Chapter 63: Act 55 – Sword, Light
With an exceptionally piercing scream, the gargoyle pounced down, its claw-like hands seizing Sir Burnley’s shoulder and lifting his rotund body into the air. The businessman was initially slow to react, flailing in panic and wanting to scream, but as he realized his predicament, his face turned pale and he was rendered frozen in fear.
The crowd looked up; although they felt disdainful, they knew they would fare no better if they were in his position.
Brendel stood before the army, holding his sword with one hand, and without turning back, waved forward. “Gargoyle, Uom! (Incantation: Come back!)”
Turning around again, it was as if the sea was receding; over a hundred men retreated a step under his gaze. As the noble private soldiers fell back, they revealed Charles, who was pinned behind countless spears.
“Don’t move! I surrender!” The young wizard attendant raised his hands at once, indicating he had no intention of resisting.
I mean, this guy has a bit of backbone, right? Brendel sighed upon seeing it, shaking his head. But it seemed Charles didn’t notice and instead winked at him, meaning: it’s up to you now, my lord. I’ve done my part. It was almost enough to drive Brendel mad.
At that moment, the white-maned riders were entering the scene, forming a semi-circle behind Brendel, seemingly intending to take control from the chaotic noble private soldiers.
From a distance, Lord Jinguo couldn’t help but want to curse upon witnessing the scene, but on one hand, he had lost Macaru, and on the other, Burnley, who had always advised him, was now suspended in the air. His other captain, Glanson, was attacking the castle, leaving him nearly alone with a ragtag group.
He managed to restrain himself and rode up alone. In fact, he was suppressing a cold sweat on his back; he had almost thought the gargoyle’s charge was directed at him. But what does that young man want with Burnley?
Lord Jinguo approached the encircled area, standing with a group of noble gentlemen opposite Lukesons. Neither side spoke much—or rather, there was hardly anything to discuss; the conflict between Golan-Elsen’s noble gentlemen and the local military brigade had long been established—no need for superficial pleasantries.
On the other hand, ‘Tiger’ Lukesons resembled a spear standing on horseback, glancing disdainfully at the noble gentlemen led by Lord Jinguo. Although he was part of the White Mane Legion, his heart belonged to the royal revival faction, looking down on both sides and unwilling to lower himself to engage with those he deemed short-sighted.
Instead, his attention was drawn to Brendel, the young man who remained calm in front of the army and had repelled his four commanders in a single stroke, sparking his true interest. But to his surprise, that young man’s gaze also crossed through the crowd and landed on him.
Does he know me?
Lukesons furrowed his brows but quickly calmed down. “Young man, I’m giving you a chance to put down the poor Sir Burnley. You’ve seen, your companions are in our hands.” With this statement, he took the overall command from Lord Jinguo.
Brendel recognized the voice immediately as that of ‘Tiger’ Lukesons. He had heard him speak from afar during an honor mission at Ridenburg Fortress before the First Black Rose War.
‘Tiger’ Lukesons, the silver-tier swordsman, was one of the most outstanding warriors in all of Erluin.
In the presence of such a formidable master, Brendel dared not be careless. He took a gentle breath to relax himself, while his mind raced. He glanced at Lord Jinguo, then at Lukesons, knowing that his slim chance of survival lay in the conflict between the two.
This conflict was not accidental.
In Ridenburg, the opposition between the local noble council and the local military brigade mirrored most of the conflicts in this ancient nation, which were rooted in Erluin’s unique political system. Originating from the fractured Gruz Empire, Erluin’s laws were derived from that dark imperial code; however, after a long period of lord wars to prevent history from repeating itself, the kingdom’s fourth monarch, Anin I, reinstated a system that had the royal family control the military while local military governance was separated.
Based on dukedoms and earldoms, lords established small ‘nations.’ Within these nations, lords enjoyed full local legislative and administrative powers, but in terms of taxation, the king held the first taxing right over all mines, forests, and farmlands within any territory, while nobles only had a second taxing right. Additionally, except for militias and local guards, nobles were not allowed to form their private armies; local defenses were managed by various legions under the control of royal family members.
During the era of a powerful monarchy, the royal family tightly monitored the localities through tax officials and a central military system, establishing a strong Erluin kingdom. However, Brendel knew that since any human could make mistakes, the kingdom’s hidden troubles lay behind its temporary glory; as royal power dwindled, flaws gradually surfaced.
The conflict stemmed from divisions within the royal family; since ‘Devotee’ Edward’s ascension to the throne about sixty years ago, Erluin entered the Kolkova dynasty period. Duke Anlek, who also had a claim to the throne, had long harbored grievances against this, and as the royal family became disunited, local military brigades began to form various factions.
When the royal family realized they could not effectively control the large army, their authority in the local areas began to weaken; in fact, since the era of the burrow beasts, the king’s tax officials could not even enter a third of the territory, illustrating just how diminished the royal family’s prestige had become.
