Chapter 557: Act 305 – The Tempest
The star from beyond has already risen in the night sky. The howling winds and layers of dark clouds cannot obscure its brilliance; it is Martha’s main star, a symbol of order and wisdom.
It is already morning, and under the dark sea surface, a faint light glimmers. Brendel silently raises his head, gazing at the skyline where the sea meets the sky, quietly calculating the time—three hours until the next day’s sunrise.
Three o’clock in the morning.
Under the surface of the sea near Ampere Seale, faint figures emerge, their upright fins slicing through the water like blades, leaving white wake trails on the turbulent waves.
Saneer quietly approaches Brendel’s side, the male Naga observing his kindred warriors crossing the bay, unable to resist raising his grayish-green fins, proudly standing against the storm.
“These are the warriors of my clan.” He turns his head and gives Brendel a glance with his angular slit pupils.
Brendel remains silent, a flame burning within him. Finally, the day has come—after half a year’s painstaking efforts and enduring numerous hardships, history has returned to this moment. What lies ahead is still unknown, but he has cast everything aside in his heart.
If they win, they will pull the crumbling future just a bit away from its historical trajectory. Her Highness the Princess, the Valkyries, even Little Romain; anyone and any belief attached to this grand vessel can continue to exist.
If they lose, Brendel’s lips press into a thin line as he stares ahead, darkness filling his eyes. Within that darkness, lightning rends the boundary between sky and sea, reminiscent of the roaring flames that once burned above Erluin.
He harbors a fierce flame in his eyes.
Brendel glances back at Saneer, who cannot help but lean back slightly, breath caught in his throat. Such determination and will he has only seen in Her Majesty the Queen, and those who possess such unwavering resolve will surely stir tempests upon the sea.
The Half-Elf Maiden also withdraws her gaze from the dark sky; the layers of dark clouds seem unable to obscure her sight. Behind them, the stars from beyond are slowly rising, with Martha heralding the dawn to the world.
And the day is about to break—
She turns back to see Makarolo, Livwz, Count Bal, and Overwell, her retinue all around her. At this moment, it feels as though the royal faction has not yet divided; everything remains unchanged.
A sense of disorientation arises in her heart, as if history has not altered. The wheels of fate roll forward, and with these people’s assistance, she could unify the whole of Erluin, but beyond that lies nothing but darkness.
“Your Highness, please get in the carriage.”
Grifian turns back, taking one last look at his mentor, while Livwz appears somewhat ashamed. She turns back in deep disappointment; perhaps it would be better if they could genuinely hold onto their stubbornness.
The carriage comes to a stop in the rain, dark as a coffin. The Princess opens the carriage door and holds her head high, stepping onto the carriage like a true member of Erluin’s royal family.
The cunning fox, Makarolo, mounts his horse; though noble, he has lived a life of warfare, sitting upright on his steed like a spear. All eyes are on him as he draws his sword and points forward:
“Let’s move out!”
A thunder of hooves erupts as the royal knight order begins to gather beside the convoy, all clad in cloaks, quietly moving forward through the rain. The black formation weaves through the mountains and forests.
Freya tilts her head to listen to the rhythmic sound of the hooves, weariness evident in her eyes after a sleepless night. She turns back, only to find the silent Knight of the Lake trailing closely behind her.
“Knight.”
“Today, I may have to use it to kill… my opponent is also of Erluin, perhaps even a comrade from yesterday… I may disgrace the Lionheart Sword. I apologize.”
“A sword never shames itself for killing,” comes the cold reply, his first words in several days.
Freya turns in surprise.
“Swords carve their way through thorns, as taught by the sages,” the Knight of the Lake responds with pride.
Then, a profound silence descends.
Before them lies the stormy Ampere Seale Harbor.
……
“The Princess has departed!”
Carglis finishes reading the note in his hand and immediately turns to look at his Lord. Though his voice is intentionally calm, he cannot suppress the bright flames flickering in his eyes, “My Lord.”
“I understand,” Brendel nods.
Everyone’s gaze falls upon him.
It is just before dawn, and from the dark sea in the distance, it seems that a grand transformation is brewing, a sliver of white breaking free; Brendel takes a deep breath, “White Lion Army.”
“Present!”
The young men respond in unison. Having undergone the trials of the Black Forest, the current storm seems trivial by comparison. Instead, the strength of the enemy only stokes the defiance within them; youth knows no compromise, and nobody cares if this battle is right or wrong.
What matters is merely this battle.
This day will surely be etched into the annals of history—
“The royal faction has set off.”
Almost simultaneously with Brendel receiving the news, the same information is dispatched to the Temple. Watching as the messenger monk leaves, the grim-faced High Priest Merros turns back, and the Marquis of Julian and the Baron of Backland in the shadows promptly bow their heads in respect.
“History is being rewritten here,” Merros answers quietly.
“Order the White Lion Army into the city—”
As if at the same moment, countless messages spread through various channels to every corner of Ampere Seale. This harbor, long silent amidst the storm, awakens like a giant beast, stretching out its claws.
At five o’clock in the morning, the door to the cavalry camp opens wide, and the patrol cavalry charges forth. At five twenty, the entire city goes into lockdown. Half an hour later, the Ampere Seale Port Authority officially announces that the port is entering the storm season.
