Chapter 92: Act 28 – The End of the Story (Celebrating the Fourth Generation’s First Flight)
After hearing the story, the silver-haired maiden fell silent for a long time. She rested her chin on her hand and contemplated, then turned to look at the sunlight streaming down through the tall arched window; outside, the sun had already started to lean towards the west.
“So what’s the ending of this story, Lord Overwell?” she asked.
“The ending is that this old man is here telling the story to Her Highness the Princess; isn’t the ending obvious enough, Your Highness?”
“That’s true, but there’s one thing you haven’t mentioned, Lord Overwell,” the princess inquired with interest.
“Oh?”
“You said, ‘He also obtained something good during this process,’ but from start to finish, I haven’t heard even a word of you describing what that thing is—” the Half-Elf Maiden asked.
“Is that so, Your Highness? But I remember explaining it very clearly,” Overwell replied with a slight smile, pretending to be surprised.
“Are you talking about the badge that Aibodun gave him? It’s just a magical badge; it hardly counts as something good, right? I believe someone of your knowledge shouldn’t be referring to this,” she remarked.
“No, no, of course not. Perhaps you should think a bit more carefully, Your Highness?”
The silver-haired maiden became thoughtful, tapping her chin: “I think it’s still in the Valley of Saints. I recall there was a part of the story that you described very briefly, and the secret must lie within that.”
“Your wisdom is unparalleled, Your Highness,” Overwell genuinely complimented, “However, it wasn’t my intention to be brief; rather, at that time, I truly sensed two powerful presences lurking nearby, and I didn’t dare get close. I initially intended to warn, but unfortunately, I discovered it too late—”
“Oh? Although you aren’t known for your swordsmanship, Lord Overwell, I recall your strength being at least at the lower gold level. Could someone make you too afraid to even approach?” the Half-Elf Maiden glanced at him in surprise.
“Close enough, but fortunately, it seems those two powerful beings also did not wish to be discovered; they must have used some sort of strategy to make them retreat,” Overwell replied, still a bit shaken.
“That means the young man should have obtained something inside,” the princess pondered, “Right, you still haven’t told me what he saw when he opened his pouch.”
Overwell showed a look of appreciation, glanced around, then silently mouthed something.
After hearing this, the silver-haired maiden was taken aback, her expression slightly changing: “That kind of thing, does it really exist?”
Overwell nodded: “I had only heard of it in legends before; at that time, I was as surprised as you are, Your Highness. It’s just a pity that once such a thing is touched by mortals, it no longer belongs to anyone else.”
“Truly a pity. Otherwise, it might change my brother’s temperament; for Erluin, he is a bit too soft,” she looked at the high-ranking official beside her, saying, “Otherwise, no matter what, Lord Overwell, you would have taken it for yourself, right?”
Overwell seemed unconcerned, merely nodding: “Even if he is a friend of Lord Everton’s daughter, it would be the same.”
“Perhaps it’s more than just a friendship,” the princess couldn’t help but chuckle.
Overwell glanced at her, fully aware that she was subtly reminding him not to set his sights on her. He couldn’t help but shake his head; initially, he indeed thought of using the only daughter of King Obergo VII to win over the Highland Knights.
However, with this princess’s assertiveness, it seemed unlikely. Yet he couldn’t help but consider that since she was royalty, marriage would ultimately be inevitable; if that’s the case, then the young man might actually be a good choice.
At least, he was much better than many noble youths he had encountered.
Of course, these were only thoughts he could have. He bowed his head: “Since the story has come to an end, Your Highness, it’s getting late; allow this old man to take his leave.”
“Lord Overwell, please. I want to stay here alone for a while,” she replied.
Overwell looked at the silver-haired maiden and couldn’t help but smile a little; he knew all too well that she was trying to avoid her history tutor, Sir Panoson, who had likely been waiting for her in the side hall all afternoon and might even be on his way to report to the queen.
“Avoiding isn’t a good solution, Your Highness,” he quietly reminded her.
The silver-haired maiden smiled slightly, a hint of cunning in her silver-gray eyes: “But at least it’s a method.”
The door closed—
The princess sat in the chair for a while, then turned again to watch the swirling dust beneath the tall arched window; the golden sunlight seemed to weave a dream that made her unable to stop pondering.
What kind of story happened next?
*
A wind rose in the forest.
The low wind gently swept over the treetops, like flowing water, making the dense mist slowly begin to shift; within the branches, the white mist gradually unveiled clusters of fiery red berries underneath the forest.
As the morning’s silence was shattered, the sound of hooves approached gradually.
Iron-shod hooves crushed bushes and berries, gliding past the stony riverbank, splashing water like white crystal columns. A total of thirty-four horses galloped through the splashing water, and the skeletal remains in the valley felt the tremor of the earth rising up; startled by the sound, they looked around, and just as they slowly turned their heads, the glimmering gaze of a massive warhorse appeared before them.
