If you like this work, we welcome you to vote on Qidian (qidian.com) with recommendations and monthly votes; your support is my greatest motivation.)
