Chapter 728: Act 85 – The Ball of Yesteryears VII
Brendel turned to look at the child who had bumped into him. The boy had already sat down on the thick, soft carpet of the hall, around seven or eight years old, with black hair and big dark eyes that held an unusual determination. The little boy looked at him with uncertainty, dressed in a silken servant’s outfit typical of noble households, white tights, and a pair of pointed shoes adorned with jewels and gold foil. A silver platter lay scattered beside him, with various dishes spilled all over, the reddish sauce slowly seeping into the carpet.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment.
Replacing that expensive camel hair carpet would surely cost a fortune, as such handcrafted carpets were only produced in the Silver Bay. Merchants transported these exquisite plush textiles across the desert using slave beasts, traversing thousands of miles to Erluin, all to earn staggering profits that rivaled gold. A strange thought flashed through Brendel’s mind at that moment; the little boy looked somewhat familiar. He squinted, trying to recall where he had seen the boy, when a gentle voice interrupted his thoughts: “Sir, I’m sorry.”
Brendel felt as if every pore on his body tightened, his muscles and skin rigid as he awkwardly lifted his head toward the source of the voice, his whole being pinned in place.
A noble couple stood before him, dressed in attire fitting for the era, specifically the simple yet exquisite style of the Haibeilo dynasty, inspired by the upper-class wood elves from the later period of Erluin’s revival. As they helped the little boy up, they offered Brendel apologetic smiles. “Sophie, quickly apologize to this gentleman; look at what you’ve done, you’ve stained his clothes.”
Brendel silently observed the scene before him. Although two deeply ingrained memories churned within him, threatening to spill over, he simply could not voice them. He never expected to see the parents from his dreams at this moment, in such an environment.
The noble couple standing in front of him looked exactly like the faces from his memories, albeit a tad younger, scarcely different from his childhood recollections. Yes, at that time, he was only seven or eight years old, often visiting the nearby amusement park with his parents. He glanced at the little boy again.
“I’m sorry, sir,” young Sophie said, brushing off the dirt on her clothes, her tone respectful as she looked up at him.
Brendel pressed his lips together, speechless.
He understood that these figures were the idealized versions of himself and his parents, manifestations of his confusion within this dream—where the human heart is often shrouded in fog. This fog exists in the dreams of the Nameless Ones, lurking to envelop you at any moment.
And now, he had stepped into the very fog he had long refused to confront. A mortal’s greatest enemy is often oneself, for only one knows what they fear the most, and this nightmare struck at the most fragile aspect of his soul, just as described.
Brendel managed to pull a strained smile from his stiff face. “It’s alright.” He struggled to maintain his composure, desperately wanting to find an excuse to escape. He watched as his parents looked at his younger self; their expressions conveyed protection and hope, and Brendel understood the significance of that gaze.
“Sir, you seem troubled?” the mother asked, studying him with concern.
“No, it’s nothing…” Brendel nearly lost his composure, quickly shaking his head.
“It’s normal for a young man to have worries. You may not believe it, but my husband and I feel a strange familiarity upon seeing you. So please allow us the chance to express our apologies; may we invite you to sit with us over there?” The woman with the familiar face looked at him kindly, her compassionate and benevolent gaze almost broke him.
Brendel took a deep breath, letting the cold air seep into his lungs to calm himself. “Of course, I would be delighted, but I still have some matters to attend to. I truly apologize; I must excuse myself for now.” He said this, bowing deeply to the couple before turning and hastily running away, as if fearing that staying even a moment longer would expose his true identity.
But even then, he did not know what he should use to confront them.
He pursued the shining trajectory within that world, altering the fate of this ancient kingdom. But did it truly have any meaning? For a moment, he felt lost, wondering if he could genuinely answer them without regret—that all of this had significance? Or perhaps he was wrong from the start; did everything he pursued truly exist?
For the first time, Brendel felt uncertain.
He didn’t even dare to look back as he plunged into the crowd, sweating profusely. Even after experiencing the battle with Ampere Seale, he had never felt so anxious as he did at that moment. He looked at the distorted, enlarged faces of the nobles, resembling the images of demons, as if a voice was calling out to drag him into hell.
“Teacher!” The voice suddenly became clear, filled with power, grabbing his arm. As a powerful elemental, Brendel nearly stumbled to the ground. He turned, drenched in sweat, and was met first by a delicate arm clad in silver gloves before lifting his gaze to see the lucid eyes of the prince.
“Teacher?” Haruz looked at him with concern.
