Gleaming Thorn

The grotesque gargoyle stood nearly two meters tall, and even with its demonic wings half-folded, they spanned more than five meters. It swooped down, almost filling the entire space, and a fierce current of air swept across Brando's face. His breathing caught, and he immediately realized there was nowhere for him to dodge.

He immediately raised his right hand and shouted with all his strength, "Oss!"

A buzzing sound rang out--

The air in the narrow space swelled forward with a sharp whistle. Bang, bang, bang, bang—four explosions rang out in succession as the dim crystals embedded in the tomb walls shattered from near to far. A vortex-like Wind Bullet struck the winged giant head-on. Blade-like currents slammed into the monster's cast-iron surface and burst apart in all directions, but the gargoyle's upper body was also knocked backward. It flew away like a kite with its string cut.

A heavy object crashed to the ground in the distance, and dust billowed through the passageway.

Brando coughed amid the smoke, grabbed his sword, and charged forward. His experience from the game told him that gargoyles had sixty health points. One Wind Bullet could not possibly finish one off so easily.

Sure enough, he found the heavily wounded gargoyle behind the dust cloud. Half of its wing had been completely shattered, and a fresh blue liquid flowed from within, trailing across the ground in a bright line. The monster opened its mouth and shrieked repeatedly at Brando. Its other claw drooped limply as well, clearly injured.

Strike while it's down!

Without a second thought, Brando stepped forward, swung his sword with both arms, and brought it down with all his strength. His first strike landed with a clang on the monster's chest, catching it off guard and forcing it back a step.

The second strike followed immediately, but the recovered gargoyle suddenly spread its wings and wrapped them around itself. The longsword scraped across the iron-hard wing with a sharp hiss, drawing a bright shower of sparks.

Despite using all his strength, Brando's attack accomplished nothing. He felt the wounds all over his body threatening to split open. Still, he was not discouraged. His earlier attacks had been meant to force the gargoyle into a defensive state—that was precisely his chance. Brando intended to seize it and circle around the monster.

But the gargoyle shrieked and flapped its wings. The force of four Energy Levels crashed down like an avalanche. The longsword in Brando's hand was torn free at once. Roman's sword flew into the tomb wall with several sparks and landed far away at the other end of the passage.

Brando himself was thrown against the opposite wall. He grunted as his entire body felt as though it were about to fall apart. The only thing that remained clear was his mind. He suddenly realized that, because of the monster's unexpected move, he was now only a stone's throw from Girende's tomb chamber.

The thought cleared his mind like a sedative and made him understand what he had to do. He shouted, summoned what strength he had left, and struggled to rise despite the excruciating pain that made him feel as though he were coming apart. Then he sprinted in that direction.

Gargoyles were mechanical creatures. In places like this, they usually served as tomb guardians. That meant there had to be something that could command it. Right—the gargoyle amulet!

He had to seize the opportunity. Once it was gone, it would never return.

The light ahead grew brighter and brighter. Its gentle white radiance was warm enough to seep into the soul and soothe a person into calm. But Brando's heart continued to pound. He had only a few seconds left to live. Everything depended on this one move.

Then he heard the sound of something heavy striking empty air behind him. The young man tensed. His battle-hardened instincts drove him to leap forward, but he was still a second too late. In midair, Brando felt his ankle tighten—the icy gargoyle had extended its long claw and seized his foot, forcibly dragging him back.

Brando crashed heavily to the ground and coughed up blood. In the game, he had experienced situations more miserable than this. Yet none had ever made him feel as desperate as he did now. Failure meant death. What was he supposed to do?

Unyielding Talent still had ten seconds left. Should he take the gamble? The thought shone into his heart like a ray of light.

He gritted his teeth and rolled over. As though blessed by inspiration, he raised his right hand once more and aimed the ring flashing with a cold light on his index finger at the gargoyle--

Eight seconds.

A trace of fear appeared in the gargoyle's green eyes. It shrieked and flew backward, instinctively releasing the claw that had pinned Brando down. The artisans of Buga's Wizards were undoubtedly among the most intelligent people in the world. The war creatures they created were powerful and cunning, but at this moment, Brando was using that very fact against it--

Intelligence was like a double-edged sword, or an apple hanging from a tree, tempting one to fall. Yet once a creature possessed intelligence, it learned to think, to fear, and to protect itself.

Just like now.

Brando gasped for breath. He closed his eyes, and the relief of surviving a disaster made him tremble uncontrollably. But our protagonist knew he could not relax. He did not have much time left.

Six seconds.

The young man practically relied on sheer willpower to roll over again. He crawled toward the tomb chamber filled with a sacred atmosphere. The first thing he saw was the sword displayed atop the stone coffin: Gleaming Thorn. But he did not care about that now. He was looking for something else.

Three seconds.

His gaze locked onto a tomb niche on the left, the second tier, second compartment. He tore away the spiderweb covering it and thrust his hand inside. As a swarm of insects crawled out, he pulled out the bottle.

It was a long-necked No. 12 bottle custom-made by the temple, with a flame emblem on it. Brando rolled over and could not help pressing the bottle against his chest. He breathed deeply, as though trying with all his strength to savor this last stroke of luck.

Only a final instant remained. The pounding of his heart reminded him of that. Brando almost trembled as he pulled the wooden stopper from the bottle, then tipped back his head and poured all the sloshing liquid into his mouth. At first, a bitter flavor filled his taste buds, but the taste was so pure that our protagonist could not help praising the Deities in his heart--

Holy Water No. 7 (16 oz). In the Year of Shuo Flower, White-Robed Priest Tamara ordered the production of this type of holy water to deal with the increasing consumption at the front lines. It was a substitute for Number Five Holy Water. It could restore twenty-five health points, but only affected non-vital injuries.

