Chapter 886: Act 62 – A Message for Xi II
Afram wanted to say something more, but he suddenly found Brendel staring coldly at him, and quickly shrank his neck, swallowing the rest of his sentence into his chubby stomach. The convoy of the embassy continued forward, passing by the imperial soldiers and refugees. Most people remained silent as their gazes passed over the trembling men, women, and children. Eynid, the Duke’s daughter from Vieiro, sensed that something was strange in the atmosphere of the convoy. The little girl from Golan-Elsen tightly held her nurse’s hand, looking somewhat scared, while Aike, who was closely following Brendel, appeared eager to help the refugees. He kept casting looks in Brendel’s direction but didn’t receive permission. The officer from Yanilasu followed behind him, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his attention solely on the imperial soldiers.
QiYala watched coldly, standing next to Eynid with an indifferent gaze that transcended her age, occasionally displaying a hint of sarcasm towards Afram and the others. Charles, Himelam, and Medisa each had their own thoughts upon witnessing the scene, but they stood behind Brendel, waiting placidly for orders. Juliette looked at the refugees, lightly furrowing her brows; she had seen far too many such scenes in this country.
Brendel, however, didn’t even glance at the refugees. His gaze lingered not a moment on the imperial soldiers; he pursed his lips and led the convoy through the chaos, disregarding the knights from the empire passing by him as if they were air. Although the members of the embassy had been together for nearly two weeks, they were still unfamiliar with the temperament of their leader, only knowing he was a close minister to the Princess and possessed power rivaling that of the former Duke Anlek. Both Afram and the Duke’s daughter from Vieiro had been warned before departing to avoid offending this future earl who would undoubtedly wield immense power. Since Brendel remained silent, they also didn’t dare to act recklessly, maintaining silence within the convoy as they approached the towering gates of the Black Sword Bastion.
The embassy quickly passed the merchant caravans, having left the captured refugees far behind. Only Aike was still reluctantly glancing back at them; he frowned, worry clearly visible on his face, unable to comprehend why the earl he admired, a paragon of chivalry, wouldn’t let him intervene. But the image Brendel had in his mind was already monumental, and without a word from him, Aike, though his heart raced like a cat needing to scratch, could only stay obediently in the ranks. He turned his head and found the little girl from Golan-Elsen looking back at him, her head tilted, confusion evident in her light brown eyes—she seemed unable to understand why those people were being captured; she was only seven or eight years old, and the world of nobles was still too distant from her.
The scouts ahead of the embassy had already informed the Cruzian soldiers, so at this point, the Cruz knew about the aristocratic convoy’s background. As the convoy slowly reached the base of the Black Sword Bastion, Brendel raised his hand to signal everyone to stop. Shortly after the convoy halted, three Cruzian knights arrived on horseback, the leading knight donned a silver-gray ceremonial breastplate adorned with gleaming medals. From the color of his sash and the mane of his helmet, Brendel recognized him as a Knight Commander. Behind him, the Duke’s daughter from Vieiro had slightly changed her expression; according to the common diplomatic protocols with the Temple of Fire and its affiliated nations, the empire should at least have their highest officer’s deputy personally verify their identities and welcome them into the city. The fact that the Cruz now sent merely a Knight Commander was blatant arrogance.
This was not the first time such an incident occurred. Three years ago, when the Cruzian emissaries conventionally visited the empire to meet the emperor for the New Year’s tribute, they had been treated similarly. Perhaps even earlier, before the Year of Frost, the kingdom’s envoys seemed to have already become accustomed to such disdain. However, when this Duke’s daughter read those events in history, she merely thought the Eruin’s power was weak, and it seemed natural that such a behemoth as the empire would look down upon them. But now, experiencing the Cruzian contempt firsthand, anger naturally welled up within her.
Yet she prudently restrained herself from speaking.
The others in the convoy sensed the atmosphere was somewhat off, but except for QiYala and Charles, most had limited understanding of diplomatic procedures and could only wait silently for Brendel’s decision. Brendel had anticipated this situation; he softly patted the still unaware Afram on the shoulder, urging him to present the documents. Realizing what he needed to do, Afram quickly took out the documents and seal ring, respectfully approaching the Cruzian knights with both hands extended.
He appeared extremely humble, to the point that even the military officer behind Aike couldn’t help but show signs of discontent. However, the Cruzian knight did not appreciate the gesture. He impatiently took the documents, glanced at them, and then tossed them back into Afram’s hands. This series of dismissive actions made even the most ignorant Afram react—this document in his hands was formally the national letter of Eruin, and if the other party were a marquis at the empire’s borders, he wouldn’t dare say a word even if that national letter were thrown back in his face. But the opponent was merely a lowly Knight Commander, technically not even a true noble. He couldn’t help but stare in shock, failing to understand where the other party’s bravado came from.
