Chapter 540: Act 288 – The Three Swords, The Eternal Moonlight
Chiger crouched as he passed through the wreckage of the window, with seven pairs of iron-bottomed boots stepping on shards of glass as they entered the hall. The eight of them straightened up simultaneously, drawing their swords—inside the hall was a scene of devastation, with bodies scattered and blood flowing like rivers; everywhere they looked, there were figures of cultists, but the guards around the notable figures had already stabilized their positions, particularly the group with the princess, especially notable was the young man beside Count Yanbao, holding a large sword, barring the way like a single warrior against a thousand.
Chiger’s gaze immediately locked onto him; he squinted his one remaining eye, the flesh on his face twitching. Chiger had been famous among mercenaries for a long time, notorious for his brutality. He turned back to the other seven, most of whom were similar in both background and strength—golden tier strength was enough to impress anyone; they all silently nodded, knowing that since they had come this far, there was only one possibility left: success.
There was no turning back.
The eight high-level warriors stepped forward, and an invisible aura surged forth. The guards beside the dukes were momentarily stunned, pausing to look at each other, unsure of what to do. Although there were at least twenty top experts in the room under the command of various power holders, golden tier individuals were mostly exceptional talents who could stand on their own; the dukes ruled vast territories, and their golden tier warriors rarely had the chance to come together. At that moment, it seemed Grifian sensed something and turned her head—Duke Siphai wore a smile, his guards had already ceased fighting; Duke Anlek, with his indifferent expression and deep, apathetic gaze, showed no sign of emotion, one hand habitually resting on the hilt of his sword, as if only air remained before him.
The other nobles were terrified, with Marquis Baltar appearing somewhat tense; when his gaze met that of the beautiful half-elf maiden, he couldn’t help but lower his head. Grifian suddenly realized, Vieiro, Karasu, Earl Grayhill, and Earl Victorkin had yet to appear at the venue, their attitudes already made very clear. She gritted her teeth, lowering her eyelids, her lashes fluttering.
When she lifted her head again, Grifian cast a cold glance at the two priests from the temple—none of the prominent leaders of the temple had appeared, and these two priests likely bore no responsibility.
At that moment, Chiger frowned, realizing time could not be wasted—his eyes sparkled with a bloodthirsty, cruel light, pointing at Livwz. “That old guy is the court mage; we can’t let him finish preparing.” The eight nodded simultaneously, bending forward to launch an attack on the royal side. At this point, the surrounding nobles finally realized that these ruthless villains were targeting none other than her Highness, the princess, and now they no longer cared about the dignity of the royal family, hurriedly making way to the sides, fearing they’d be caught in the crossfire.
The royal flower no longer gleamed magnificently in this moment. The last colors on the flag of Erluin gradually faded away.
The eight renowned experts simultaneously took on aggressive stances, and the atmosphere on the field suddenly shifted, causing everyone’s expressions to change dramatically—
But her Highness did not speak. She silently observed the scene, not taking a single step back; the unyielding strength she harbored within burst forth at this moment, forming a powerful banner of resolve. Even Brendel felt this underlying strength behind him; he sighed slightly, recognizing this was a belief in that radiant banner, the country named Erluin and its nobles, how had they come to this point.
There was also no turning back.
Brendel raised his sword.
“Ha ha, a genius!” Chiger’s eyes lit up, finally realizing that Brendel had touched the wall of elements; geniuses were always proud, and Chiger’s greatest pleasure was to crush that pride. He couldn’t help but grin wickedly; although Brendel possessed great strength, he was still somewhat weaker than Chiger. Moreover, Chiger was confident that his battle experience far surpassed what these impulsive youths could compare to.
Geniuses also need time to develop, but they often don’t have that luxury because of their youth.
Chiger licked his lips, savoring the long-desired taste of victory and blood. The sensation flowed down his dry throat like a bloody wine, invigorating him and causing every pore to tremble with excitement; each of Chiger’s strikes was the most perfect, and that was why he could enjoy the battle so thoroughly.
It was an astonishing strike, one that even the most discerning sword masters would find no flaw in.
Seeing this strike, Princess Grifian’s expression changed; she was a renowned swordswoman of the royal family, but it was only after witnessing true battlefield swordsmanship that she realized her naivety. While she might possess impressive sword skills, it was only now that she understood why her swordsmanship mentor had told her that she might need to experience a real battle or two to stand out.
The reason was here.
The antelope hangs its horns, leaving no trace to find.
Grifian’s lips moved slightly, but she did not utter a word, for that would imply her distrust of Brendel. “Ah, be careful!” It was Count Yanbao beside her who exclaimed quietly. Her Highness turned back, casting a wistful glance at her former closeness friend. She suddenly felt sad, as a royal, destined to have no freedom at all.
This is what they call the responsibility of the royal family.
Chiger’s sword was almost at Brendel’s face, the tip glimmering with a cold light, bringing with it an impending sense of death.
But Brendel remained expressionless, unfazed. He raised his sword, employing the textbook’s most standard sword move to block Chiger’s strike. ‘So stiff—?’ As the metallic clash sent a piercing tremor through the air, it resonated in everyone’s ears, the first thought that crossed their minds was such; all could see that the young man beside Count Yanbao adopted the simplest move in Erluin’s military swordsmanship—
He raised his sword horizontally, the foundational life-saving technique every soldier first learns. But it was only foundational, like a crude instinctual response, regarded by everyone as the worst possible reaction—even prompting some to entertain the strange thought that his move was utterly unworthy compared to Chiger’s strike. But it was of no matter; anyone with a smattering of swordsmanship would understand that such a stiff response would only force one to the verge of death.
