Chapter 731: Act 88 – Redemption III
The hall had transformed into a shambles, painted in the glaring, bloody splatters of a battlefield. Soldiers clad in red and white war robes slowly stepped over bodies stacked upon one another, crossing the streams of blood that had pooled beneath them. Their cold iron boots marched in unison over the viscous carpet of blood, encircling the corner where Brendel stood.
The half-elf princess still struggled to break free from Brendel’s iron-like grip on her wrist. She wrenched at it for a moment, but soon relented, her voice cold as she asked, “Viscount Kartel, what do you intend to do?”
In the face of Haruz’s panicked gaze, Brendel placed the dark blade of the Earth Sword, which gleamed like obsidian, against Grifian’s neck, then answered after ensuring the two knights nearby had halted their steps, “Of course, we intend to hack our way out.”
“Hack our way out?” Princess Grifian glanced suspiciously at the soldiers; in her view, they were all members of the same clique as Viscount Kartel.
Brendel did not elaborate further. He used his sword to quiet the knight and the lady-in-waiting beside the princess and continued, “If you don’t want your lovely Highness to be harmed, follow my instructions. Come with me as we retreat toward the stairs and ascend to the second floor.”
Uncertain about what ‘Viscount Kartel’ truly wanted, Princess Grifian let out a soft huff.
“Your Highness, if there is still a chance for Bethyl to survive, that is what you want, isn’t it? So I hope you will cooperate with me. I believe you possess enough intelligence and calmness to assess the current pros and cons. Allowing all of us to die here will benefit no one except your enemies—”
“Teacher…”
Haruz looked at him with some hesitation, only to be met with a sharp glare from Brendel.
The look on Princess Grifian’s face showed her distrust that ‘Kartel’ would suddenly change sides; she would rather believe that there was some conspiracy at play. However, Brendel had at least made one point: since her first departure from the Golden Palace at sixteen, Princess Grifian had maintained her qualities as an outstanding politician, able to calmly analyze situations and accept less-than-ideal choices as long as they weren’t the worst possible ones.
Personal feelings had always been an unreachable luxury for her; sometimes her reason felt like a finely-tuned machine, stubborn and indifferent to herself, while firmly holding onto the hope in her heart. She had sacrificed everything for her past, which led to the tragic fate of the High Princess, sympathized and resonated with by all Erluin players throughout history.
Thus, she did not reject Brendel’s words, nor did she agree with them. That was enough; Brendel understood that Princess Grifian had not completely let her guard down but knew at least she would not intentionally work against him.
Next, they needed to carve a bloody path, and he hoped there would be no one behind him ready to trip him up at this critical moment.
He quickly led Princess Grifian toward the stairs, and indeed, she did not resist. However, she glanced at the two disheveled knights tending to Bethyl, finally breathing a sigh of relief. For Princess Grifian, as long as Bethyl could leave this place, everything else was inconsequential.
In her plans, Anlek would become the nobility’s greatest threat after losing the royal family that had drawn the focus of attention. This threat would evolve into confrontation as time passed, ultimately leading to the start of war. However, that lord from the plateau was not as weak as the Corvado royal family; the noble conflict would surely end in mutual destruction and compromise, and the restless Madara would not give up this precious opportunity. The Undead Army would sweep across the scorched earth.
Afterward, the Crusian would not want to face the Emperor wielding the Mercury Staff head-on; thus, supporting resistance forces within Erluin would be the inevitable choice.
As long as Bethyl remained, there was hope for the kingdom to rise anew from the ashes.
Although the ancient homeland would inevitably fall into the flames, she could not afford to think too much; all she saw were the blazing flames, whether it was herself, Duke Anlek, or the greedy nobles, all would drag this kingdom into the abyss.
She could only choose the better outcome.
Princess Grifian quietly felt the cold steel of the blade against her neck, calmly lowering her eyelids. Yet her heart was filled with sorrow as she reflected on her life, feeling as if she had constantly avoided making the worst choices.
With every compromise, it seemed like she was laying the groundwork for her next failure.
In that moment, she suddenly wished she could return to the past—to that year. She was just sixteen; perhaps she should have chosen a different path where the future of the kingdom would not be so bleak.
