Chapter 889: Act 65 – A Message for Xi
Brendel slowly withdrew his sword, giving the impression not of a fierce battle but of a returning swordsman carefully sealing his beloved blade. He crossed paths with Lawak and stepped forward slowly; for each step he took, there seemed to be an overlapping illusion, each one showcasing a different sword technique. Erluin’s military swordsmanship, infused with the coldness and ruthlessness of Madara’s style, sometimes appeared akin to the grand maneuvers of the Faen supporters, and at times it was reminiscent of the ancient and pure knightly swordsmanship of the Crusian people. Yet, Lawak could not discern any of them clearly.
What struck him was the simplest of swords. The one he thought he had evaded landed heavily beneath his breastplate, blood gushing forth. His water element hadn’t even begun to react before it was shattered. In his final moment, he saw countless silver lines of law passing by as Brendel slowly withdrew his sword, sending pieces of armor flying like shimmering sparks returning to dust.
Lawak opened his mouth as if to shout, “Supreme Element, … Sword of Space!” But ultimately, no sound emerged; he fell to his knees and then collapsed heavily onto the ground.
Brendel gently swept the blood from his sword, transforming it into countless rose-red beads that cascaded into a crescent moon. The dust upon the rubble was dissipating; he seemed to walk upon clouds, the hem of his earl’s coat billowing in the fierce mountain winds. He raised his head, the distance from him to the Empire’s Earth Dragon Knights was precisely the length of a city gate passage. The imperial knights were lining up, and the sound of horns blared. It seemed they were calling out a peculiar command; the front row of Earth Dragon Knights began to advance slowly, the ground vibrating slightly beneath them, their long spears rising like a forest. Their flags undulated like a fiery sea, glinting silver armor rising and falling in rhythm. Brendel heard their command, then rows of longspears leveled, forming a beam aimed at him, intersecting lines.
The knights surged forward.
The undulating longspears resembled a black wave.
Yet in that moment, Brendel thought only of Xi. He silently regarded those knights, as if a voice within him echoed—“Did you hear that, Xi? Whatever that empress told you, this shall be the Cold Fir Lord’s response.” Brendel gradually quickened his pace, and the knights began to enter a sprint phase. The two sides crossed in an instant, yet it felt as though an invisible force automatically separated the imperial knights, allowing Brendel to weave through. With each step he took, a shadow remained behind, each shadow lifting a sword to block a knight’s long spear, then sending a knight along with his Earth Dragon flying away.
After ten steps, the front lines of the knight order had completely collapsed.
The knights fell about in disarray.
“So this… this is the Sword Saint…” The Duchess stared, dumbfounded by the scene, feeling her usual worldview upended in that moment, her mind filled with a buzzing cacophony of thoughts but unable to utter a single word. The developments seemed to exceed all her expectations from the beginning; she couldn’t fathom Brendel’s intentions, which didn’t appear to be merely for pride or youthful impulse. Everything the opponent had done was evidently premeditated, yet she could not grasp why he would do such a thing.
Was it for a subordinate taken by the Empire? No, she never considered that possibility, unless he was truly insane.
Unfortunately, the most unbelievable notion she pondered was perhaps the closest to the truth.
Beside her, the spherical man had long since been rendered speechless, collapsing to the ground.
Golan-Elsen’s little princess tightly grasped her nurse’s hand, trembling as she asked, “Mama Elsa, is the earl provoking a war?”
The young nurse’s face was ashen, trembling and unable to utter a word.
To her, this clearly already was a war.
Gray Saint Mephistopheles had once single-handedly faced thousands at Orler, instilling fear in the Empire, even forcing the emperor to deploy two knight orders and three sword saints to besiege him, yet he still departed unharmed.
But what Brendel did now was merely to replicate that feat—the offensive power of elementally empowered warriors on the battlefield was unmatched. Although he could not singlehandedly face an entire legion, dealing with a mere hundred Earth Dragon Knights was hardly a significant challenge for him. After the imperial knights’ initial attack faltered, they swiftly began to adjust their strategy, attempting to surround him, leveraging their numerical advantage to constrain his range of motion. Typically, this was the most effective method against powerful elementally endowed warriors.
But that was merely typical.
Brendel took his last step forward, as if crossing not just a physical distance—a step of a hundred meters, as if his rear foot had just left the ground and his front foot had already reached the furthest flanks of the knights’ encirclement. The Earth Dragon Knight hadn’t reacted in time; he saw the space before him shimmer slightly, and a brilliant silver light burst forth. Then, he and his saddle were thrown from the back of the Earth Dragon.