A swordsman’s technique was never limited to just one move.
Were they stunned? A sliver of alertness flashed through Chiger’s remaining eye. Some people were called geniuses for a reason, and he would never let his guard down; the very fact that he had lost one eye served as proof of this. Brendel’s unexpectedly desperate move in Chiger’s eyes instead triggered a deep apprehension in him. He felt a pang of trepidation, instinctively wanting to withdraw his sword.
But it was too late.
A sword abruptly appeared at his neck, penetrating through, the black blade tearing through flesh, the crimson liquid splitting the air like a line, morphing into a vast blood mist. The Sword of Earth shattered his cervical spine, allowing Chiger’s final vision to circle around the hall once, his unwilling glance revealing his last thought of a glorious life.
‘How could it be so fast?!’
There were two Brendels in the hall.
Then one by one, they vanished.
Only the young man with the high-held sword remained, the spine of the sword smooth and black as ink, its blade casting a faint glimmer. The entire manor fell into a deathly silence, as if the world froze at that moment, casting shadows in their eyes, yet all illusions ultimately returned to nothingness, the soft sounds of breathing among the crowd rippling.
The eagle, Dejyar, widened his eyes; he would always remember that sword technique, the one that severed his arm.
“Ah!”
“What sword technique was that!?”
Brendel sheathed his sword, turning around, and no one in the room dared to meet his gaze. The inheritance of the moon, the three swords, returned to the world after thousands of years; just one glance left an indelible impression of its radiant pride; with seven remaining, a mere confrontation foretold the fall of gold, such a scene could only have occurred during the dreadful wars of decades past, and across centuries, every breathtaking battle, the air of brutal slaughter seemed to reach into one’s heart, crashing forth.
The hearts of men wavered.
The seven golden tier warriors felt a chill rise along their spines, a sensation they hadn’t experienced in many years; to them, Brendel transformed into an ancient beast, its icy, white fangs glaring down at the pitiful insects before it—the three assassins.
Brendel “clang” deflected the sword striking at him, and with a moment’s leisure, turned to see this scene. He suddenly felt a twinge of pity for the assassin facing Andrigraphis. Andrigraphis excelled in blood magic, and these poor things had killed each other here, causing the hall to flow with crimson liquid, now nearly her domain in full swing; Brendel asked himself if he would fare any better, let alone these ones—after all, it was said that while heaven’s punishments may be forgiven, self-inflicted misfortune cannot be lived through.
But still, he called out, “What are you waiting for!? Do you really think I can fight them all by myself?!”
“Ah?” At that moment, Overwell, Makarolo, and the Lady Knight Nia beside Dierphir finally reacted; Brendel’s performance had been so shocking that they momentarily forgot they were still on a life-and-death battlefield. The addition of five golden tiers, along with Brendel’s terrifying strength, finally turned the tide.
Livwz was the first to finish off his opponent; his foe was a strength-focused swordsman, but alas, in power, humans were born too far from bloodline beings, not to mention that the speed of the bloodline pretender could shame a thousand deaths. Once Livwz discerned his opponent’s assault pattern, he closed in and struck, piercing through his heart.
Then Brendel withdrew from battle. The delay was only because he wished to glean something from his opponent’s swordsmanship; unfortunately, he did not get his wish. Out of necessity, he used Queen Wind’s Nine Stars, dealing a clean, lethal blow.
However, the one who ended their battle the quickest among them was Sir Wolf; one had to say Overwell was a true swordsman. Although his opponent was weaker, his flawless sword technique made it clear where the title of solitary wolf came from—quick, accurate, ruthless; a single strike, then far away without hesitation—he wielded the thrusting sword, and his enemy nearly bled to death.
After Overwell finished his battle, Nia, the Lady Knight, and Makarolo also concluded theirs in turn. To Brendel’s surprise, that knight turned out to be a Sanctuary Knight like him, possessing remarkable knightly skills; she wore heavy armor, and once the holy conflict aura bloomed, the assassin could not get close at all; the two fought each other to a standstill—until Livwz joined the fray, then the assassin could only concede defeat. Brendel understood why the Yanbao family had chosen her as Dierphir’s bodyguard; she was a living mega-shield.
The weakest among them was undoubtedly Makarolo; though he was proud among the nobles of Erluin, he was after all a strategist and not well-versed in combat, almost falling victim to his opponent’s assault. But by this time, Brendel had cleared the way, blocking the opponent’s attack with a sword; the assassin’s expression changed, realizing that all his companions had met their end; he felt startled but reacted quickly, retreating without a second thought.
At that moment, Livwz finally struck, shouting, “Stay still for me!”
A wave shimmered through the air, and the assassin was instantly pinned in mid-air, unable to move. At this moment, the terrifying advantage of a wizard over a warrior was revealed; although only a rank lower, once a great mage prepared to strike, they could dictate life and death, presenting a stark contrast to the harrowing melee exchanges that warriors had to endure. Wizard duels bore no trace of fire and flesh, yet often decided in the blink of an eye.
Brendel wasn’t new to working with wizards; without hesitation, he leaped up and pierced his opponent’s heart with a sword.
Brendel landed, stood up, turned back, and looked at Anlek in the distance.
Duke Anlek was slightly taken aback, opening his squinting eyes just enough for a glimmer of cold light to shine through.
…(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)