Brendel seemingly sensed the thoughts of the princess he held captive, as they were part of his own memories. Perhaps he, too, shared the same desire, a desire that had driven him to recklessly alter the doomed trajectory that belonged to Erluin.
It was this same desire that firmly convinced him he could leave the dream, knowing full well he already had an answer of his own.
With one hand controlling the princess, his right hand swept the sword horizontally, clearing the longswords from the hands of the soldiers who charged forward simultaneously. Then, with one simple stroke of his sword, he drew a straight line through the air.
As the blade passed, the soldiers barely had time to react, only able to watch as the obsidian-like blade cut through their war robes, tore through the metal rings of their chainmail beneath, and sliced through flesh and bone below, with a crisp sound followed by a shower of broken metal rings and bright rose-colored blood.
The color of the blood resembled red wine, but it was even darker.
In a single stroke, seven or eight soldiers flew back. They fell into the crowd and knocked down even more people. Brendel stood firm at the entrance of the staircase, but did not rush up; instead, he dragged Haruz up with him. Only after the two knights and the lady-in-waiting charged forward did he turn around to cover everyone as they continued onward.
Princess Grifian seemed to have just come back to her senses, staring in surprise at the unfolding scene. “What do you really intend to do, Viscount Kartel?”
This was the second time she had asked this question in a short time, but her tone was vastly different. Even with lingering doubts, she at least believed that Viscount Kartel and Anlek were not on the same side.
“I told you,” Brendel replied from the top of the stairs, slashing down at a soldier, cleaving through both the man and his sword. The blade cut into the soldier’s helmet like tofu, while blood poured out like a waterfall from the gaps in the metal.
He pulled out his sword and kicked the corpse down, then moved a few steps up, answering, “Just hacking our way out.”
“But you and Anlek—” The princess furrowed her brows, her eyes filled with suspicion—a query Brendel understood quite well, implying: I do not believe you would betray Anlek for Bethyl.
Some would act recklessly for love, but Viscount Kartel was not one of them.
Because he was now Viscount Kartel, Brendel had to accept this fact, even though the contrast between this identity and his past experiences left him speechless. He knew full well that his choice could leave him forever trapped in this dream, yet he was still doing it. At this moment, he truly wanted to laugh bitterly:
‘Your brother does have a certain charm when disguised as a maiden, but he is, after all, a man.’
Yet Brendel secretly surmised another possibility. This possibility compelled him to take Princess Grifian and the others up to the second floor. He was very familiar with the Golden Palace; the upper floor of the hall led to the backyard manor, where a hidden passage could lead to the outside forest.
If he was not mistaken, that forest should be the same one where Viscount Kartel was ambushed—where they had found the carriage earlier.
Although the positioning was completely off, dreams were always strange that way.
Thus, the entire outcome of the dream would likely manifest there. As for whether he would live or die, Brendel could no longer afford to think deeply. Sometimes, when faced with internal confusion, one must take a gamble. His uncertainties, the uncertainties of Viscount Kartel, and Haruz’s confusions had long entangled together, leaving Brendel without a clear answer to this day.
Regardless, as long as he went down, he would reach the end.
The two knights kicked open the closed wooden door to the second floor with a loud bang. The black wooden door was surprisingly sturdy, remaining mostly intact even after being kicked open by two golden-level experts. Brendel sent the young prince inside, followed by the two protecting knights and the aged lady-in-waiting. Then he hesitated for a moment, ultimately deciding not to hold Princess Grifian captive anymore, allowing this High Princess of Erluin to enter on her own.
Princess Grifian paused for a moment, lifting her head in disbelief to look at him.
“Viscount Kartel?”
“Let’s talk later,” Brendel turned around, raised his right hand, and aimed the Wind Queen ring on his finger at the staircase in the hall, where soldiers were bustling up. Then he began to chant: “Oss!”
A burst of explosive wind erupted from the ring, striking the curved staircase. The wooden boards comprising the staircase first buckled inward, then split apart in the middle, blown open into a massive hole as wood splinters rained down.
However, it was as if a blood rain had fallen in the hall.
Brendel and the princess at the door were somewhat splattered with it. The princess looked at Brendel, now covered in blood, and asked, “Viscount Kartel, are you truly willing to sacrifice everything for Bethyl?”