With a single swipe of his sword, Brendel’s illusions had not yet faded, and he had already appeared in another direction. Another streak of silver emerged, and a knight was sent flying diagonally.
In an instant, multiple versions of Brendel appeared within the shrinking encirclement of knights.
The shadows appeared in sequence and then vanished, leaving only one—Brendel, alone, standing with his sword at the center of the imperial knights’ encirclement, all the knights atop their Earth Dragons abandoned their mounts, while the imperial knights further out had already been rendered dumbfounded.
They were not unaccustomed to sword saints—
The Empire boasted many sword saints, two of whom were among the four legions, and seven in the temple, not including those scattered among legends. A century prior, the Empire had two sword saints who had become legendary figures, but among the sword saints they knew, none possessed such bizarre swordsmanship. Brendel flicked the dust off the sleeve of his black wool coat, raised his head to look at the knights surrounding him, thinking to himself that his performance was still quite lacking.
He needed a battle to become famous, to ensure that everyone dared not underestimate his existence, to make the Crusian people understand that he was Darus’s grandson, heir to the coalition’s marshal, and that Erluin people were an indispensable force in the holy war. He believed that the Silver Queen would take this into consideration.
He raised his left hand, Bahamut’s blessing shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight.
But countless silver lines of law had already risen around Brendel, intertwining like a silver web that instantly spread throughout the city, and wherever they passed, it felt as though an invisible shockwave swept across the entire knight order; Brendel gently clenched his hand, and the entire Earth Dragon Knight order—as well as all the hundreds of silver-ranked knights—instantly lifted off the ground as if affected by an anti-gravity spell. They screamed in horror and struggled, but it was futile. Brendel gently pushed, and all the knights along with their Earth Dragons were separated, disordered and then neatly reorganized as if being rearranged by an enchanted hand. The center of the square instantly became empty, while the knights and Earth Dragons were each fixed in midair in all directions.
Only one remained before Brendel.
A lady, wrinkled, clad in the Empire’s red battle robe, holding a longsword, surrounded by a layer of crimson lines of law, quietly gazed at him.
“Lady Fanaw,” Brendel said, as if anticipating her presence, greeting her politely.
“I know you,” the lady swordsman replied in a voice filled with age: “You are the grandson of the Sword Saint Darus. If you are doing this for your grandfather, why must you go to such lengths? Your obstinacy will drag many innocents into war. Do you understand— the Empire cannot tolerate such provocations.”
Brendel looked at the older woman. During the holy war, she had once served as his grandfather’s aide, the eldest and most powerful among the three sword saints of the Black Sword Barrier. Though named White Shadow, she was the strongest among the Golden Flame Sword Saints, yet he still shook his head.
“My grandfather’s debts with the Empire, if necessary, are to be resolved later,” he replied calmly. “But today’s lesson is merely to educate certain arrogant individuals of the Empire: the teachings of the Temple of Fire never state that anyone is superior to another. Such Empires may have existed in history, but I want to ask you a question, Lady Fanaw—where are the Minren today? Why are Emperor Gilt and the three sages fighting?”
Fanaw looked at him, seemingly unmoved by his words, shaking her head: “So you would spark a war just to demand recognition for the Erluin people? Earl, such honor means nothing to the soldiers who die in battle; you must understand this. As the ancient Jiufeng saying goes: Those in power do not rally troops in anger.”
“There is no war here, Lady Fanaw,” Brendel replied.
“Are you deceiving yourself and others?”
“There is only a disagreement here, Lady Fanaw. Since you Crusian people believe that the Erluin do not deserve respect from you, then I shall correct this view through strength. History has had individuals treat my grandfather in similar ways; can you guess who that was?” Brendel answered.
Fanaw’s expression shifted slightly: “The Black Crow Duchy, you mean—”
Brendel interrupted her: “I’m glad you remember that, Lady Fanaw. Let me answer your question again— I am the leader of the Erluin Embassy. I fight for my kingdom, for the glory of my guard. The ancient texts of the Temple clearly state this rule, holy and unbreakable. Since you Crusian people have challenged the glory of my guard, just as the Black Crow Duchy once provoked my grandfather, you should be prepared, yes?”
“Wait, you are using the logic of a bandit— we are—” Lady White Shadow’s face darkened, and she hastily explained, but she was again rudely interrupted by Brendel.
“No one has dictated that Crusian people can be above the law, right?”
“This…”
It seemed so.
However.
The older woman’s eyes flashed with anger, and she couldn’t help but enunciate her words: “Do you truly believe that your mere guard can overpower the border legion of the Rozherians? I tell you, that’s impossible, Earl! If your selfishness leads to slaughter between the Black Sword Barrier Crusian and the Erluin people, the Empire will not tolerate your sophistry, and your kingdom likely would not accept such a justification!”
