Chapter 87: Act 23 – The Mission?
The effects of Holy Water No. 9 were far slower than those of Holy Water No. 7; its recovery effects could only bring Brendel back from the clutches of death. With the help of Charles and Freya, he bandaged himself up. Thanks to his battlefield first aid skills, he managed to catch his breath, though he couldn’t help but feel dizzy from blood loss, his face as pale as a ghost. At least he could confirm from his body data that he was no longer in danger.
Brendel stood up unsteadily, feeling weak and nearly collapsing several times. Charles and Freya quickly supported him on each side. However, noticing the future Valkyrie’s actions, Brendel couldn’t help but look back at her in surprise—he had expected Freya to be furious with him for joking around and to stay angry for at least a day.
Freya, on the other hand, quickly turned her head away, her face flushed. Despite being angry at Brendel for deliberately deceiving her, she found it easier to accept this outcome than the thought of losing him entirely.
Of course, she still felt a mix of feelings, reminding herself that she absolutely couldn’t be tricked by this annoying guy so easily next time.
Despite the unexpectedness of Brendel’s return, he had not forgotten what he needed to do. He placed one hand on Charles’s horse and turned to his attendant, saying:
“Charles, help me up—”
Before Brendel could finish speaking, Charles hadn’t the chance to respond when Freya interrupted him, “Wait, what are you two planning to do!”
“Get on the horse, as you can see.”
“No way!”
“What’s wrong?” Brendel paused.
“After getting such serious injuries, you shouldn’t move around recklessly. Don’t you care at all if others worry?” The ponytailed girl lowered her head, her face red as she complained softly.
She couldn’t help but think this always happened; last time was the same. Did he even know that his injuries could be fatal to an ordinary person?
Seeing Freya’s expression, Brendel understood immediately. His heart softened, and he smiled slightly, “Freya, I’m really fine. The potion I took was Holy Water, you saw how Holy Water saved Joson’s life that night, right?”
Freya bit her lip, feeling somewhat swayed but not daring to fully believe him. She saw Brendel, who could barely stand, insisting on riding—yet she also knew that every time she spoke up, she would be at a disadvantage. Therefore, this time, the ponytailed girl stubbornly kept her head down, standing in front of Brendel.
Brendel found himself at a loss. He couldn’t explain the difference between Holy Water No. 9 and Holy Water No. 7, plus even if he did, Freya might not understand.
But he didn’t want to hurt Freya; after all, this future Valkyrie was genuinely thinking of him at that moment, and how could he speak harshly to a girl like that?
“Freya, let the Lord mount.” To his relief, Charles spoke up.
Freya was taken aback; she thought the young wizard attendant would side with her since he was Brendel’s knight. In Vaunte, attendants had glory because of their knights, yet was Charles really not concerned for Brendel’s life?
“Charles, how could you…” she momentarily didn’t know how to rebut.
“The Lord is indeed no longer in danger; he’s just a bit weak. But please leave the duty of watching over him to me—” the young man replied, stealing a glance at Brendel with worry, but more so with admiration and respect. “The Lord has a right to be on horseback. His presence there means he hasn’t fallen; he remains our banner guiding us forward—”
“This is his honor, and a symbol of the sword in his hand, representing what he fights for.”
Brendel smiled. Though Charles had elevated him too much, the reality was simple—he had to appear on horseback to give confidence to the mercenaries and refugees fighting behind them—telling them that victory was at hand.
The earlier battle had been too intense, and it probably impacted the refugees and the self-defense group. Though not that familiar with military matters, he knew his makeshift army was a motley crew; they could hold up well in favorable conditions but would collapse quickly in adversity.
Thus, he must provide these people with confidence. He was the source of their victory; as long as he remained, the refugees, mercenaries, and remnants of the White-maned Army would understand they still had hope for victory.
Freya looked at Brendel with a complex expression. After seeing him nod, she reluctantly stepped aside.
With Charles’s support, Brendel finally swung onto the horse, but to be honest, he felt so weak that he doubted whether he could hold the reins. He couldn’t help but think just days ago, he was an ordinary person who didn’t know what right he had to insist this way—but to his surprise, with sheer will, he managed to stand upright on the horse like a javelin.
To outsiders, it seemed this young general was merely changing horses after winning yet another victory.