They were all tall and handsome Anlek warhorses, their strong chests and forelegs directly striking and shattering the weak undead beings, flinging them into the air and slamming them against the white rocks of the riverbank, scattering bones everywhere.
The cavalry carved out a path through the scattered bones, then gradually slowed down; the leading young knight suddenly raised his hand high; thirty horses took two or three steps forward due to inertia and then came to a halt—over a hundred hooves paused in the creek’s center, and the rushing water could only flow around them—
A high-pitched cheer opened the morning’s curtain.
“We won!”
“We really won—!” followed the second cheer.
“Long live!”
“Long live Brendel!” When the warhorses stopped, as if realizing something, the mercenaries on their backs raised their hands in unison, and the cheer finally echoed throughout the valley.
Amidst the cheers, Brendel removed his leather helmet and threw it aside, wiping the sweat from his cold forehead; the morning breeze swept over, leaving his face icy. He sat upright on his horse, clad in gray leather armor, and raised his head to gaze at the verdant mountains and fields around him, thinking:
It’s over, finally over!
He clenched his fist.
That had truly been a nightmarish battle; as they entered the Valley of Saints from the wilderness, each person had exhausted nearly their last ounce of strength.
Merely two thousand refugees carved a bloody path through tens of thousands of undead; it seemed somewhat incredible, yet it had indeed happened. Perhaps some had left, some lay cold and lifeless on the ground, some grieved, some wept, yet the majority of them had managed to walk out, hadn’t they?
He looked back and saw the mercenaries that Freya had brought from the Bronzesteeldragon story meeting were now nearly all injured—yet every one of them gazed at him with a look of admiration, understanding who had brought them all this.
It was nothing short of a miracle—
Yet this young man had done it; he had promised that he would lead them to a path of miracles with his sword, and he had done so.
Freya and the self-defense group had caught up.
Her first words upon seeing Brendel were: “Brendel, did we really win?”
Brendel looked at the spirited young girl on horseback and nodded.
He didn’t speak, yet the self-defense group behind Freya fell silent all at once. Suddenly, those little townsfolk, the fleeing soldiers of the White-Maned Legion, and the down-on-their-luck mercenaries dropped their weapons in disbelief; they were stunned, hardly daring to believe their ears. After a day and a night of pursuit, had they truly won just like that?
An enemy that even the White-Maned Legion could not defeat; yet, they had repeatedly broken through the encirclement？
A voice unable to suppress disbelief asked loudly: “Lord Knight, did we really win?”
Brendel nodded.
“Long live!”
“Long live—!” In an instant, the crowd erupted with joy; they shouted and jumped, unable to contain their overwhelming happiness, some immediately turned to run, wanting to share the good news with the refugees behind them.
The riders looked at these ecstatic people, unable to help but smile silently, knowing just moments ago, they too had been similarly excited.
Yet Brendel noticed Freya staring blankly at him, and he couldn’t help but ask: “What is it?”
The girl with the ponytail blushed. The days of battling and managing the refugees had rapidly caused her to mature; she was no longer the naive village girl she once was—she looked at Brendel, unable to help but wonder if it was destiny that brought such an excellent young man to their side to lead them out of despair.
“Thank you, Brendel,” she said softly, lowering her head.
Brendel smiled, but then raised his gaze, lost in thought as he stared into the lush mountain fields in the distance—he suddenly remembered the Alderbuck Forest, which stirred fond memories. Back then, he had traveled alone from Bruglas to Ridenburg, passing through that forest. He recalled it had a wolverine distribution area, and further up, there was an ancient castle, one of the places he must visit in the future.
Speaking of which, it was indeed time to formulate a plan.
Throughout the battles over the past few days, he had accumulated nearly 5,000 experience, but not all of it could be used for leveling. Firstly, opening the elemental pool that he needed would require 2,000 experience. Brendel had discovered that the Fate cards were a very useful magical item; although he didn’t know why such things were never mentioned in the game, it had become imperative to establish the elemental pool.
Then there was the scholar and knight professions; being a scholar is a secondary job that every player in the game must undertake, as it can expand the ‘extra main job positions’ and provide a significant amount of skill experience.
However, the inherent skills were rather weak, and it would occupy one secondary position; after all, a character only had three secondary positions.
As for the knight profession, it goes without saying; it laid the foundation for Brendel’s advancement to become a Temple Knight, and establishing a good relationship with the Temple of Fire was essential.
Moreover, only until the past few days did he realize that skills in this world were quite rare. Yet he soon understood that this wasn’t due to the differences between this world and the game—it was a misunderstanding on his part. If one viewed the people of this world as NPCs, everything made perfect sense; after all, only players possess ‘profession-specific skills.’
This led to many training skills he knew becoming a significant advantage for him, so learning skills had to be scheduled.
