Chapter 727: Act 85 – The Ball of Past VI
Brendel remained silent and did not respond. Duke Anlek would certainly come; this was a grand performance he orchestrated, to regain control over Prince Haruze and the court after the assassination of the gradually uncontrollable Princess. No, here it was Princess Bethyl. Brendel turned to glance at Haruze beside him; the young prince was staring up at his sister in another timeline, his expression lost in confusion.
The princess seemed rather indifferent as she looked at Haruze, her pale silver eyes reflecting a complex meaning. “Since the Year of Blossoms and Summer Leaves when I escaped from the Golden Palace with you, Bethyl, you, Erluin, and I have experienced much together. You have grown up now, Bethyl; it’s time to take on responsibility.”
“Older sister, I…”
Princess Grifian raised her hand to interrupt him. She turned to Brendel and said, “Viscount, I would like to speak to Bethyl alone for a moment.”
After a moment’s thought, Brendel concluded that this was just a fragment of the dream, and remaining here held little significance. The only way to leave this place was to rectify Viscount Kartel’s regrets, and he needed to find more clues in the dream’s scenes. Therefore, he nodded and told Haruze, “Bethyl, you stay here; you haven’t seen the princess in a long time. I will wait for you in the outer hall.”
“Kartel…” Haruze looked back at his teacher, his youthful gaze filled with panic and unease, yet in the eyes of Princess Grifian, it seemed to convey a lover’s reluctance. She subtly shook her head and sighed lightly, “Let the viscount have some time alone; you two have a long time ahead of you, Bethyl.”
Haruze’s face flushed red, embarrassed by the misunderstanding, but he found no way to explain, merely pleadingly glancing at Brendel. Brendel quietly gestured to him; it was the secret sign of the tree spirits—something he had known in his past life and had naturally passed onto his only student. Brendel communicated to Haruze to stay there, gather information, and then meet him.
Although the young prince still bore traces of unease, the gesture from Brendel jolted his memory of their intent. He took a deep breath, managing to calm himself. ‘She’ nodded at him.
Brendel’s gaze returned to Princess Grifian, or rather the long princess in his memories. He was fully aware of the weight this shadow carried in his heart; she had genuinely transformed many people’s values.
The princess, who had completely taken on the responsibility of this kingdom, possessed a unique charm, like that tranquil surface of a lake, yet beneath it lay strength akin to the ocean. She stood there, apart from the world, observing the kingdom with a calm, wise gaze. She had spent her entire life restoring it from decay, only to watch it all eventually fall apart.
In her final moments, the long princess often sat alone, quietly contemplating, but what exactly was she thinking?
Regrets? Remembrance? Or was she calmly planning an escape route for everything?
The nobles who once supported her had ultimately turned against her, and the only ones left to support her were the players—an immense irony that a group of historical passersby had developed feelings for a fictional character.
Yet, the long princess simply watched it all in silence, quietly fulfilling her mission, fully aware of her fate, accepting it calmly, as if merely reading a book filled with words. But in the end, she had left a seed for Erluin—the cowardly prince who had grown under her protection and would ultimately take on responsibility.
This was the land that raised her, but what made her selflessly want to change everything after growing up under the nobles’ indifferent education? Was it merely a lofty ideal?
Brendel pressed his lips together. He had no lofty ideals, just like all the players—though the dream of the late lord Eke had once stirred every Erluin player’s blood and inspired such oaths. But were their feelings truly for the common people? How many genuinely possessed the sentiments of a revolutionary? The reality was insufficient, much less in a game. The players were merely depicting a romantic chivalric vision in their hearts.
And so was he. The longing for heroism and the special feelings toward the long princess and the Valkyrie had brought him to this point. He had never forgotten his original intention, carefully ensuring he would not fall into self-righteousness. Deep down, what he sought was still the vow to explore the edge of the world together with the senior he admired—a small, even somewhat ridiculous wish.
But precisely because of this, true self-sacrifice in this world could be so sacred, so deserving of respect. Brendel deeply bowed to the long princess, disregarding class and roles, as if worshipping the belief in the pursuit of beauty and pure ideals deep within his heart.
Then he turned around, feeling all past events dissipate in his heart. It was a special feeling, as if a burden had been lifted; the past had vanished, leaving behind a brand new future.
