Chapter 68: Act 4 – Turmoil
The news of the Madara army entering the city spread through Ridenburg like a plague, a dark land described for centuries across the pine mountains as a breeding ground for evil. Undead, bandits, and occasional raiders, it seemed that Erluin’s misfortunes were all brought by enemies from across the mountains. Thus, the noble lords maintained their unchanging rule for hundreds of years, while villagers trained themselves, ready to fight at any time.
Now, this enemy that seemed to exist only in legends, in stories, was not only vividly real but had come alive from the pages to bare its fangs, ready to devour. But the citizens of Ridenburg wondered, where were the nobles? Where was the Ridenburg army?
As Brendel made his way, he saw more and more people emerging from their homes, gathering bits of news from fleeing crowds, then hurriedly returning home with their belongings and families, heading toward the north gate.
The numbers grew, eventually forming a massive flow of humanity. The immense crowd in the eyes of the young seemed to create a dimly colored oil painting, a painting filled with elders, children, men, women, and even mules and horses, dragging their families in a hesitant advance.
Children held onto adults’ hands, their faces still marked by curiosity. Women leaned against their men, pale faces filled with anxiety, but in this great throng, very few spoke, only the sound of the vast procession moving forward filled the air.
With no one to maintain order, the crowd quickly collided with itself. Some people mixed in intended to profit from the chaos — soon, another coach fell in the middle of the road, and those moving forward became further congested. People argued, and it quickly escalated into a standoff, with shouts of anger from behind and an inexplicable panic beginning to spread through the crowd.
Brendel and Charles found Romaine just as this scene unfolded. He instructed the coachman to pull the cart to the side. Then, with Charles on his left and right, they positioned themselves to shield the sides of the coach, calmly watching the chaos spreading through the streets.
“Brendel, you finally made it. I was so worried,” Merchant Miss said, visibly relieved, her round leather boots rubbing against the wooden planks beneath the coach in slight nervousness.
“There were too many people on the road, it took some time,” Brendel replied as he drew his sword.
“What about Freya?”
“Don’t know, let’s wait and see.”
Charles, standing silently for a moment, suddenly leaned in to his Lord and said, “My Lord, someone is stirring trouble in the crowd.”
“What do they gain from doing this?” Brendel asked, surprised, as he didn’t quite understand. After all, he never paid much attention to the behaviors of these common NPCs during the game. He wasn’t a behavioral scientist.
“Only chaos serves their purpose.”
“Why?”
“Because, in their subconscious, they know that only through chaos can they benefit. Those with ambition cannot be satisfied with obscurity, My Lord. Some people inherently desire disorder, they just didn’t have the opportunity before, but now the chance has come,” Charles said coldly, staring outside at the people.
“Even in this situation, they’re risking their lives?” Brendel, being from the modern world, had some understanding of humanity’s baser instincts. But that didn’t explain much; as the only highly intelligent social species, human behavior, in general, may only represent that part of humanity with such traits.
This was the first time he witnessed such infighting among those of the same class, simply driven by ambition. He saw the unrest in the crowd gradually expanding, with people shoving between the fallen coach, and soon cries from frightened children filled the air.
The panic intensified. Rumors of the Madara army appearing nearby spread like wildfire, becoming more fervent the further back they traveled. Those farther away hesitated, pondering whether to turn back; this uncertainty quickly influenced even more people nearby.
The street descended into chaos.
“Even in this time, My Lord. My mentor once said that madness emboldens the reckless. Hysteria and a touch of ambition can unite those people,” Charles pointed to a group of restless individuals in the crowd, answering, “During my studies of magic in Karasu, in the tower built by my mentor among a field of black rocks, apprentices like me learned not only to perform analysis spells but also how to manipulate humanity —”
Brendel nodded, noting that the methods learned from Karasu’s highland wizards were similar yet distinct from those in Bud. The high wizards in Bud, donned in ivory robes, walking on snow-white marble floors, seemed more like academic elites, aristocrats, or rulers among wizards compared to the mysterious magical traditions of other regions.
“What do they want?” Merchant Miss asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“To plunder, to seize, to gain everything they would never dare dream of through violence — like a beautiful Miss such as yourself.”
“No, don’t say that; I wouldn’t thank you for it.” Merchant Miss blushed at the compliment, her little brows raised.
In the midst of the shoving, the riot finally broke out.
No one knew who struck first, but in an instant, many began attacking others. More people took the opportunity to push forward, and many families were swept apart in the crowd, with those knocked down having little chance of getting back up.
Shouts, cries, and screams filled the air.