The Cruzian knight completely ignored him, looking at the fat man with disdain and waved his hand, saying, “Follow me.”
Afram stood still, not daring to move. He instinctively glanced back at Brendel. This was not the reception protocol that the Empire should be extending to those from the Temple of Fire, or perhaps there wasn’t even a protocol at all. Even he, though not the sharpest, understood that if he acted on his own, the blame for today’s diplomatic faux pas would fall squarely on his shoulders. Yet, this poor soul, close to tears, realized that Brendel seemed oblivious to him, remaining motionless.
Reluctantly, he finally stammered to the Cruzian knight, “Sir Knight, this… seems a bit inappropriate?”
He fervently hoped it was merely a momentary lapse on the Cruzian’s part, forgetting diplomatic etiquette. Unfortunately for him, the knight coldly looked at him and replied, “We are in a time of war, and we cannot open the Knight’s Gate to welcome you. If you have any dissatisfaction, you may choose to detour or go back the way you came.”
Returning back?
Afram was drenched in sweat, truly witnessing the Cruzian’s indifference. He previously thought this was reasonable; the world respected power, the Cruz’s fist was formidable enough to tolerate such an attitude. But now, experiencing this arrogance himself, he realized just how detestable it was; if he could, he would love to punch this guy’s face and then turn around to land one on that damned Earl of Toniger as well.
Of course, that was nothing but a thought; even if given tenfold courage, he wouldn’t have the guts.
But just as he was stuck in this dilemma, Brendel finally spoke, “Afram, tell him we are not going back.”
Afram, like an echo of a holy voice, quickly turned to the Cruzian. The knight seemed to have predicted this, unable to suppress a sneer. “Then please follow me, esteemed envoys.” He intentionally emphasized “esteemed envoys” with a heavy Cruzian accent, infused with sarcasm. This made Afram’s heart race with fear, worried that the proud leader would lose his temper and retaliate. Besides him, the other members of the embassy furrowed their brows, especially the backup officer behind Aike, who, as a soldier, had already tightly gripped the hilt of his sword.
Although Afram had a reputation as a spoiled noble back in Karasu, he hadn’t discarded the essential ability to read the room in this circle, naturally sensing the tense atmosphere. He wiped his sweat, continually casting glances at Brendel, hoping the earl would make a stand on whether they would live or die.
Unfortunately, Brendel still stood as though he hadn’t heard the Cruzian knight’s words.
This time, the Cruzian knight finally sensed something was amiss. He turned his gaze away from the fat man and looked curiously at Brendel, realizing he was the true leader of these Eruins. Though he didn’t know who Brendel was, it didn’t prevent him from speaking. With a hint of arrogance, he replied, “What’s the matter, gentlemen? Are you planning to stand here all day?”
Brendel glanced at this guy, having grown accustomed to the Cruzian arrogance in his previous life—figures from the central nobility like Veronika, Rainwright, and Brendel himself were somewhat tolerable, but especially these frontier Cruzian soldiers, who, due to their more frequent interactions with Eruin people, seemed spoiled by the trembling refugees and the nobles who went weak in the knees at the sight of the empire. Thus, these individuals were perhaps the most arrogant of the empire, viewing Eruin as little better than beasts. This attitude became especially apparent after the First Black Rose War and later influenced the players of Eruin during its resurgence, making dealings with the Cruzian Empire incredibly frustrating for them.
Compared to that, this current attitude was still relatively good, at least without overt ridicule.
However, Brendel did not harbor any feelings of gratitude for this ‘better’ attitude, as he had come to seek trouble. For others, embarking on an emissary mission to the empire was to participate in the mobilization ceremony before the holy war, while for him, this purpose was quite optional. He fixed his gaze on the Cruzian knight, inwardly muttering that the man was asking for trouble but managed to control his emotions, replying calmly, “We have come here to reach the empire, so naturally, we will not stay here, nor will we return—we are not going back, Sir Knight, do you understand?”
“Very well, what exactly are you implying?” The Cruzian knight seemed to find this the funniest thing in the world. He looked at Brendel and his companions like they were idiots, wondering whether these bumpkins had come from some remote rural area, having never seen the world; otherwise, how could they be acting this way?
“Our implication is that you must, according to protocol, open the main gate to welcome the embassy into the fortress. This concerns the dignity of the kingdom, and it is also a way to show the world that you Cruzian at least understand manners.” Brendel answered succinctly.