“Haruz?” Brendel paused slightly, finally coming to his senses. He looked around, not seeing Princess Grifian, and asked, “Where is your sister? Have you finished speaking with her?”
“Almost, but I have some misunderstandings…” The young prince furrowed his brow, displaying deep worry. The way his brows knitted was eerily similar to his sister, especially as his neck tilted slightly under his long silver curls; he was almost a replica of Princess Grifian. Brendel momentarily stared at him in surprise.
This dispelled some of the confusion within him, helping him to calm down a bit. In that moment, he thought of Princess Grifian, of Freya, of Romaine and Buche in the mountains. These were all very real entities, providing Brendel a moment of solace. Yet, he understood that the thorn buried deep within him merely concealed its sharpness.
“I understand what you want to know…” Brendel replied faintly.
“What is this place, Teacher? Why has it become like this? Didn’t we defeat Duke Siphai at Ampere Seale? Duke Anlek has become a wanted man in the Temple, and as soon as the south and north unite, Erluin can restore its former glory, right?” The young prince grasped his hand tightly, resembling a lost maiden in despair.
“But why has it turned into this…”
“I… I asked my sister, and she… Without Mister Brendel, there was no battle at Ampere Seale; she married Duke Anlek. The old nobility flocked to whoever would give them the greatest benefit, even the royalists stood against the kingdom. And Madara… why have the Undead legions become so powerful? Sister Freya… Sister Freya died… How could this be? We clearly… clearly…”
Tears welled up in Haruz’s eyes as he bit his lip, struggling to hold back his emotions: “Sister said she would die here, Teacher, please, help my sister…”
Brendel sighed inwardly. He understood the despair in the young prince’s heart, as they had both experienced such hopelessness—their efforts seeming to be denied by an unseen hand. Hopes turned to nothingness, ideals and beliefs eroded little by little, with the path ahead shrouded in limitless darkness.
But if it weren’t for such despair, how could he have reached this point today?
He gently patted the prince’s head, replying, “Haruz, this is merely a dream. Have you forgotten what I told you? The Nameless Ones distort your dreams, only seeking to trap you within them. Everything absurd you see here is merely their means to deceive you.”
Haruz looked up with reddened eyes: “Teacher, I know you’re lying to me, right? These things have really happened, though I don’t know where they occurred; maybe in the future or maybe in the past, but I know they are not all falsehoods.”
Brendel’s heart jolted as he gazed at the young prince: “Haruz, why do you say that?”
“I don’t know… I just have a feeling, I’m scared, Teacher.”
Truly worthy of being an apocalyptist, his intuition rivaled even Romaine’s sixth sense. Brendel shook his head gently: “In the eyes of the ancient Crusian, history is layered because different historical branches yield different results. Whenever history reaches a fork in the road, at the same time, two outcomes emerge, and the witches believe each branch gives rise to a new world. These worlds overlap, and we are mere passersby.”
Brendel suddenly considered that perhaps there really is such a possibility, or else his experiences could not be explained. But unfortunately, that was merely a legend, unverifiable in truth: “Perhaps all this occurred in different histories, but it remains a dream. We have changed our own fate—didn’t Nemeses say that we should have a sword to change fate?”
“Really?”
“Perhaps, after all, no one has truly seen it.” Brendel awkwardly replied.
Once he regained his composure, he felt his mindset shift to a more stable state. But just then, he sensed the strong stench of blood and burnt flesh intensifying in the air. He turned around; the hall was filled with people engaging in lively discussions, yet it seemed no one noticed this.
Suddenly, the hall quieted down.
Then, the door at the center of the second-floor corridor swung open, and a line of knights marched out from behind. Brendel then saw his senior and Red Tea, followed by many familiar faces from the Scarlet Travelers team. Finally, a noble and elegant figure slowly stepped out from behind everyone.
Silence fell over the hall.
All eyes were fixed on that direction.
Brendel frowned slightly. The scene before him felt etched in his heart, never to be forgotten. He instinctively turned his head toward a certain direction. If he remembered correctly, the assassin would open that door, blending into the hall when no one was paying attention.
But to his surprise,
The door remained tightly shut, with no movement at all.
“What’s going on? Has history changed?” Brendel was momentarily stunned.
……
（PS: A notice, because Ka Wen is going out tomorrow to seek inspiration, planning to travel with Heizi. I will maintain updates, but the timing may be irregular; I will post from the hotel using a notebook, so updates might sometimes be early or late. I hope everyone understands…）(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please consider voting for it with recommendations or monthly tickets on Qidian (qidian.com); your support is my greatest motivation.)
