Chapter 869: Act 47 – Two Letters XII
“Those guys came from somewhere, sounding like they had accents from the Eldake area, or maybe they are smugglers from Graywater Bay, in any case, they are probably from that region. There are about ten of them, most fitting that description, but two or three of them are a bit different. They are taller, their accents sound more like locals. Nibeto once noticed that they all use the same type of sword—a kind of long, thin military blade, with a relief of two wings on the hilt. … These guys live in an abandoned hunter’s camp in the forest, rarely venturing out and having little interaction with outsiders. They’ve been there for at least half a month. Captain Marden initially sent people to keep watch on them, but we found their range of activity to be very narrow, and they had no overlap with us, so eventually no one cared about them anymore. These individuals are not particularly powerful; of course, there could be one or two tricky ones among them, but they aren’t to be feared. … I heard that the abandoned hunter’s camp was left over from before the war. The original owners fled north ages ago, and it was left unused. The camp isn’t far from here—once you enter the forest and head south, you can see it in about an hour and a half. There’s a small path leading to that place.”
Based on Little Finnis’s description, Brendel led—or rather, herded—a unit of reconnaissance cavalry into the forest. At this point, the first round moon, Jin Hai, had already sunk below the horizon, and the second moon, Moya, had just risen over the mountain pass, casting a hazy light in the sky. They advanced south along the slope illuminated by the waning moon, weaving through twisted underbrush until they soon found the abandoned hunter’s camp described.
The moonlight was bright this night; the camp could be clearly seen several miles away, nestled in a hollow. Brendel stood among the trees on the hillside, looking down at the camp, confirming with Little Finnis beside him, “Is that it?” He quickly received an affirmative response. “That’s it, Brother Brendel,” Little Finnis whispered. “Captain Marden used to take us here for training, but it was recently occupied by others due to the disturbance caused by the skeletons.” He then bragged, “Honestly, if Captain Marden hadn’t warned us not to stir up trouble, I would have brought people to drive them away. Those guys don’t look like good people at all—”
Freya smacked Little Finnis on the head for that remark, giving him an annoyed glance. It had been over a year since she last saw him, and he was subtly indicating a trend towards becoming the new leader of the Buche militia. Aissen and Markmey were more mature than him, but the youth preferred capable leaders. When they were still in Buche, Little Finnis would never have dared to act so brazenly. The idea that he would lead a group into a fight made Freya furious; the Buche militia she led was never known for creating trouble.
Despite the young reconnaissance cavalry appearing gloomy, they couldn’t help but chuckle at Little Finnis. Rubbing his reddened forehead, he looked at them, feeling his pride wounded, and snapped, “What? Do you think I’m not capable?”
“Of course not, Mr. Little Finnis. We admire you a lot,” they replied quickly.
“Yeah, yeah!” the reconnaissance cavalry chimed in.
Eugen also praised, “This young friend of Lord Earl has exceptional talent in swordsmanship. One day, surely he will achieve greatness.”
Brendel glanced at Little Finnis, agreeing in his heart. In this era, Buche produced two remarkable figures—one was Freya, the other was Brensen—but Little Finnis’s swordsmanship might far surpass both of them. He didn’t know if this youth had died in Buche in history, but Erluin had not seen such a name shine brightly later on. “Little Finnis, what are your plans for the future?” Brendel asked.
“Captain Marden wants to recommend me to the garrison in the Manowell region; he has some old friends there who can help,” Little Finnis revealed to Brendel without concealment.
“Fair enough,” Brendel nodded noncommittally. “What do you think?”
Little Finnis stared at him, “Brother Brendel, I want to learn swordsmanship from you.”
For some reason, Brendel suddenly thought of Haruz. He nodded silently; this was something that had crossed his mind before. Upon seeing Little Finnis’s outstanding swordsmanship talent, he felt that such a gem should not be allowed to languish here unpolished. Historically, there had been no record of Finnis, but this world certainly had a place for this young man. He had the same premonition when he first left Buche, and looking back now, Erluin very likely missed out on a true genius.
In time, Little Finnis had the potential to grow into a sword saint like his grandfather. Brendel thought this without considering that his own reputation was subtly trending towards inheriting Darus’s status, especially within the noble circles where many had become aware that Darus had a grandson who was just over twenty yet already possessed the strength of a sword saint. In the blink of an eye, Erluin was about to have a true sword saint after the Anson era.
“Brother Brendel, you agreed!?” Little Finnis shouted with excitement.
“Brendel, don’t spoil him too much,” Freya interjected, unable to hold back. “Captain’s arrangements are made for a reason; I think it’s best you first consult Uncle Marden.”
“Freya, you shouldn’t be twisting my arm!”
“Hey, just explain how I twisted it; Brendel is not an outsider!”
“For the big sister, Brother Brendel isn’t exactly an outsider; I guess I misspoke.”
