Chapter 730: Act 87 – Redemption II
Brendel lowered his head, the brown in his eyes constricting with each heartbeat, calm as water, yet flickering with uncertainty. One hand slipped beneath his coat, while his exposed left hand hung naturally, pale and long like a sword, with fingers resembling white bones—thin, yet containing strength, slightly curled.
This was the hand of an exceptional swordsman.
He was fixedly staring at Princess Grifian, not far from him, his expression complex.
“…O-Teacher?” Haruz raised his head, pallid, weakly reaching out as if to grasp Brendel’s sword hand, but instead caught hold of his left wrist. He knew that Brendel’s hand was perhaps already gripping the plain cross-shaped hilt beneath the coat—the dark blade of the Earth Sword sleeping within a sheath adorned with dwarven patterns, held by a steady force.
He looked up, his soft pupils widening, fine beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he gazed anxiously at his teacher. He shook his head vigorously, a hint of pleading in his eyes: “No, don’t, that is…”
He had witnessed Brendel kill before, when they encountered a group of cultists during their journey; his teacher had transformed from his usual gentle demeanor into someone cold and fierce, like a sword drawn from its sheath.
In Haruz’s memory, the only person who fought similarly was Nemeses, yet the lady knight was nowhere near as skilled as his teacher in wielding his blade, allowing it to easily sever a throat, painting the snow white metal in rose red.
The air hissed as it filled the severed trachea, mixed with spurting blood from the neck, and the lifeless body fell limply to the ground, producing a dull thud akin to a heavy object dropping. Brendel’s gaze remained as icy as it was now, like steel; this was a soldier’s swordsmanship, a cold shiver ran down Haruz’s spine.
He glanced back at his sister—though she seemed to have changed significantly, more mature and beautiful, yet still imposing, she was undeniably his sister, and Haruz knew he would not mistake her. Suddenly, he recalled Brendel’s prior warnings; the fear in his heart grew stronger, like vines creeping silently along a wall.
No matter what, he could never bear to see his sister die at the hands of his teacher.
Brendel let Haruz grip his left hand.
He could sense the turmoil in the prince’s heart; the anxiety seemed infectious, causing his sword hand to become drenched in sweat, soaking the hilt of the Earth Sword formed from gray wolf leather.
This was Viscount Kartel’s dream, akin to the eternal slumber spoken of by witches, where only the dream’s master could decide when this long dream began and ended. Unfortunately, the viscount had long lost himself; his world existed only within this fractured, foggy realm, and to awaken him, he must reconnect with the memories he had been fleeing from.
The only way to escape was to wake up, but the dream’s master had already lost himself; his world remained within this incomplete misty realm, and the only way to awaken him was to help him find himself again.
Should he complete the task left unfinished?
A voice in his heart seemed to scream for him to draw his sword; the regret within Viscount Kartel had over the years morphed into a monster filled with anger, remorse, and jealousy, howling within Brendel.
“Kill her!”
“Kill them!”
“Do not regret!”
“Do not hesitate!”
“Ahhh!”
Brendel’s hand rested on the hilt, then withdrew, and once more moved to grasp it. He understood this was an illusion; within the dream, pale phantoms cleverly exploited the human heart. If he hesitated, he would remain permanently trapped in this mist-shrouded dream.
But what if…?
Brendel remained motionless.
The Princess Grifian before him was merely a phantom, yet the feelings within him were genuine; drawing his sword against her was akin to striking at what he had always pursued and protected within his heart—
Lost within the dream, one’s heart could become lost, fractured.
“Don’t go, Bethyl!” Princess Grifian saw her ‘sister’ clutching Brendel and hurriedly stepped forward to pull her back. She then led Haruz a step back, and two knights immediately protected them.
The princess lifted her chin, glaring at Brendel coldly: “Kartel, you know full well your identity. You swore to me that you would discard your past; you should be fully aware of your uncle’s actions. I do not even demand that you go against him, I merely ask that you protect Bethyl’s safety as her fiancé—but you have disappointed me greatly.”
She produced a letter, speaking in a chilling tone: “Your true intentions have long been revealed—”
“Elder sister, it isn’t like that…” Haruz attempted to explain, but was silenced by Brendel’s cold glare. The young prince still did not recognize that within this dream, they were Kartel and Bethyl.
And not Brendel and Haruz.
Before the princess could finish her sentence, Brendel suddenly heard a loud bang come from above the palace, shaking the hall as if they were enduring a terrible earthquake.
The nobles in the hall stumbled, screams echoing as chaos ensued; the crowd surged toward the exits, filled with the sounds of tables and chairs toppling, and glass shattering from the arches.
Yet one calm corner of the hall starkly contrasted with the chaos. Brendel, Haruz, the princess, and the knights appeared unaffected by the quaking ground.
Brendel observed the nobles plummeting from the shattered arches; he knew this wasn’t a physical earthquake that Kartel had once experienced, but rather a turmoil within his heart. The root of all this was likely the letter in Princess Grifian’s hand; Viscount Kartel must have encountered this same scene and remembered it vividly.
The princess’s words pierced into his heart like a sharp sword.
Brendel remained silent; indeed, the voice in his heart screamed again: “Quickly, kill everyone!”
But Brendel pressed his hand against the hilt, ignoring it.
It was at that moment that screams echoed from outside the palace. He turned and saw that the crowd that had just rushed outside was now rushing back in; countless soldiers clad in red and white battle robes emerged outside the palace, fully armored, their faces concealed beneath metal masks. They wielded sharp swords, killing anyone in sight, and in the blink of an eye, the palace was awash with blood.