Brendel knew that ever since eleven years ago when Duke Anlek forced the then-reigning Obergu VI to change the new defense decree, the royal family’s true military power had been reduced to just the Imperial Guards, the Black Blade Legion of Siphai, and the Eleventh Free Cavalry Brigade stationed in Ampere Seale.
Against this backdrop, although the royal family’s influence over the locals weakened, regions were by no means monolithic; local nobles and military brigades were engaged in increasingly fierce power struggles. Just like between Earl Prah and Duke Golan-Elsen, the grudges between them had long been a topic of gossip.
In Ridenburg, this conflict was embodied in the figures of Lord Jinguo and Lukesons. Although they shared a common stance on not giving up the Buche region, the question of who would bear the responsibility ultimately depended on skill and cunning—Lukesons had originally been at a disadvantage, but now the arrival of Jinguo and his party brought a turning point.
This turning point was whether Brendel was indeed the Buche militia, and as long as they were present, the excuse Lord Jinguo had prepared beforehand would turn into a lie, an act of deceiving higher authorities, which was no small matter. While the royal family was nominally in charge, the central interrogation could serve as a legitimate excuse for the nobles to undermine each other.
Having realized this, Brendel understood that at least for the time being, his life was not in danger. Perhaps Lord Jinguo would want him dead, but that also required Lukesons’s consent.
Brendel suddenly felt a bit sorrowful; he actually knew all of this long ago but couldn’t articulate it to Freya. If that girl found out that all their efforts were destined to be buried by those who still fought amongst themselves at the last moment, she might also find it hard to accept.
But sorrow aside, he was grateful that Martha made these people shortsighted, allowing him to seize this opportunity to speak. Hearing Lukesons’s words, he couldn’t help but let out a cold laugh, “How ridiculous, gentlemen.”
His nonsensical comment struck everyone silent.
“Ridiculous?” Lukesons laughed from his vantage point on horseback. “What’s so ridiculous about it?”
Brendel thought he’d soon bring a stop to Lukesons’s laughter; he waved for the gargoyle to come closer to him. Then he tossed the elven sword from his left hand to his right.
“Sir Lukesons.” He turned his head again, “My lord, you want me to put this dead fat man down?” He patted Burnley’s face, momentarily recalling the scene from a few hours ago when he first saw these people.
The moment when Earl Duan confiscated his sword and raised it—
These memories flowed through his mind like water, calming him. He looked up and responded, “What I find laughable is that some people are oblivious to their impending doom. Do you truly believe that Ridenburg can rest easy while the Madara army dare not step into Erluin?”
“Madara?” Lukesons and Lord Jinguo were taken aback again.
“Kid, what on earth are you trying to say?” Lord Jinguo, still thinking of the relationship between his opponent and Wizard Gab, asked as he nudged his horse forward.
Brendel refused to waste words with them and instead placed his sword against Sir Burnley’s neck, without uttering a word, the elven sword already began to glow brilliantly.
“Sir Burnley is wealthy and well-traveled; can you tell me the origin of this sword?” Brendel suddenly smiled coldly, mimicking someone else’s tone to ask.
The plump man seized by the gargoyle suddenly began to struggle desperately, trying to retreat.
But Brendel ignored him; at that moment he finally confirmed what he thought in his heart, and couldn’t resist the urge to scold, “This sword is called the Stabbing Light, a blade born of light. All undead are exposed before it, yet you fools are only focused on admiring the sword, forgetting the scene when Earl Duan got this sword. You short-sighted idiots.”
“Gentlemen, do you really think this fat pig is your ally? How ridiculous! Tagus has long placed spies among you, and you still remain unaware—”
Lukesons and the nobles were dumbfounded, unsure of what to make of it. Although the head of the White Mane Legion subconsciously believed Brendel’s words, he still hoped that what was said wasn’t true.
But Brendel had already thrust the sword into Burnley’s rotund body, the latter let out a wail, his body quickly shriveling down, and then his appearance rapidly transformed into a monstrous figure, grotesque and entirely desiccated.
“Necromancer!” Lukesons recognized the creature at first glance.
Lord Jinguo’s reaction caused him to fall back onto his horse, shouting, “Impossible!”
His reaction startled everyone, all eyes turning towards him. Only Brendel remained cold-faced, knowing what had just occurred; history had not changed, just today he finally understood what truly happened on this day in history and why Ridenburg fell so rapidly.
Meanwhile, Lord Jinguo felt cold sweat breaking out on his forehead; everything that previous fat man had said to him now seemed to be a vicious trap. In the hunt for Brendel and his companions, he had already replaced a third of the castle’s defense force with Burnley’s private soldiers.
As for those private soldiers, upon reflection, it was likely they would now realize what they were.
They hesitated, only to suddenly see dark blue flames soaring into the sky from the western and northwestern sides of Ridenburg. At that moment, words were unnecessary; everyone understood what had happened.
For a brief moment, the noble lord felt the world spinning around him.
“Retreat, quickly retreat! Use the east gate!”