But only Charles, Freya, and the nearby Retao and Mano could see the cold sweat on Brendel’s forehead and his slightly trembling arms—yet Brendel said nothing, not even casting a glance at those around him; he maintained a serious and aloof expression.
Retao and Mano exchanged glances, unable to resist bowing deeply to Brendel before stepping aside to continue directing the regrouping cavalry. They had intended to assist Brendel, but seeing the scene, they understood he neither needed nor would allow their help.
While they may not yet understand Brendel’s character, they at least realized at this moment that he was a proud man, and this pride stemmed not from arrogance but from a confident belief in his abilities.
This pride was like a banner—
Brendel fought to suppress his cold sweat as he rode toward the half-kneeling Sir Aibodun, casually discarding the now-splintered gargoyle amulet. Unlike injuries, a gargoyle controlled by an amulet would become useless once killed in battle. Though it might be repairable, the complexity would be less than making a new one.
Perhaps this was the most precious magical item he had lost during the recent battles, and beyond that, the protective gloves were probably written off—though they might be barely fixable, the outcome wouldn’t be good. The cause of this loss was the figure before him now, the ‘White Knight’ Aibodun—one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that everyone dreaded in the game.
Before this, Brendel likely had never imagined he would defeat such a general of Madara in his dreams. Yet here, the absurd had become reality, as Aibodun quietly knelt there, and soon, even without anyone striking him down, he would likely burn out the last flicker of his soul’s fire.
Brendel knew everything about Aibodun in life.
He was born in a year of walnuts, into a noble family, and naturally became a knight, joining the Free Cavalry Brigade of that time to fight against the northern Crusians. There he spent the golden years of his life, evolving from a small knight to a competent commander.
He commanded several famous battles, earning considerable reputation within the kingdom, then finished his life, ultimately somehow waking up as a dark undead.
Most of what Brendel knew about Aibodun in the game was historical; after all, Aibodun had been one of Madara’s top generals in his era, not someone easily defeated. Thus, he didn’t know much about this character’s quest line.
However, from today’s battle performance, Brendel suspected there might be a hidden quest line associated with this person, especially given some details he had mentioned about oaths.
Brendel knew that hidden quests in the game were often highly rewarding; for instance, the Queen Wind Ring in his possession was only the beginning of a hidden quest line and was already a 20Oz piece of equipment—this was a clear indication.
Yet most hidden quests he was familiar with began at level forty, with the most frequent ones appearing around level seventy or eighty; those available at lower levels were very rare.
Moreover, Aibodun was not a small fry—
Thus, he was filled with curiosity about the secrets the other held. He rode over to Aibodun, not finding the past identity difficult, and asked:
“Do you have anything to say, Aibodun?”
A brief moment of silence.
“Young man, do you… recognize me?” The kneeling undead knight moved slightly and asked in a hoarse, deep voice.
Brendel shook his head, “I don’t know you, but to put it this way, I know of Aibodun. He was a hero of Erluin, who has long since rested underground, back in the embrace of Lady Martha.”
“So you are him, but you are not him.”
Aibodun snorted coldly, propping himself up with his sword as he struggled to stand.
“Logically, you should have died, young man, but you have not.” He replied. “It appears luck isn’t the reason for your victory. You know the story of this vessel, so why do you come to me with such knowledge?”
Freya gasped when she saw Aibodun getting up—she knew how weak Brendel was, and she wanted to rush over to protect him, only to be held back by Charles.
She was stunned as Charles shook his head slowly.
Though the young wizard attendant did not understand the relationship between his lord and the undead knight, it was clear they must have known each other.
With that in mind, Brendel’s character would never easily take risks.
Brendel was somewhat surprised by Aibodun’s response, but after hesitating, he decided to use his gaming experience to probe further: “Earlier you asked me if I was of royal blood; now I’ll answer you—so what if I am?”
The undead knight chuckled coldly.
Brendel couldn’t help but sigh; it seemed there were indeed some differences from the game. But at least this felt more real than in ‘Amber Sword,’ he mused self-deprecatingly.
“It seems you plan to take your secrets to Lady Martha, Aibodun.” The young man sighed, sensing the quest stimulation would likely bear no fruit.
But this time Aibodun shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
He replied. (To be continued. For more of the story, please log in for more chapters, support the author, and support official reading!)