Brendel silently observed, feeling powerless to stop it, merely instructing the coachman to pull the cart over a bit. However, his action drew attention; some troublemakers noticed him, and when they saw Romaine in the cart, their eyes gleamed with greed.
Most of those people were typically aimless drifters, young men, or disreputable mercenaries — illegal adventurers who shared a common language and instinctively worked together, pushing aside those in their path, unconsciously edging closer to Brendel.
Noticing this, Brendel frowned, instinctively shifting his sword to another hand, while Romaine and Charles tensed up.
“Hey, you can’t just take a cart for yourself, especially not in these times. Let me hitch a ride,” a mercenary in filthy leather armor quickly grabbed the lantern railing of the cart, without any preamble wanting to squeeze in.
“Get down.” Brendel moved his sword to the man’s neck.
“I just wanted a ride, kid; you wouldn’t want to kill me, would you?” The mercenary was caught off guard by Brendel’s firmness, momentarily stunned. He paused, one foot on the cart’s step, looking at Brendel with malice, shouting, “You noble lords abandon us in crucial times, now you want to hitch a free ride; you selfish folk! If you’re brave, then kill me—”
People gathered around the mercenary, looking at Brendel with a challenging gaze. But they were more focused on Romaine, seemingly drooling with desire.
“Brendel…” Merchant Miss finally grew frightened, unable to help but clutch Brendel’s arm gently with her small hand.
Brendel turned to pat her hand reassuringly before facing the mercenary with a look of disdain, saying, “You see, this cart has a lady on board. She doesn’t welcome you; you can leave now.”
Brendel’s firmness evidently angered the man. The mercenary cursed and tried to force his way onto the cart. Those observing from behind also attempted to rush in; they seemed to have concluded that Brendel, as a noble young man, wouldn’t dare take action during such a frenzied moment.
“My Lord, don’t deal with him—” Charles hadn’t finished his sentence when he was left wide-eyed, seeing Brendel coldly pull back his sword and stab it into the mercenary’s chest, then with a kick, send him tumbling off.
The man died with disbelief still etched on his face; he could not believe Brendel had actually acted. Yet Brendel made it clear — don’t entertain ideas about me, I am not one to be trifled with; although he was no different from a commoner most of the time, soft-hearted and unable to bear the sight of others in distress, when it came to his bottom line, Brendel was decisively ruthless, never showing any mercy.
Just like the first time he killed someone in the Pine Castle, he felt nauseous afterward, but he never hesitated at the moment of the act.
The mercenary’s body fell heavily to the ground, causing those around to instinctively step back — they were startled by Brendel’s indifference to human life, but they quickly remembered — they were the larger group.
“Damn nobles, killing in the street!” someone shouted immediately.
“Yeah, we just wanted a free ride.”
“Those murderers!”
“They never see us commoners as people; we don’t count in their eyes.” As people slowly encroached, they blurred the truth and loudly incited those nearby.
“Show him what’s what!”
“Drag him down from the cart…”
“Kill him!” Most people, at the end of the day, were unaware of the truth; they merely believed what they were told and shown, and soon a throng gathered around the cart.
Charles and Romaine both wore worried expressions, clearly sensing that the situation was going south.
Brendel held his sword, sitting steady on one side of the cart, remaining silent, only coldly observing the crowd. Before long, another man rushed forward boldly, thinking that under the spotlight of many, this “noble youth” would at least show some restraint.
But he was mistaken.
Brendel said nothing, simply thrusting his sword through the man’s throat, leaving him grasping his throat in shock before collapsing.
The young man’s swift action not only startled the petty criminals but also caused an uproar among the surrounding crowd.
But Brendel immediately stood up, leaping off the cart. His jump caused everyone around to instinctively step back, and he stood amidst them, coldly looking around, one hand resting on his sword. Suddenly, he swung his sword above the heads of the crowd—
A gust of sword wind passed closely over their heads, feeling a chill, and besides some hair falling, a nearby building’s roof abruptly split open with a crack nearly ten feet long.
Everyone turned, staring dumbfounded at the fissure.
“Think wisely,” Brendel coldly stated before sheathing his sword and climbing back onto the cart. In truth, he cared more about how Freya was faring, wondering why she hadn’t appeared yet.
But Romaine looked at him with sparkling eyes.
“You’re so amazing, Brendel,” Merchant Miss exclaimed.
“Killing isn’t really a skill, especially against these commoners.” Brendel shook his head.
“But you’re the only one who will protect me.”
Brendel was taken aback, then smiled faintly.
…