“You… you!” Freya was nearly furious at Little Finnis’s remark.
Brendel smiled as he watched the sibling bicker, feeling as if he had returned to the days in Buche. As for Freya’s concern, he didn’t worry at all. Marden’s plan for Little Finnis to join the garrison in Manowell was because he was unaware of the situation with Freya. Now that they had returned to Buche, it’s likely that Marden would seek him out without him having to say anything, as the old veteran who had participated in the November War would be well aware of where Little Finnis might have greater prospects.
He looked again at the hunter’s camp nestled in the hollow. He wasn’t here on a whim, trying to impersonate Bruglas’s law officer; rather, a sentence in Little Finnis’s description caught his attention—“They have about ten people, most of which are the aforementioned kind, but among them are two or three a bit different. They are taller, their accent sounds more local, and Nibeto once noticed they all used the same kind of sword—a longer, thinner military sword, with a relief of two wings on the hilt.” This was a typical cavalry sword; in Golan-Elsen, only one type of person would use this kind of sword—Whitewing cavalry. The decorations on the sword also indirectly confirmed this, so these three could likely be deserters. He recalled the last few words Test left behind last night, an acute sense of alarm rising within him, prompting him to investigate thoroughly.
However, he did not disclose this to Freya and Little Finnis; after all, it was merely a suspicion.
The group quickly sneaked near the camp, and Brendel instructed the reconnaissance cavalry to surround the entire area first. Whether it was out of a desire to perform or because these young men from Bruglas genuinely showed some skill, under Eugen’s lead, they silently spread out, effectively controlling the surroundings of the camp. As everyone drew nearer, they saw several dilapidated wooden cabins scattered among the trees, surrounded by a wooden wall over a person’s height, but the wall was dilapidated and full of gaps. The camp was overgrown with weeds, showing it hadn’t been tended to for a long time; just this alone indicated these individuals did not plan to stay long, for in this era, refugees were practically equivalent to outlaws.
Eugen took a quick glance and told Brendel, “These guys really came back; they are incredibly bold. I thought they would at least change locations.”
With Brendel’s keen perception, he had naturally already heard twelve distinct breaths inside the house; he mused that it was fitting for those responsible for local law and order, as they surprisingly had a bit of capability. Curiously watching the reconnaissance cavalry captain, he asked, “How did you figure that out?”
Eugen looked at the nobleman with puzzlement and pointed to the second cabin. Brendel looked down and couldn’t help but lightly clear his throat; right at the cabin’s door sat a lookout. He gently tapped his forehead; engrossed in listening to voices, he hadn’t noticed a bandit so close—it was quite a blunder. He quickly silenced himself, adopting a somber demeanor to avoid others realizing that this nobleman had made a mistake.
After listening closely for a while longer, he confirmed that, just as Little Finnis had said, these individuals were rather mediocre in strength. The lookout had around early Black Iron-tier strength, while the levels of the others were similar. There was one in the third cabin who had Silver-tier strength, but given the distance, it was hard to assess just how silver he was—though likely not above the median level. After realizing this, he felt a wave of disappointment; these people were too weak. Even if they were cultists, they most likely weren’t core figures. In Vaunte, this kind of outlaw was quite common; they often roamed various places to commit crimes, committing murder or other sensational offenses. However, their world would clearly have no intersection with his own.
Confirming this, Brendel shook his head in disappointment and signaled to the reconnaissance cavalry beside him.
The gesture indicated to the reconnaissance cavalry how many people there were inside the cabins, where they were positioned, and what their strengths were. This was a common tactical signal used by reconnaissance cavalry, and Brendel executed it with ease. Eugen, watching from the side, was stunned, thinking, could this nobleman also have origins in the reconnaissance cavalry? Certainly, he had not thought Brendel could be one of their bottom-level flunkies; he figured Brendel was more likely some high-ranking commander or a high-ranking knight. Yet he did not know that his previous assumption was closer to the truth.
Even though these cultists appeared to be mere petty thieves, Brendel did not intend to let them go. Rather than taking matters into his own hands, he aimed to pass this achievement on to the young reconnaissance cavalry. After all, these young people had accompanied him through the wild mountains for half the night; they deserved to gain something, even if they weren’t doing so voluntarily.
Under Brendel and Eugen’s instructions, the young reconnaissance knights quickly sprang into action. They first infiltrated the camp, silently taking down the lookout—just as Eugen had said, these outlaws were incredibly bold. Not only was there only one person on watch, but the lookout was also dozing off—clearly unaware that the reconnaissance cavalry would come to raid their hideout. The young reconnaissance cavalry didn’t wake the bandits until they entered the third cabin, leading to an immediate confrontation.