Brendel walked out of the garden with a relaxed yet heavy emotion, only to find Black Tea waiting for him.
Black Tea stood up from her post by the column and said, “You came out, Viscount.”
“Were you waiting for me?”
“I thought Princess Grifian would have something to say to her sister, right? They haven’t met for so long, and the princess didn’t notify anyone that Princess Bethyl would be coming; no one else knows but us!” Black Tea giggled, her smile showing a hint of pride, her demeanor almost identical to the impression Brendel had of her.
“The princess trusts you both very much.”
“That’s because we are trustworthy—nowadays, all the nobles are siding with Duke Anlek; they want the princess to stop her reforms. Ultimately, it’s because the princess’s actions hurt their interests,” Black Tea remarked with some dissatisfaction.
This part of history was so similar to what Brendel remembered. But he was more concerned about another answer; he asked, “But any reform should benefit the common people, and there will always be those who support the princess.”
“Them?” The girl clenched her teeth. “If those people were truly reliable, how would the princess have ended up in her current state? The princess could sacrifice herself for them, but would anyone sacrifice their life for the princess?”
How familiar this argument was! Hadn’t he thought the same? No, perhaps this was simply his subconscious idea spoken through the memory of Black Tea. Why was that? Was it true, as Black Tea later indignantly claimed, that human nature was inherently selfish? He had therefore left the now-turned-to-ashes Erluin, wandering north like a lost soul in the world of the game.
But this time, Brendel hesitated and began, “Perhaps there are other reasons.”
Upon hearing his reply, Black Tea looked up and scrutinized him closely. She squinted slightly, resembling a cat before the hunt: “Actually, you don’t truly think that, do you?”
“Huh?”
The girl smiled slightly, her words carrying a mysterious depth, “Because I see confusion in your eyes. Also, you are one of us; although you are just an NPC, I can sense the same essence in you as in us.”
These words caused Brendel’s heart to skip a beat.
‘You are one of us; although you are just an NPC, I can sense the same essence in you—’
This was not Black Tea’s original thought; she was not clever enough yet. This was an introspective dialogue with himself. No, it was more than that—it was Kartel’s self-questioning. Brendel had a vague feeling he had grasped something—what kind of answer was that fallen knight, who lost his honor and memory, seeking from him?
The two stepped into the grand hall of the banquet, having been entrusted with the safety of the Golden Palace and given the complete trust of the regent princess, allowing members of the Crimson Travelers to move freely within the banquet. As for Brendel, he was originally a guest invited.
At the center of the banquet was a huge dance floor. Countless nobles gathered around the circle, chatting with one another in small groups. They had their own social circles but would occasionally enter others to greet familiar or merely acquainted guests. The banquet was an essential means of communication for the nobles; many enemies and allies had been born in such gatherings.
A massive, ornate chandelier illuminated the entire hall, and what Brendel saw was a scene of opulence. It was as if the glaring light made it impossible to discern that this kingdom was barely surviving, yet he had witnessed it all before; now, it was merely a reminiscence.
He wandered aimlessly through the crowd, subconsciously trying to locate Anlek and his secret assassins. In reality, Anlek had caused him considerable trouble, and it seemed that in this dream, he would still have to continue opposing him. This fellow was utterly despicable in Brendel’s eyes.
Nevertheless, Brendel paid attention to every detail around him. The memory fragments of Kartel scattered in this vast dream; any detail could trigger a recollection of the past and thus change the scenes in the dream. Hard work pays off; soon, he found some discrepancies.
The clock in the center of the hall pointed to eight o’clock at night, two hours later than the time he remembered the banquet starting; from the arched windows on the northern side of the Golden Palace, one should have been able to see the palace complex and vast gardens, but Brendel lingered there and only saw dense forests, with darkness stretching across the sky.
The air still carried a faint smell of blood and something burning, akin to burnt food.
The clock’s readings, the forests outside that differed from his memories, the oddities in the air; Brendel inferred these were likely fragments of Viscount Kartel’s memories before his death. The fact that he could retrieve these memory fragments indicated that they held significance in his heart, hence Brendel made a mental note of these points.
As he stepped back, he unexpectedly bumped into someone.
“Ouch.” A youthful voice called out. Brendel felt someone bump into his waist; it must have been a child. He guessed the other was holding a tray of food, as he heard the sound of cutlery clattering to the ground.
…
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