Chapter 53: Act 45 – Nightfall
Brendel and his retinue dismounted from the gargoyle and spotted Romaine and the pale Freya in the alley, especially the latter who was staring at him with a resentful look. However, he found it somewhat amusing that a dignified Valkyrie would be afraid of heights. Just imagining her pale face in the sky reminded him of the girls from his former party.
“Alright, let me outline the current situation,” Brendel hurriedly said as he landed, fearing that Freya would hold him accountable later.
Freya recognized his tactic and let out a soft huff. She turned her head away, not bothering to argue with him.
“We’ve delivered the message; whether or not to trust it is up to the nobility. Next, we must find Romaine’s aunt and escape from Ridenburg before we launch an attack on Madara, but that won’t be easy,” Brendel waved his hand for the gargoyle to fly to the rooftop, staying still to monitor the surroundings—he had been trying out the spell of the amulet since the night fell and finally found one that was usable.
However, the offensive spells were still lacking.
“Freya and Romaine, you are registered militia, so your relatives in Ridenburg will certainly have that recorded. If we contact Romaine’s distant relative, we might risk being discovered, especially since we’re unsure of their reliability.”
“Then Aunt Jennie would be in danger, right?” Freya turned back to ask.
Brendel glanced at Romaine, who was silently playing with the hem of her clothes.
“Overall, they will have some reaction time, but if we act in a haphazard manner, the likelihood of failure will be quite high. To save time, we need to split into three groups and repeatedly confirm what each person should do.”
He took a breath, unconsciously adopting the demeanor he had when he was the leader in the game. Yet in reality, controlling the fates of others made Brendel unavoidably a bit nervous.
His gaze lingered on the faces of the three, then pointed:
“Freya, you go contact Romaine’s relative.”
“Me?” Freya exclaimed, pointing at herself in surprise.
“Yeah.”
“But I only know she lives in Bonohan Market; I don’t even know the exact number. And I don’t even know where Bonohan Market is!” the ponytail girl looked troubled.
“You can ask around; Bonohan Market is nearby. There’s a bar called ‘Bronzesteeldragon Storytelling’ just outside this alley where you can inquire about news,” Brendel suddenly smiled: “But be careful; the mercenaries in the bar might not be very clean, don’t get taken advantage of.”
Freya’s face turned red, and she shot him a fierce glare: “U-Uncouth!”
Charles chuckled quietly on the side, thinking his lord was quite entertaining. Nobles rarely visited such vulgar places like bars, but it seemed Brendel knew this kingdom inside and out. Wizards always liked to associate with clever people—especially those with broad knowledge—and this young man was no exception.
“After you find that wool merchant named Hood, you shouldn’t reveal your identity. Give him some time and arrange to meet us at the bar. Pay attention to his reaction, and you’ll know if he can be trusted. If you notice any signs of the military, don’t worry; they won’t act recklessly before they understand our relationship. They also hope to have the opportunity to catch us all at once.”
Freya thought for a moment, as if confirming whether she could accomplish this, before nodding.
“What about me, Brendel?” Romaine blinked and asked.
“Romaine, you go help us find a coach and wait for us at the north gate. There are only two inns in Ridenburg, and they might be under surveillance. If you find one suspicious, switch to the other; if both are problematic, just head alone to the north gate. Regardless, we should leave the city the moment the city gate opens at dawn; if we’re lucky, maybe we can escape before the lockdown order is issued.”
The Merchant Miss nodded readily.
Then Brendel took out the money he received from the noble relic and divided it into two parts, giving them to the girls: “Your actions on both sides might involve money; here are thirty silver coins, more than enough for each of you. If possible, Romaine, buy some food as well.”
The Merchant Miss nodded seriously.
“What about you, Brendel?” Freya asked.
“You all will be under immense pressure acting alone; the White Mane Legion may intervene at any time. Charles and I will visit a few ‘old friends’ to divert the guards’ attention in Ridenburg,” Brendel replied calmly.
Only a genius could understand the determination behind Brendel’s words. His principle had always been that risks should be controllable, just like navigating Xavier Mountain Path—because he was confident he could ensure the safety of Romaine and himself—he never considered himself a natural savior or hero.
‘Even a meticulous plan has a possibility of failure; let alone the chance of success when going all in.’ This saying was given to Brendel by the old team leader in the game and had become his personal motto.
But this time he himself did not know how great the risk was; yet he had promised Romaine at Buche’s old residence that as a man, sometimes a bit of stubbornness was necessary. At this moment, Brendel felt a surge of adrenaline pushing him to calm down and complete this task, fulfilling his promise.
“You’re crazy, Brendel!” Freya realized his underlying meaning, her eyes widened as she stared at him: “Y-You’ll be hanged! What are we supposed to do?”
