Act Sixteen: The Guard

Brando tilted his head, letting the skeleton pass by him. He had almost forgotten about the skeleton in the meditation room, but now he was no longer the same person he used to be. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword—

With a flash of light, a faint white glow appeared on the Gleaming Thorn. Half of the skeleton's body had already flown into the air. Brando glanced at the skeletal remains gradually turning to ash. The Gleaming Thorn truly lived up to its name as a sword born of light, possessing a purification effect.

A point of golden light shot into his chest—

Weapons with purification effects dealt double damage to undead creatures. No wonder he felt no resistance when his sword cut through the skeleton, as if slicing through butter with a hot knife.

A divine artifact.

At that moment, this was Brando's only assessment of the sword. Even if it wasn't a divine artifact, it was close enough in this environment.

But he was more concerned about Freya and Essen's safety. He immediately pushed aside the collapsing skeleton and ran outside. His agility, now at level 2, finally erupted fully. At this moment, even if he faced a world-class athlete from his original world, he wouldn't be inferior—in fact, his balanced explosive power would surpass theirs.

With the support of the Gleaming Thorn and the Wind Queen Ring, his strength, constitution, and agility had all surpassed level 2. If Brando were to appear on Earth now, ordinary people would only have one explanation—Superman, except he couldn't fly.

Brando returned the way he came. The winding corridors in the darkness no longer posed any obstacle. He leaped out from outside the collapsed wall of the shrine, and the strong life aura on his body immediately attracted the attention of the nearby wandering undead. Two skeletons, one on his left and one on his right, approached him with creaking sounds, swaying unsteadily. However, two silver sword lights awaited them.

Brando collected the two experience points and immediately looked towards the direction of the ranch. His pupils contracted slightly—that direction was clearly engulfed in flames, with a fiery glow almost dyeing half the night sky red.

And in his field of vision, over a hundred skeletons were slowly moving towards that direction. He understood that these low-level undead would not act autonomously. This must mean that the Wight behind them had already detected something—

"Freya, Essen!" Brando's heart sank. Just as he was about to rush over, he heard a sharp, sinister voice from behind him:

"There's a human there, kill him—!"

Brando turned his head and saw a Wight at the end of the street directing six skeleton soldiers, lined up in a row, to slowly advance towards him.

The Wight raised the bone staff in its hand—

But Brando was faster. The Charge skill activated instantly, and he approached like an explosive afterimage. "Stop him!" The Wight was startled and screamed hysterically.

The leading skeleton soldier raised its sword, but it was met by the young man's cold face. A sentence suddenly flashed through Brando's mind, so clear it seemed to contain all the emotions of the original owner of this body:

"Madara's mongrels, now it's your turn to be unlucky—"

He disdained using techniques and directly clashed swords with his elven sword. As a metallic clang pierced their eardrums, the steel longsword in the skeleton soldier's hand bent backward under immense force, then snapped with a clang.

Brando moved forward relentlessly. The skeleton soldier behind him, along with its entire frame and sword, was cleaved into four pieces. At this moment, there was no longer any obstruction between him and the Wight.

The hideous undead stared blankly, its leaky jaw agape. Only astonishment remained on its withered face.

"This sword, for Brando."

He spoke, stabbing the sword into the Wight's left ribcage and piercing through the third rib from the back. The Gleaming Thorn glowed faintly. Brando stared into the creature's burning green eyes and said this. He swung the sword from front to back—

The soul fire in the Wight's eyes flickered, then instantly dimmed. With a clang, its arm, tightly gripping the bone staff, flew far away and was then burned to ashes by the purification fire.

Three points of golden light rose from the night sky and merged into the young man's chest.

He turned, and two skeleton soldiers were already flanking him from either side. Brando raised his sword, and the first skeleton's arm immediately flew into the air. With another turn of the sword, the skull rolled away. He gave it a push, and the skeleton, already purified, was thrown towards its companion.

The skeleton soldier immediately raised its sword to block, but halfway through its blocking motion, a shining sword light entered from the side, permanently splitting it in two—with a "swish," the metal rings of Madara's lowest-level undead soldiers scattered like falling flowers.

Two points of golden light flashed and disappeared.

Brando immediately recited his status panel in his mind. Ghostly data appeared line by line on his retina. He selected one item and thought, "Profession and Experience—"

A line of dark green data:

XP: 11 (Commoner Level 1: —, Militia Level 2, 6/10, Mercenary Level 1, 0/10)

He blocked the attack of a skeleton soldier with his sword and thought, "11 experience points, upgrade Mercenary to Level 2."

The data immediately changed:

XP: 0 (Commoner Level 1: —, Militia Level 2, 6/10, Mercenary Level 2, 11/30)

Brando planted his sword and pushed the skeleton back with his strength. Then he glanced at his stats. Strength and Constitution had increased by another 0.2 energy levels, while Agility and Perception had each increased by 0.1 energy levels. However, the crucial part was the 25 skill experience points, which alone made the Militia profession lose its value.