“How could this be?” The young prince, standing behind Princess Grifian, turned pale and exclaimed, “Who are they?”
“It’s Duke Anlek!” Princess Grifian took a deep breath, raising her head to glare at Brendel: “Seize Viscount Kartel before Duke Anlek arrives!”
These soldiers couldn’t possibly be under Duke Anlek’s command.
In neither the past nor present would Anlek’s noble army ever wear red and white battle robes. Moreover, from Brendel’s memories, this banquet had never seen such a scene unfold. The scent of blood that had lingered in his nose seemed to become reality in light of what was presently happening, growing sharper and more pungent, while the acrid odor increasingly pervaded his senses.
Brendel lifted his gaze to see flames indeed bursting from the ceiling; in an instant, the entire hall became engulfed in fire.
This was Viscount Kartel’s dream, what once existed in the dream was now being restored piece by piece within their dream.
Beside Princess Grifian, two knights charged at him. Haruz rushed forward, attempting to intercept one, but this ‘little princess’ nearly tripped herself up while lifting her skirts.
Brendel drew the Earth Sword, and the dark long sword slid out like a black flash. Yet he felt the sword was heavier than usual, indicating that his current strength was barely one-tenth of his usual—almost at the silver tier.
Fortunately, Brendel anticipated this; strength within the dream was dictated by the dream’s master—meaning he represented Viscount Kartel of that day. However, being at the silver tier in the year of the Wind Elves’ glorious return was indeed rather inadequate.
The two knights charging at him displayed prowess at the golden mid-tier; no wonder Princess Grifian dared not to conceal her frigid gaze; across any era, the gulf between a silver peak and a golden mid-tier was insurmountable—barring some extraordinary geniuses.
Brendel was no genius, but the wisdom and experience he possessed were the cumulative result of millions. For example, his swordsmanship. Though he could only contend with the strength of Viscount Kartel, it didn’t mean he had lost all his advantages.
As the two knights drew near and hadn’t yet drawn their swords, Brendel’s blade was already a step ahead. The dark steel blade sliced through the air, glinting coldly in the firelight, suddenly appearing within the knights’ line of sight.
The knights displayed expressions of shock; they couldn’t even comprehend how Brendel had drawn his sword. Before the Second Holy War, the blade techniques of Wind Elves emphasized both offense and defense, as most of the Dark Dragon’s subordinates were depicted as monsters formed from dark magic; exchanging lives with such cheap fodder for such poor returns was, needless to say, unwise, especially considering that time had not yet grown as cruel and barbaric.
Thus, Brendel’s swordsmanship appeared insane to them, but this madman’s expertise far exceeded theirs, compelling the knights to step back, yet Brendel keenly seized the opportunity.
He pressed forward, sweeping one knight’s elven longsword out of his grasp; with a crisp sound, the upper half of the sword broke, spinning and embedding itself into a table. Never had the heavily armored knight seen such a savage display; he staggered back, while Brendel relentlessly pursued until the other knight lunged at him from behind.
However, Brendel did not even turn; the silver elven sword pierced through him as if striking at an illusion.
Not only did that illusion not pause, but it also spun around, executing a horizontal slash; with a clang, the elven knight’s helmet flew high into the air.
Underneath was a remarkably unfamiliar elven face to Brendel.
But Viscount Kartel must have been very familiar with it.
“Queen Wind Jiuyao!?” Princess Grifian was taken aback: “Kartel, when did you…”
Princess Grifian certainly would not recognize Queen Wind Jiuyao; Brendel realized after a moment’s thought that this was Kartel’s memory acting up; it wasn’t the princess’s surprise, merely that guy’s.
At that moment, he had broken past the defensive line of the two knights, took a single step to stand beside the princess, then grabbed her wrist.
The princess struggled slightly but could not break free; she lifted her gaze, biting her lip as she stared coldly at him, her silver eyes seemingly ablaze with fury: “Kartel… if you have the ability, then go ahead and kill me.”
“Kill you, and Duke Anlek will forever bear the crime of regicide, right?” Brendel glanced at her, and in that instant, he felt as if many things suddenly fell into place.
Princess Grifian shuddered, lifting her head to look at him.
“Anlek is a member of the Everything Returns Society, Your Highness; your plan plays right into his hands. He doesn’t care about the throne; he merely seeks to overturn this kingdom.” Brendel spoke softly.
He glanced at Bethyl: “Do you think your sister is still on your side?”
The princess also glanced at Bethyl beside her, her silver eyes filled with complex emotions, but her tone had softened: “You kill me, let Bethyl go; she truly cares for you…”
“No!” Brendel heard that voice in his heart wailing again: “She’s deceiving you; she’s in cahoots with that wicked sister of hers!”
“What a pitiful fellow.”
Brendel felt a sting in his heart as he looked at the long princess; for a moment, she harbored an expression of vulnerability that he had seen through, but it quickly returned to calm. Then he looked at Haruz and scanned the soldiers clad in red and white pouring continuously into the hall.
Although he had never experienced this scene, it bore an uncanny resemblance to memories he could recall fuzzy echoes of; the nobles were long dead—he just didn’t know where his sister and the others were. Despite being aware they were in a dream, Brendel couldn’t shake the unease in his heart.
“Teacher, what are you talking about?” Haruz queried in confusion.
Brendel smiled at him without responding, but in that moment, he already had a plan in mind.
……(To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to cast your votes and support me; your support is my greatest motivation.)