Brando remembered that this was the most common of common goods in the game.

The holy water took effect immediately. The first wounds to recover were the abrasions on his limbs, which healed at a speed visible to the naked eye. Then came the sword wound. The tingling sensation continued for several minutes before finally stopping. Brando tried drawing a breath and immediately realized that the feeling of difficulty breathing had completely vanished.

He opened his eyes and found that the gargoyle outside had yet to pursue him inside. This certainly was not because it feared the Wind Queen Ring to such an extent. Brando guessed that the monster simply could not enter the tomb chamber. With his gaming experience, he knew that many knights' tombs had corresponding holy barriers that prevented evil creatures from defiling them.

Only then did he let out a sigh of relief. He sat up and examined his injuries.

The only wound that had probably remained was the sword wound Brando had suffered at the beginning. Since it was a fatal injury in the abdomen, the effect of Holy Water No. 7 on it was extremely limited.

But it was still more than enough. Brando rose from the ground and could not help wanting to shout in excitement. This was almost the best condition he had been in since coming to this world. There was no pain, his weakened state had vanished, and he could draw upon his body's strength as he pleased. The young man let out a long breath, his heart still surging with emotion. Martha above, even under such difficult circumstances, he had managed to pull through. He could hardly believe it himself.

What pride. What glory.

He clenched his fist and finally managed to calm his turbulent emotions. He still remembered Freya and Essen. It was time to carry out the next part of his plan.

Of course, before that, he turned around and let his gaze fall on the gleaming sword atop the stone coffin—Gleaming Thorn. Leaf-shaped swords were uncommon in the human world, because this was an elven sword.

Brando looked upward along the silver-thread-woven guard and, sure enough, saw two rows of fine Elven script on the blade:

"Born from light, it makes all enemies tremble--"

He had never seen this sword before, but he knew its reputation. Legend had it that Gleaming Thorn was a level-nineteen ancient longsword. Not only was it incredibly sharp, it could also raise its wielder's Strength, Willpower, and Constitution by one Energy Level. At low levels, what did raising Strength and Constitution by one Energy Level mean? It meant that if Brando used it, his Strength and Constitution would directly rise to twice that of an ordinary person.

Most importantly, someone had seen Gleaming Thorn in the game and discovered that it possessed the ability many people dreamed of: detecting undead. Whenever undead approached the sword, it would shine with a brilliant radiance. That was also the origin of its name.

Brando looked at the sword and sighed. In the game, the elves had created seventeen swords of this type. However, by the end of the First Era, most had been collected and destroyed by Madara's Dark Lords. Only three remained.

This was one of them.

He reached out and grasped the hilt. A force immediately flowed into his body. He felt himself grow stronger and more powerful, while his arms became lighter and more agile. But before Brando had time to carefully experience the change, a sensation surfaced in his heart:

"Young man, will you inherit my path--?"

Huh?

Brando's brow twitched, and he immediately realized what this was. A class advancement certificate! This was a class advancement certificate! Class advancement certificates were not difficult to obtain in the game, but this was precisely what he needed most at this moment. Brando simply had not expected the class advancement certificate provided by this Templar Knight, Girende, to be for a mercenary rather than a church knight—not even a regular knight. What was going on?

"Class advancement certificate for 'Mercenary' discovered. Two experience points are required to raise it to level one. Would you like to advance?"

Of course. It was not a knight, but a Mercenary was not bad either. At least it was much better than a Militia, right?

"Advance--"

A line of small text lit up across his retinas.

Mercenary Charge (-rank)

Charge: Launch a surprise attack against the enemy, increasing burst speed tenfold. Cooldown: one minute. Cannot be activated while weakened. Brando could practically recite the skill's effects with his eyes closed. He was too familiar with it, because this was the basic starting skill of the warrior class.

Was this fate?

Brando clenched his fist. His gaze swept across the entire tomb chamber. He had no interest in the dead man's belongings. What he wanted to find was the holy water used to ward off evil in the tomb. This stuff was far too precious and could save a life at a critical moment. But then the young man's gaze froze, stopping on a small ebony gargoyle statue.

It was a statue.

This thing!

Brando's heart jolted. This was the gargoyle amulet, the key to controlling the gargoyle. He immediately picked up the amulet. If he could control a gargoyle, that would be an unexpected delight—perhaps even the greatest gain of this trip--

But at that very moment, the tomb shook violently, and sand and dirt rained down from the ceiling. Brando turned around and happened to hear an explosion in the distance outside.

From the direction of the ranch!

His heart jolted.

Had something happened to Freya and Essen? That was the only possibility Brando could think of. He hurriedly grabbed two bottles of the slightly weaker No. 9 Holy Water, wrapped them in his bloodstained clothing, and anxiously retraced his steps out of the tomb chamber.

But in his haste, he failed to notice that beneath the holy water he had casually swept aside, a slip of paper drifted gently to the ground.

The moment Brando rushed out, he collided head-on with the gargoyle. This time, however, he was holding the gargoyle amulet. The monster did not dare to act recklessly and could only obediently stand to one side, serving as a statue. Brando felt a little regretful. Amulets of this type still required a corresponding command. Otherwise, he could have taken the gargoyle with him and fought his way out. It might not look like it, but although Green Village still had two Liches, they would have no room to stand before a level-twenty-three gargoyle.

There was no other reason: mechanical gargoyles were completely immune to Rotting Art.

The young man ran out of the tomb chamber in three strides, but before he had time to catch his breath, a powerful gust of wind suddenly swept toward him from the darkness.