The Duke’s daughter behind him opened her mouth, and it was evident that not only the Cruzian knight but even she was taken aback by her leader’s sudden sternness. The Cruz to them was clearly intending to belittle them, giving these ‘country folks’ a show of arrogance; such diplomatic etiquette was clearly beyond needing the earl to remind them. It was evident the Cruz had known it all along and were doing it deliberately. But if Brendel did not remove this last veil of pretense, both sides could still save face; however, after Brendel exposed this, if the Cruzians insisted on their course of action, then their embassy would lose what little face they had left.
But of course, she did not believe that Earl Toniger was truly that naïve; she vaguely sensed that Brendel was intentionally forcing the other party into a corner.
The Cruzian knight’s expression also changed at this moment.
“What are you saying?” he could not help but shout in irritation, “I told you, it is wartime, and we cannot open the Knight’s Gate. Did you not understand, sir?”
“This is within the borders of Eruin Kingdom and the Cruz Empire. I have never heard of any war.” Brendel seemingly treated the knight’s scolding as mere background noise, casually replying.
“Really?” The knight couldn’t suppress a cold laugh. “Then you can go persuade the marquis. It was he who issued this order. If you can convince him that this place is not under the threat of war, I will naturally open the Knight’s Gate to welcome you into the city personally.”
Brendel glanced at him, responding, “Alright, I will persuade your marquis, but according to protocol, you are not qualified to welcome us. Originally, this honor would be reserved for your lord’s deputy, but if I manage to convince him, then he might have to come out personally to greet us as an apology.”
The Cruzian knight stared at him with widened eyes, as if looking at a madman.
“Daydreaming,” he stated, leaving that remark before adding, “Alright, if you do not plan to follow me in, then you may wait here. Of course, you are welcome to try persuading our marquis at any time.”
With that, he turned, taking his subordinates back to the fortress, seemingly ignoring the absurd Eruin bumpkins.
Once the Cruz departed, Afram, the Duke’s daughter, and the others instinctively turned their gazes to their leader. Afram thought this earl was merely trying to show off his courage as a means of retreat, but this young lord clearly underestimated how the Cruzians operated; they never bought such tactics. The Duke’s daughter remained silent, clearly sharing similar thoughts. However, now that the Cruz had left, their embassy couldn’t simply remain here, and both returning and asking that marquis would be a loss of face. This matter was evidently stirred up by their leader, so if someone were to smooth things over, it should naturally fall first on this leader.
However, Brendel seemed to treat the entire matter lightly. He glanced up at the towering city walls, then turned back and casually said to Charles behind him, “Cruzian obstinacy—sixty years ago, sixty years later, and today, it has never changed. Charles, go to my coach and bring me my sword.”
Afram had yet to comprehend what this statement signified, but the Duke’s daughter, more perceptive, quickly realized. She stared wide-eyed at her embassy leader, suddenly recalling his other identity—the Sword Saint.
“No!” she hurriedly protested, “My lord, you mustn’t be so impulsive!”
Brendel looked at her, asking, “How am I being impulsive, Miss Oni?”
“How could he inquire how he was being impulsive!” The Duke’s daughter nearly lost her patience, having originally thought Brendel was just somewhat youthful and zealous, but now, he seemed completely mad. She couldn’t help but exclaim loudly, “If you go to threaten and capture that marquis, it could incite war!”
Brendel couldn’t help but feel astonished, “Who said I was going to threaten or capture a real noble? Miss Oni, you mustn’t slander my reputation carelessly.”
“You’re not planning to do that?” The Duke’s daughter was momentarily stunned.
“Of course not.”
“Do you swear it?”
“Miss Duchess, while I do not dislike jokes, this one of yours is a bit much.”
Her suspicion grew as she scrutinized Brendel.
But Brendel indeed had no intention of capturing that so-called marquis. Firstly, he had no idea where the man was; he couldn’t exactly storm the fortress seven times over. However, at that moment, Charles had returned with the sword—a blade that was not the heavy, familiar Earth Sword he was used to, but a long sword seemingly sculpted from ice crystal, glimmering like crystal.
Brendel took the sword, weighing it in his hands, and then raised his head to gaze at the nearly four-hundred-year-old fortress.
“Miss Oni, you must understand one thing,” Brendel replied, “I never engage in such tedious matters.”
With that, he lifted the sword and casually waved it towards the fortress’s main gate.
A brilliant silver line seemed to rise from the ground, piercing the sky at an angle in an instant—