They seal the port.
……
“Prepare and gear up!”
Sets of standard armor are unloaded from the ships, the oilcloth packages opened, then dozens of young officers from the White Lion Army begin to don their armor—this armor they had tried on once or twice before, but for the most part, they could only wear training armor.
However, having only worn it a few times is enough for everyone to grasp the power of this armor.
This armor belongs to the true White Lion Battle Armor, reconstructed based on the suggestions of Brendel and Otales; compared to the original version, it is only stronger. The young men from Toniger may not understand what this means, but even just a set of magical armor would leave everyone gasping in awe.
Even Grudin would hesitate to fully equip his personal knight with a set of magical armor. The price of a few sets of magical armor could nearly buy an entire tract of fertile lands.
The new White Lion Battle Armor appears somewhat reminiscent of the pinnacle of medieval armor from another world—the Maximilian armor. However, it lacks greaves, the armor skirt is made of plate segments, and the helmet adopts the traditional full-coverage design favored by wind elves—its most distinctive feature being the white lion shoulder guard on the right shoulder, a design long eliminated from modern White Lion armor in Erluin, but it has returned to the land of Vaunte under Brendel’s hand.
The design inspiration for this battle armor naturally comes from Brendel; only his unique soul could create an aesthetic transcending this world and even its era, an appreciation stemming from another realm.
But one must admit, art is universal. The new White Lion Battle Armor possesses a heart-stirring beauty; when it appears en masse, it exudes a breathtaking tension; such straightforward expressiveness is quite rare in Erluin during this era.
Craftsmen are artists.
Brendel’s design has even left master craftsmen and Otales marveling, leading them to reluctantly attribute this seemingly innate versatility to the words ‘freak.’
Soon, the White Lion Army is ready. All the young officers gather together, standing neatly before Brendel, waiting for inspection.
At this moment, it is not just Brendel holding his breath; even Charles cannot help but be stunned. The priest Meria and Antinna from Toniger exchange glances:
“Heavens, this… this is the legendary White Lion Army?”
“Identical to the records,” Charles marvels repeatedly, shaking his head. He was present at the armor design discussions, but he never expected such a result after it was worn.
“Although I haven’t seen the White Lion Army, if there is an army in this world that is this majestic, I truly wish I had lived in the era of the late Lord Eke.” Husher can’t help but nod in admiration.
The White Lion Army has been reborn.
Only Brendel and Otales truly know that this is the real White Lion Army. That elite force of Erluin, which has long vanished from history, has returned as if carrying the will of the former king to save this fallen kingdom once again.
The sword is in hand; is it time for the oath to be reignited?
“My Lord, please conduct the inspection,” Carglis says brightly.
Brendel smiles slightly. In this world, the White Lion Battle Armor is indeed authentic light infantry armor. To be precise, it is infantry armor in the form of cavalry armor; due to the differences in weight, cavalry armor usually provides far superior protection than infantry armor.
But only the White Lion Battle Armor has broken through this boundary.
Its greatest characteristic is inheriting the magical attributes of the Wind Queen’s half-armor, where the core of the entire set is to reduce weight. But not only that; although the wind is gentle, it can also rage violently. The power of the wind in the White Lion Battle Armor is complementary; defense and attack are integrated, making it one of the most perfect standard armors in history; otherwise, the White Lion infantry would never be referred to as ‘cavalry on the earth.’
“The kings lead the knights to unify the Southlands,” swordsman knights, only this one.
The time is almost at hand.
Brendel turns back.
A carriage slowly emerges through the thin curtain of rain, and the emblem of a broken sword emblazoned on the carriage side seems to have traversed through history; the carriage stops not far away, and the door opens to reveal the serene face of the Countess from Yangu Fortress.
“Mr. Brendel, the family of the Sword Bearers honors its words; its descendants have never forgotten the oath made before that sword. Now, I wish to invite you to accompany me one last time. May I have the honor?”
Her quiet voice pierces through the sound of wind and rain.
“It would be my pleasure,” Brendel replies with a smile. He turns back, “Carglis, I leave this to you. White Lion Army, follow the established plan and cooperate with Saneer. Do not disappoint me—”
Carglis nods earnestly.
Brendel turns back again, “Teacher, I rely on you.”
The Gray Saint nods and casually takes the reins of a warhorse led by a young man from behind the building. His gray eyes glance at Brendel before he mounts.
Behind him, Charles, Xi, and Medephis also mount their steeds.
“Andrigraphis.”
“What is it?”
“I know you wouldn’t ride in the rain, come with me.” Brendel waves his hand, turning towards the carriage. The vampire princess softly hums in response.
But at that moment, a small voice suddenly calls from behind the crowd:
“Brendel!”
Brendel turns back and sees the Merchant Miss among the people.
“Don’t forget the promise!” the Merchant Miss calls out energetically. “But I will support you, you know!”
Brendel suddenly feels transported back to that summer night in Buche, where the stars shone brilliantly. The Milky Way in the sky seems like a bond tying the fates of him, Romaine, and Freya closely together.
“We agreed,” Brendel smiles slightly at her, “we will become great merchants.”
……(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to cast your vote of recommendation or monthly ticket. Your support is my greatest motivation.)