He took a breath.

Alright, he now had 2.3 energy level Strength, 2.1 energy level Agility, 2.2 energy level Constitution, and Absolute Strength 8.0. His stats had completely surpassed the player's initial attributes and were beginning to advance towards the first level of strength.

At this moment, Brando's heart felt a sense of peace. He looked at the three skeleton soldiers in front of him as if they were mere air.

Yes, he was back, finally—

Ten minutes were enough for the smoke of battle to dissipate. The sound of horses' hooves approached from the end of the street. Two horses.

Two young riders emerged side-by-side on the long street. They stopped their horses, looked around, and stared in surprise at the scattered remains of skeletons, unable to speak for a moment.

"Zeta, did you see that?"

"It's just one person, is it Ridenburg's guard?"

"There's a Wight over there, Martha have mercy! Zeta, can you fight four at once?"

"No, I can't. This is an old soldier." The young man, riding a somewhat thin horse, quietly surveyed the surroundings, a look of disbelief appearing on his face. "Lyons, there are six skeleton soldiers here—"

The surroundings fell silent.

"Seven?"

"Seven."

"We have to tell the deputy captain about this. What do you think this is? Regular army? Or a traveling knight?" The young man named Lyons turned his head on his horse and asked his companion.

"I can't guess, Lyons, but I agree with you."

By the time Brando reached the ranch, it was already engulfed in flames. The burning buildings formed a bright backdrop, with the occasional sound of collapsing structures in the distance—but he didn't see the undead army he expected, pursuing Freya and Essen.

Instead, he saw many newly awakened Skeletons fleeing in panic within the raging inferno. The bright flames were almost a natural enemy to these lower-level undead, causing their faint soul fires to tremble under the intense light, nearly purifying them into ashes.

This wasn't blue fire. In the game, Madara's army only used cold soul fire. Brando immediately realized these flames weren't set by the undead. Could it be Freya and Essen? He shook his head, not believing those two would be so decisive.

He keenly turned his head in one direction, just in time to see a squad of Skeleton Soldiers chasing towards a certain point. He narrowed his eyes, distinctly seeing a layer of dark light shimmering on those bone frames—Dark Purification. Was there a Wight nearby?

Brando immediately drew his sword, and a faint glow appeared on the Gleaming Thorn. As he walked in that direction, several clumsy, low-level Skeletons brushed past him—soon, our protagonist gained another 7 XP.

But before the young man could get closer, a loud bang suddenly came from around the corner ahead—countless bone fragments and metal armor rings scattered from that direction, accompanied by two or three Skeletons being flung high into the air and falling into the nearby inferno.

Brando was startled—

This was Level 1 Strength (3 Oz~20 Oz). He realized this immediately. Who was behind the sea of fire? Humans? Ridenburg's regular army? But they hadn't appeared here in history.

He subconsciously adopted a defensive stance, raising his head, and saw a troop of knights charging out from behind the flames. They were like a torrent, sweeping out of the fire in an instant. The leading rider immediately turned towards him, raising his longsword—the riders behind him simultaneously pulled on their reins—the entire troop halted.

"Who are you—?" the rider asked coldly. Judging by the voice, it was a young man. But the other person immediately froze. With Brando silhouetted against the light, he couldn't see the other person's expression, but he could sense that the person recognized him. No, it should be said they recognized the original Brando.

Then he heard the whispers of the riders behind him:

"I bet it's a Militia."

"I know him."

"But you're not wrong, he's really just a Militia."

Brando frowned slightly. As his vision gradually adjusted to the intense light, he finally saw their attire clearly. Blue-bottomed thick wool tops, dragon scale breastplates, shining white iron helmets and cavalry sabers, and the silver-white shoulder insignia with a black pine leaf emblem—

Bucci's Guard.

"Brando, what are you doing here?" the leading rider then asked in a condescending tone.

"I have the same question," Brando recalled the name of this person from his memory: Bresen. He was also from Bragsburg, like him. Because he performed exceptionally well in militia training, he was selected for the Guard and then sent to the Bucci border for training...

Of course, this was just the surface-level issue. Because no matter how outstanding Bresen was, he couldn't surpass Brando, who was first in swordsmanship for the same period. However, with his father, a superior officer, speaking up, the rest of the story naturally flowed much smoother.

He did know about the grievances between these two, though it couldn't really be called grievances; at most, it was mutual disdain.

As expected, Bresen immediately said, "Militia, as the Deputy Captain of the Bucci Guard, I demand you report to me immediately—why are you here?"

A burst of snickers immediately erupted from the knights. They all knew Bresen was just trying to cause trouble for his fellow townsman. As for reporting, it was just an excuse.

Brando looked up—