The silver-tier cultist reacted first, grabbing his sword and charging at the reconnaissance cavalry. Eugen also rushed forward with his sword, and the two clashed, swordlight flashing, but neither could gain the upper hand. Evidently, this cultist proved quite a challenge for the captain. Unfortunately, the cultist’s subordinates were rather incompetent, and they quickly fell one by one under the onslaught of the reconnaissance cavalry. In the end, only the cultist leader remained, realizing escape was impossible. He suddenly let out a furious roar, turned his sword inward, and stabbed it into his own throat, collapsing to the ground dead.
The battle ended more quickly than expected, leaving Brendel somewhat astonished at the fighting prowess of these reconnaissance knights, only to feel a sense of relief shortly after. The current circumstance didn’t imply that the combat abilities of the kingdom’s reconnaissance cavalry were exceptionally fierce; rather, it was quite the contrary—they had become accustomed to lackluster performances, leading to the boldness of these outlaws. They evidently had not anticipated that a local law enforcement unit comprised of noble heirs would launch a late-night assault on them. Had it not been for Brendel making them witness this fact first-hand, they would surely dismiss it as a wild fantasy.
However, the young reconnaissance knights were clearly unaware of this; they excitedly dragged the remaining outlaws—those still breathing—out of the cabins. Little Finnis, unwilling to be left behind, personally captured one as well. The remaining cultists were lined up outside the camp, with five left, while most others had their throats slashed while still asleep. Brendel glanced at the two taller individuals among the five remaining and specifically noted the swords tossed before them, which, as expected, were the cavalry swords of the Whitewing cavalry.
As for the third individual, Brendel knew full well that he was likely dead.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked Eugen.
Eugen, grinning, shook his head at Brendel. He was slightly older than his young subordinates, but still only around thirty—a young man in the calculations of Vaunte. Being the leader of the reconnaissance cavalry, his subordinates had already discovered during the earlier search that these individuals were all cultists from the Everything Returns Society. Capturing twelve cultists, five of whom were alive, not to mention three deserters from the Whitewing cavalry, Eugen could already envision a medal approaching him.
He cheerfully replied to Brendel, “Lord Earl, these guys are cultists, and they’re tough; they won’t spill anything, but it doesn’t matter. They’re bound to meet their end anyway. Once they’re sent back, it won’t take until next week before they hang. At that time, I’ll arrange for a nice viewing platform and invite you personally to attend.”
Brendel had no morbid curiosity to attend an execution; he wasn’t interested in such matters. He shook his head, realizing Eugen was not wrong—most, from the cultists at the bottom level to lofty officials like Anlek, were often deluded to death with no inclination of turning back. They most likely understood that once their identities were exposed, death awaited them, so they bore no illusions about their situations.
However, this meant he had wasted his trip tonight.
Just as he pondered this, a young reconnaissance knight suddenly burst out of the cabin, waving something in his hand, excitedly calling, “Lord, we’ve found another piece of evidence.”
As the young man approached, Brendel saw that he was holding a map, sprawling it out in front of Eugen proudly. Brendel immediately understood why he was so excited: the map depicted the street layout within Bruglas Castle, very detailed and typical of a military map. Upon noticing the wing markers on the map, Brendel realized this could be an internal document used by the Whitewing cavalry; possessing a military map in this era was already a grave offense, let alone one stolen from the military.
Brendel narrowed his eyes slightly and felt Freya gently nudge his hand.
Freya understood military maps well; she quickly spotted two faint red circles on the map, one of which was marked on Digger’s Street, number 52.
“Brendel,” she quietly reminded him.
Brendel understood immediately, swiftly leaning in to whisper in her ear, “Freya, quickly bring Antinna here.”
“Antinna…?”
Brendel nodded. He had begun to think he might have guessed wrong, but it seemed fortune had shifted unexpectedly—these deserters from the Whitewing cavalry, along with Maguska, the captain of the Whitewing cavalry who had met the gallows, and Test’s last lament, combined with this map—an obvious connection seemed to emerge before his eyes. However, he found it curious why the Everything Returns Society was so fixated on Antinna; what could a noble lady possess that was of interest to them?
Thinking it over, he found himself slightly puzzled, shaking his head. This matter was exceedingly strange; Test and Maguska were evidently high-ranking members of the Everything Returns Society, so logically, it wouldn’t be fitting for such foot soldiers to meddle in matters of that level. What kind of secrets lay behind this?
With those thoughts, he turned back to pat Eugen’s shoulder: “Captain, I hope you can assist me with something.”
“What do you need?” Eugen slightly froze, looking at this nobleman.
“I suspect that these individuals’ identities are likely more complicated than they appear at first glance. I advise you not to send them directly to Bruglas’s prison but to find a suitable place to interrogate them first,” Brendel replied.
Eugen hesitated briefly but promptly nodded. Clearly, he was more reluctant to offend Brendel than to claim a feat.
Brendel smiled at him, “Thank you very much, Captain. Rest assured, the credit will undoubtedly belong to you and your young men.”
Hearing Brendel’s appreciation made Eugen beam with joy, realizing he had likely made the best decision of his life.