No, everything else may be possible, but Brendel swore that this was absolutely unrelated. He turned his head and saw Haruz, not far away, blush from what his sister had said, and sighed, answering, “Your Highness, I don’t think this is the time to express determination… If possible, I would certainly help you take care of Her Highness, but our urgent priority is to leave this place.”
But Princess Grifian looked at him and shook her head. “You don’t understand; I am already in a deadlock. If I do not die, the conflict between the nobility and Anlek will never come to the surface, and this kingdom will only decline day by day, until it falls into the depths of fire—”
“This knot was tied by me, and it must also be untied by me. I only worry whether Bethyl can discern who she can trust; I hope you will give me a clear answer, Viscount Kartel.”
Brendel stopped.
Once there was a rumor that Princess Grifian had secretly contacted the wind spirits to counter Anlek; she had sent a letter with the spirit’s embassy, but the news had eventually leaked, igniting the murderous intent of that powerful duke. Shortly thereafter, in a manner similar to this evening’s banquet, he employed an assassin to kill the princess and framed it as a plot by Madara.
However, afterwards, nobody could find any relevant evidence—except for the empty letter.
What the princess had sent with the spirit’s embassy was an empty letter. Some suspected it was a narrative set up by the Crusian themselves, and indeed, later investigations revealed that the Crusian had played a shadowy role in the assassination, with even the Temple of Fire being unable to escape its involvement.
But suddenly, Brendel seemed to guess another truth.
“That empty letter brought back by the wind spirit’s embassy was just a way for you to push Anlek to act, wasn’t it, Your Highness?”
Princess Grifian looked at him in surprise. “How do you know? Anlek already knows? No, that’s not right; if he knew, he would not have chosen to act—”
Brendel remained silent.
Anlek had been duped.
This regent princess ultimately used her life to set a trap for that old fox. Everything that happened afterward unfolded exactly as she had anticipated—Erluin’s civil war, the Third Black Rose War, Haruz marrying Elara, and the establishment of Erluin’s resistance organization.
But he felt no relief; instead, he felt anger. The princess had not only orchestrated a scheme against Anlek but had also deceived all those who supported her. He could never forget the night when Montstros was engulfed in flames.
Nor could he forget the forlorn expression of his senior when she left.
He fixed his gaze on the princess before him, unsure whether to trust her words as they echoed his memories.
Yet Brendel calmly suppressed his dissatisfaction, knowing that negative emotions in a dream were nothing but confusion, and the pale ghosts lingering in the dark manipulated people’s hearts to lead them into losing control over their own emotions.
No one understood this better than Brendel.
He had asked to test Viscount Kartel’s feelings, just as he understood that within this recurring dream, Kartel must have gone through the same scenes, meaning this noble lord certainly shared the same confusions buried within himself.
The strategy was now useless.
Brendel cast it aside. Lacking a strategy did not mean he was immobilized; he was first and foremost an excellent player, and secondly, he possessed a more steadfast emotion. If he could not defend, then he must take the initiative to attack.
First, he needed to answer himself a question: How did Viscount Kartel respond to his own confusion back then?
And how would he respond now?
Brendel paused for a moment, then replied to Princess Grifian, “Sometimes, the correct choice isn’t necessarily what is right, Your Highness.”
“Then what counts as the right choice?” The High Princess lifted her head, looking at him in confusion, as if she heard something in the noble lord’s words.
That same question echoed in Brendel’s heart, a haunting reproach from Kartel’s ghost: what truly constitutes the right choice?
Brendel raised his gaze, looking down; those soldiers in red and white war robes were struggling back up from the smoke-filled hall. He stepped back into the room and pulled the princess back a distance.
Then he gently exhaled, as if confirming the thought in his heart, and answered:
“One cannot always be willful, but willfulness can be forgiven—”
As he replied, he truly felt a stirring in his heart.
That was the feeling that belonged to Viscount Kartel.
This pale ghost, who had concealed himself in the shadows, lost his name in the mists of history, could no longer contain himself at this moment.
And as he stirred, Brendel finally confirmed the answer to his question.
He found—
The answer.
…
A person’s dreams are actually a subconscious self-suggestion. In the short time that had passed, Brendel repeatedly recalled his parents from the banquet and his childhood self. These memories, which signified his past, clung to him like a nightmare. But at some moment, he suddenly realized that it was not a mysterious being in the mist tempting him to lose his reason.