She suddenly felt her words were somewhat ambiguous, her face flushed, and she explained: “What I mean is, I don’t want to go robbing with you…”
Brendel suddenly found the girl, who spoke contrary to her thoughts, somewhat cute: “No worries,” he said, “I’ll invite you to join if there’s a chance.” He thought there would definitely be an opportunity; it was just a matter of how likely he could persuade this future Valkyrie.
“No chance,” Freya said resentfully: “You go with Romaine; I’m worried about her.”
“No need; I trust little Romaine.”
The Merchant Miss raised her eyebrows, secretly pleased.
Freya gritted her teeth in anger, thinking this guy clearly knew she was worried about him, yet he deliberately forced her to say it. And what infuriated her more was that even if she did speak up, he certainly wouldn’t listen.
“Forget it, I can’t be bothered with you,” she lowered her head, pushing her ponytail behind her: “Y-You be careful.”
The Merchant Miss then gave him a small ‘everything is okay’ gesture and waved it—a sign she learned from Brendel these past two days: “I’ll wait for you at the north gate, Brendel! The coach of the future great merchant will only start moving once Brendel gets on board—”
Brendel felt his heart stirred upon hearing this, and he smiled.
*
About ten minutes later, in the camp of the White Mane Legion’s swordsmen—
“You say you didn’t hear anything?”
Lukesons picked up a broken piece of wood and pointed at the cross-section: “Judging by the degree of destruction, this is at least level one strength. A Black Iron Swordsman smashed our White Mane Legion’s cell door, and you’re telling me you didn’t hear anything?”
The man called ‘Tiger’ Lukesons was 45 this year, with dark skin, a sharply defined forehead like a kn*fe edge, and high cheekbones that hinted at a mountain folk heritage. His cheeks were flat and gaunt, and there was a wildness in his deep-set gaze. Lukesons had been promoted to the commander of the one hundred and fourth swordsman division of the White Mane Legion for ten years now; to advance further, he needed to rely on his reputation and qualifications within the army.
However, Lukesons politically leaned towards the Everton faction, that is to say, the so-called Revival Party, while the White Mane Legion had long completed the process of privatizing the Earl Prab. Thus, he was already among the unpopular in this army. But this did not prevent him from demonstrating his authority before his subordinates; ‘Tiger’ Lukesons was certainly not one of those noble pretty boys who came up through backdoor connections.
The general’s words immediately caused the several junior officers present to exchange glances, especially the one on duty that evening, whose face turned crimson. Dressed in blue uniforms and wearing pointed helmets, the White Mane infantrymen moved in and out of the room. Compared to the garrison, the biggest difference in their uniforms was the bundle of white wolf feathers hanging from the epaulets.
This unique ornament commemorated the glory of the Legion’s unwavering bravery during the ‘Jartings Battle,’ which is also the origin of the White Mane Legion’s name.
“If their opponent is a Highland Knight, his apprentice retinue could also do this,” someone said.
“For the White Mane Legion, the point is not what your opponent did. It’s what you did; ten minutes of response time. Are you militia?”
Lukesons’ rebuke immediately rendered the others speechless.
At this moment, an officer accompanied by his subordinates entered with a report, holding a stack of parchment: “Commander, we checked the records of the militia in Buche. Indeed, there are people named Freya and Romaine registered, but that young man named Brendel doesn’t seem to be a local.”
Lukesons thought as expected, and he tapped his finger on the table: “And then?”
The subordinate approached and whispered something in his ear, Lukesons nodded. He asked again, “What is the attitude of His Majesty’s secret envoy?”
“The Lord Earl did not make it clear, but it seems to imply we should execute them on the spot,” the officer answered.
Lukesons was slightly taken aback; how could the king’s secret envoy possibly conflict with a mere civilian? He rubbed his chin, attempting to decipher the underlying meaning, but before he could, the entire room had already buzzed with discussion—
“Really, but that old man shouldn’t go against a civilian for no reason?”
“I think he seems to be interested in those two women; that old lecher.”
“A mere court jester, I personally saw him admiring that elven sword over there.”
“Unworldly rustic.” Someone scoffed disdainfully.
Lukesons immediately slammed the table to silence the disorderly officers. He was about to reprimand them when yet another person pushed the door open; it was a messenger from outside.
“Commander, the local council is on fire.”
“What a diversion,” Lukesons couldn’t help but curse quietly, immediately standing up and ordering, “Give you ten minutes, have the second and third squads assemble as quickly as possible!”
Rows of officers stood up.
He pointed to another side: “You two, go keep an eye on the designated targets. Maquilin, your task is the inn; you know what to do—don’t raise any alarms.”
The three mentioned personnel lowered their heads in acknowledgment, not daring to hesitate, and immediately turned to leave.
“Commander, what about Lord Seber?”
“No need to remind me. Those guys will certainly pull their heads out of their behinds to curry favor with our king’s secret envoy; they must rely on one side or another, right?”
The commander’s words caused the room to erupt with low laughter.