“Yes,” Brendel replied, “at least in comparison to your actions on Mount Arkash, I am not so cold-blooded as to dismiss life and death; therefore, all I seek is to bring certain individuals to lower their arrogant heads, not to take their lives.”
“Naive, delusional!” Fanaw raised her sword in response: “Imperials would rather die than bow down. Look to the sky, my lord earl; your abilities are not yet sufficient to force our submission. Have you witnessed the scene of two equally powerful beasts clashing? Darus’s grandson, if I were you, I would order your subordinates to cease any attacks before irreversible consequences occur.”
Brendel shook his head: “That is precisely what I intend to say to you, Lady Fanaw. Sheathe your sword and surrender; this isn’t about capturing an enemy but merely acknowledging a mistake to an ally. Moreover, your resistance is futile— if I were you, I would look up at the sky and see what is happening.”
Fanaw paused slightly.
She looked up, bewildered.
Not far from her, Afram and the Duchess had already stared skyward, dumbstruck.
…
Imperial sorcerers floated like scattered dust upon the walls of the Black Sword Barrier. The attacks from the black runed gargoyles and retaliations from the Empire were fiercely exchanged.
They were on the verge of turning the tide as the two hundred remaining gargoyles found it difficult to approach the walls under heavy fire, and gradually, they began to incur casualties. The soldiers of the imperial army could hardly suppress their cheers; although they still didn’t know how the battles inside the fortress were going, they were already achieving victory atop the battlements. As long as the enemy could not ascend the walls, tipping the scales of victory was merely a matter of time.
But all of that lasted only until the appearance of a young sorcerer.
Afram was alarmed as he observed the sudden war unfolding, while Aike and the officer from Yanirasu had already mounted their horses, preparing to assist Medisa in saving the refugees. For him, it felt as if his mind was consumed only with how to end things— no, rather, there seemed to be no way to end it now that this damned Earl had unexpectedly ambushed the Empire’s fortress, which was entirely inexcusable. He could almost imagine the Emperor’s rage upon receiving this news.
Moreover, in his subconscious, he believed this surprise attack would likely end in failure.
He saw that, with the help of the Empire’s sorcerers, the wall’s garrison was gaining an upper hand, while this Earl was still engaged in fierce combat with the Earth Dragon Knights. He had even sent a young sorcerer to deal with the battle on the walls; what could a young person achieve? The knowledge and wisdom of sorcerers were accumulated over time, and in Afram’s imagination, those truly formidable sorcerers should be like the old scholars he had seen in Karasu, with beards dragging on the ground.
However, the name “Charles” seemed a bit familiar.
He couldn’t help but glance at the figure.
But upon that glance, he could no longer look away.
Charles was slowly rising into the sky, his sorcerer’s robes billowing, fluttering in the cold wind— and with his arrival, every sorcerer on the battlefield instinctively felt a stirring sensation in their hearts. Once upon a time, the flames of magic were ignited in a bygone era, a wise being imparting a law that had never existed before to all the silver and black iron peoples— it was as if before that moment, no one understood where law-based magic and elemental magic originated; it was neither divine magic nor the runic spells of witches— yet from that moment, it took form in this world and shaped a great civilization.
Where does magic originate?
Perhaps only one person could answer that question.
That was Tumen—
But at this moment, all the sorcerers felt that source of power akin to their shared roots, as if an ancient voice was calling to its people, that deep-seated dread was sufficient to shock everyone.
Charles was responding to that unknown existence.
“Silver Staff Mage, requesting travel mage authority.”
“Authority granted.”
The young sorcerer lightly swirled his robe, silver flames flickering in his eyes, surveying the battlefield, unable to help but speak in a peculiar tone: “So this is the power of a travel mage—”
“Thus this is the source of law.”
He raised a finger.
“In the name of wisdom, law, flowing wind, and the shallow sea, reveal the third of the laws— the Dragon of Aether.”
“Every moment, energy is switching forms, sweeping and flowing without end—”
Thousands of years ago, the sun-worshipping people of the Anurian tribe witnessed that fantastical sight of gigantic dragons migrating across the southern plains, their azure hues like the sea, engulfing the sky.
Thousands of years later, the Crusian people witnessed this spectacle anew.
…
(PS: Earlier you continuously complained about my writing being soft and lacking power; now it’s time for a real show, right? Okay, okay, at the end of this chapter, I beg for monthly votes. Do you want to see more exciting scenes? Also, foolish! Don’t think about trying to gain anything from my power— I am not that strong in PVP… this reminder is for your own good; do you understand?)