He couldn’t help but think that perhaps destiny had indeed a deeper meaning behind bringing him here. Because the southern part of Golan-Elsen had been one of the least intense battle zones in the First Black Rose War, it appeared like a beginner’s area, allowing him to gradually familiarize himself with this seemingly old yet ambiguous world.
However, even so, he was merely completing tasks.
Historically, Instalung matched his inadequate army comprised of necromancers, skeletal soldiers, pale riders, black knights, and specters against Erluin, drawing the curtain on the kingdom’s decline. Once, Brendel had scorned decaying Erluin, yet leading this group of NPCs had made him realize that warfare was not an easy task.
Sometimes, viewing history through a player’s perspective could indeed be too biased—
History has its inevitable inertia; perhaps when it fell into the hands of the regent princess, she too had discovered that she was somewhat at a loss, yet he couldn’t know what King Obergo VII thought at that moment.
After all, Erluin’s decline didn’t occur overnight.
Brendel snapped back from his thoughts and couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. At least for now, he had won this round; since yesterday, they had already cleared a portion of Marcus’s outer battle forces. To be honest, there was nothing noteworthy compared to the first night’s battle—but once they move forward, it would be smooth sailing through the sharp stone river valley’s northern edge.
So this is victory.
Then he felt someone patting him on the back; turning to look, it was Retao, accompanied by Balthom, Julian, Votalon, and Mano. He was momentarily taken aback; what brought them all together?
“Lord, do you have any plans?” the first to speak was Balthom, who always came across as somewhat commercial and rough in Brendel’s eyes, his conspicuous reddish-brown beard was hard for Brendel to forget.
“Plans?”
“We’ve discussed it; if you’re willing to take us in, we’d like to follow you.” Mano replied straightforwardly.
These mercenaries had no extra words; they were people who made a living on the edge of a knife. After these few days’ experiences, they found themselves more willing to work under this young man.
Brendel was taken aback, realizing these people were eager to become his retinue.
Yet he was not a noble; his noble status relied solely on the support of Charles, this magician retinue. However, after some thought, he recognized that he indeed needed people to help him. So he pondered a moment before responding:
“After today, you’re currently not quite suitable to follow me.”
Everyone was surprised, but only Retao perceived the nuance: “Then what do you plan to do, Lord?”
Brendel eyed him: “What are your plans?”
The group exchanged glances, and to Brendel’s surprise, it was Julian, the officer of the security team, who spoke up: “If the lord has other intentions, we plan to form a mercenary group. We’re all people who have fought side by side, and we trust each other.”
“Julian, you’re not going to continue being your security captain?” he asked.
Julian chuckled: “Not interesting. I’ve come to terms with it, and my brothers are willing to go this path.”
“What about the rest?” Brendel raised his head.
“Besides us, many refugees are moved; after all, most are displaced now, though people in Ridenburg might have more thoughts. Additionally, the people from the White-Maned Legion and the mercenaries are mostly willing to follow us; the rest consist of some farmers.” Balthom replied.
Brendel couldn’t help but cast a glance at him, thinking this fellow seemed quite capable, quietly assessing the components within the refugees. Of course, this also related to Freya having no defenses against them.
“Votalon, you too?” Brendel looked again at the former officer of the White-Maned Legion, who was a backbone of the kingdom; he found it hard to believe this one would have other ideas.
To his surprise, Votalon looked at him, thought for a moment, then solemnly answered: “—I simply wish to follow you, Lord Knight. If you refuse, I will have to return to the White-Maned Legion.”
“Are you disappointed?” Brendel asked after a brief astonishment.
Votalon nodded.
“Then let’s establish this mercenary group first; let’s call it the Amber Sword—” Brendel replied.
Everyone was taken aback.
Only Retao spoke up: “Then what will you say, Lord?”
“Find a way to keep some craftsmen among the refugees; of course, without coercion.” Brendel answered: “For this aspect, let Balthom stay and follow me; I do need some hands to help me out.”
He then turned his horse’s head back, speaking to Votalon: “If you really want to stay, stay with Uncle Retao; I don’t know what I can bring you, but I believe you’ll know soon enough—”
Votalon was momentarily stunned, gradually nodding in agreement.
“Then where do you plan to go first, my lord?” Julian inquired.
“I’m heading to Anzeck; someone is waiting for me there. Then I will move to Bruglas; if all goes well, I believe I will soon inherit a piece of territory, and then we can discuss the following matters,” Brendel answered confidently.
Everyone couldn’t help but exchange glances. There are many nobles in this era, but knights with actual territories are rare as hen’s teeth. It seems this young man truly is the legendary Highland Knight.
In an instant, many of them felt they had made the right choice.
However, Brendel raised his head to look at the distant mountains and fields, as his plans gradually became clearer.
(PS. Second update delivered; this chapter is over 5000 words. I continue to ask for monthly tickets, subscriptions, recommendations, and clicks.)(To be continued; if you would like to know what happens next, please log in for more chapters, support the author, and support legitimate reading!)