On the contrary, what lay deep within one’s heart was the catalyst for self-redemption.
Viscount Kartel was the same.
He frequently recalled the illusions of Brendel’s grandfather he dreamt of at the Golden Magical Tree, recalling the disappointed gazes of his parents as they looked at him. Though covered in cold sweat, he ultimately realized one thing:
Such disappointment did not stem from his failures.
Willfulness could be forgiven.
But evasion and self-fear could not; losing the courage to challenge failure even once, just like a weak person clasping a longsword yet daring not to take a step forward to pierce through the shadow before them.
He was that person, trembling with the sword in his hand.
That person had once been Viscount Kartel.
As well as Haruz.
He could take a sword to slay Princess Grifian; that might have been the wish of Viscount Kartel, but Brendel finally recognized that it was absolutely not his own.
If he made that choice, choosing a compromise that only satisfied the mediocre. Just like a person who lost courage lost the resolve to shatter illusions, a person with no resolve could only remain forever trapped within their dream.
At that moment, Brendel truly confirmed this in his heart, akin to the feeling he sensed from Viscount Kartel.
He could fully empathize with that feeling, which was fear and dread, confusion and jealousy, because he had made a completely opposite choice.
Kartel chose compromise and remained trapped in his fragmented dream.
But Brendel chose to recklessly change everything, to erratically chase after his true self, to fulfill his ideals and beliefs.
To give up was to fail—
Brendel seemed to see a pitiful silhouette flash before him. He gripped his sword, his conviction in his heart never more steadfast. In front of him, the corridor suddenly began to collapse in layers, and the surroundings seemed to melt away into thick mist. After the fog parted, the Golden Palace appeared like crumbling gravel, vanishing with the corpses of soldiers and nobles. Among these pieces, Brendel even caught glimpses of his parents, his childhood self, his senior, and all the members of the Scarlet Legion, with their faces blending into the mist, receding and gradually fading away.
But the final glimpse would forever remain in his memory.
Only Princess Grifian, Haruz, the two knights, and the aged lady-in-waiting remained beside him, and the princess seemed oblivious to the changes occurring around her as she gripped Haruz’s hand and resolutely moved forward.
The young prince now fully understood what his sister was thinking. Though he could not yet grasp the meaning behind that sacrifice, the history unfolding within the dream felt like a heavy nightmare to him. Haruz bit his lip, the glimmer of tears in his eyes, yet he did not shed them.
Many years ago, he still remembered the stars on a summer night at the Golden Palace when his father was still alive, and how his sister had told him then: a man should not shed tears.
Yet he could only recall how he wept after having his knees turned red from being lectured during sword training.
The dense fog parted.
Behind it lay a forest.
The starlit sky twinkled like a newly adorned night, and the pine trees rustled while streams flowed gently, with distant flames flickering softly like a dream.
Brendel remembered his childhood; the air after summer nights was just as fresh.
He took a deep breath, raised his head, and saw a carriage quietly parked in the woods.
The door was open, revealing a corner of a silver dress.
A beautiful maiden lay inside the carriage, a black dagger piercing her chest. She was stunning, her pointed ears indicating her identity, but unlike Haruz, she was a true elf.
Brendel did not speak.
But he knew her identity.
Bethyl Ramona Moonleaf.
…
(PS: This is the second update of the day; it has reached ten thousand words. I’ve been wanting to talk about the bottleneck I’ve encountered lately. It would be more accurate to call it a misunderstanding; it’s a problem I’ve been struggling with since the second half of Canaan. The more I write, the more anxious I feel, fearing that I have deviated from my original intent. The burden has grown heavier, so I find myself stopping to reconsider my original purpose every so often until Canaan halted for this reason.
Having written so much, I still haven’t identified the root of the problem, and instead, I feel increasingly constrained. Today, after discussing it with everyone, I finally realized what I am truly pursuing… Ah, I have lamented so much just to find back that carefree version of myself when I was writing Canaan. I hope everyone can understand as I find this writing has been quite exhausting.) (To be continued. If you enjoy this work, please visit Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendation and monthly tickets; your support is my greatest motivation.)
