Valkyrie

The blazing flames burned fiercely, their golden-red light drawing gradients from bright to dark along the edges of every face.

Brando raised his head and carefully sized up the young deputy captain of the guard on horseback. He saw the same seriousness on the other man's face: lips pressed together, he stared at Brando without a word, as though he meant to force him into submission with nothing but a stern gaze.

But neither Su Fei nor Brando fell for that sort of thing—

"I'm a militia member from Ankze. May I ask since when the Bucci guard has been permitted to issue orders to friendly forces outside its jurisdiction at will, Captain Bresen? And where is your letter of appointment?"

The moment he spoke, the knights behind Bresen all stiffened. Brando had fought for Eluin for twenty-one years in the game; he knew this country's laws far better than these greenhorns did.

The young deputy captain of the guard thought for a moment, then stubbornly answered, "Special circumstances call for special measures."

Brando knew the man could not bring himself to back down, but he did not care to pursue the matter either. If Bresen had not taken the initiative to make trouble, Brando could not be bothered with childish contests of pride.

"I'm looking for Freya and Essen. Have you seen them?" he asked, looking up.

That was what concerned Brando most right now. The fire around them appeared to have been set by these young guardsmen, but he could not help maliciously wondering whether Eluin's future Valkyrie had been burned to death by a single fire. If so, then Classmate Bresen, your crime would be enormous.

Of course, it was only a passing thought.

But Brando's casual tone struck Bresen as sheer arrogance. Still, he could not understand what this fallen noble who was now doing so poorly had to be proud of. Suppressing the disgust in his heart, he finally asked, "Freya? The Third Militia Squad? What is she doing with you?"

Brando could tell this fellow had feelings for Freya, but the hostility in his tone still irritated him. After being provoked time and again, even a clay Buddha had some temper.

"Captain Bresen, who I am with is my freedom. As for what I'm doing here, it's probably the same as you. Don't think I don't know what sort of situation you're in now—" He could not help retorting.

"Boy, what kind of attitude is that!" A young man behind Bresen angrily rebuked him as he stepped forward. "You're nothing but a militia member. Standing before you are officers of the guard. Straighten up at once!"

Brando was taken aback by the rebuke, then raised his head and examined the man carefully.

As though following his gaze, the row of riders ahead all straightened at once, as if trying to intimidate him. He looked at the fifteen young men standing blade-straight in their saddles, all dressed in dark-blue uniforms with neat, gleaming armor. They did indeed possess the bearing of an elite force.

Brando also knew these young men truly had reason to be proud—they were originally the finest youths from the countryside and towns of the Golan-Elson region. After rigorous training and selection, those who remained had at least come close to possessing "First Level Strength."

The Temple of Flames stipulated that anyone whose average internal strength lay between 3 Oz and 20 Oz could be considered to possess First Level Strength. This level of the Strength System included all White Tier swordsmen, Wizard Apprentices, and affinity users—junior elementalists—across the continent, as well as Templar Church Knight Squires and low-ranking divine officials.

The Temple of Flames used Amber Raw Stones to test the purity of a person's strength. Brando had seen such items in the game before, but there, they were meant for NPCs. Players had clear numerical data and had no need for testing—

He had once read a piece of in-game reference material. He knew that throughout Vonder, more than sixty percent of the population possessed First Level Strength, because humans here generally lived beyond one hundred and sixty years. But once the range was narrowed to those between seventeen and nineteen, the same proportion dropped to twenty percent or even lower. In Eluin, apart from the church, wizard academies, and knight reserves, the vast majority of that twenty percent served in the guard.

In other words, the people he was looking at now—

Indeed, compared with ordinary militia of uneven quality, these young men had every right to feel superior. But militia were militia, and Brando was Brando. As someone who had grown up in a free world, he truly was an anomaly in this world. He had never considered himself beneath anyone.

It was a deeply ingrained modern belief—heaven came first, and he came second.

So he stared coldly at the fellow and silently assessed his strength. Though every one of his opponents seemed highly capable, after obtaining the Gleaming Thorn and the Wind Queen Ring, Brando believed that in terms of raw stats, he was not inferior to them in the slightest.

Not to mention he had the cheat of a Level 130 veteran warrior's experience. He could guarantee that every one of these fellows who came at him would end up on the ground. Of course, they could swarm him together, but Brando guessed Bresen could not afford to lose that much face.

But to his surprise, the young deputy captain of the guard raised a hand to stop his men. His face darkened as he demanded, "How do you know what we came here for? What else do you know? Who told you?"

Of course I know, Brando thought.

Why had Bucci's guard appeared here, and what was their purpose? Young people might not have known every detail, but if one considered the general direction history was taking at this moment, they could guess most of it. He knew they were certainly not here to counterattack—but they had to have a motive, didn't they?

He only needed to sort through his thoughts one by one, then remember that Bucci's guard was now single-mindedly trying to break through to Ridenburg, and would not all the remaining questions be explained?

It was exactly the same as the historical development in the game. In the game, it should have been on this very day that Madara's Undead Army completed its blockade of Beledor Forest. This afternoon, or perhaps earlier around noon, Bucci's guard and the fleeing villagers had been attacked by the Undead Army. It was the closest they had ever come to Ridenburg in history—they had nearly succeeded, but Cabes's arriving skeleton army had reduced all those poor people's efforts to nothing.

And at this moment, Ridenburg had not even realized that an invasion was taking place to its east.

But it was neither coincidence nor bad luck for the Bucci people. They were facing the terrifyingly efficient left wing of Instaron's army from the First Black Rose War. No matter what they did, Bucci's guard, burdened with families, old people, women, and children, could never match the speed of this historically renowned Undead Army.

What was more, before that, Rosko's lich army had been biting at their heels. Those two factors had destined their defeat to become a tragedy.

Brando looked at them. The young riders' faces were covered in dust and grime, and he could guess that this was after Maden's first setback. This veteran of the November War now needed food and medicine to reassure the people and prepare for another breakout.

But the other side would never expect that he would soon meet a second and third failure. Maden had another day and a half; the main force of "One-Eyed" Tagus would soon descend in overwhelming numbers, and when that happened, the tragedy would repeat itself.

Perhaps he would ultimately escape with his life by luck, but he would lose every scrap of honor that belonged to a soldier.

Thinking of this, Brando shook his head. He suddenly had no desire to argue anymore. Still, he was not someone who repaid resentment with kindness, so he answered disdainfully, "Do you even need to ask? You came charging over here with such fanfare—it's written all over your faces, isn't it?"

"You—" The veins on the young man's forehead behind Bresen throbbed. If Bresen had not stopped him, he probably would have drawn his sword and challenged Brando to a duel.

"You guessed correctly. But since you are unwilling to fulfill your responsibility as a militia member, step aside," the young captain of the guard said. "Please do not block our path."

"Wait." Brando could not help getting a little angry. This bastard was even trying to provoke him? He simply stepped into the middle of the road and asked in a deep voice, "Are the villagers with you now?"

"That has nothing to do with you."

"How many people were injured?" Brando asked.

Bresen's expression stiffened. "That has nothing to do with you."

"Of course it has something to do with me. The relatives of my friends are among them—Freya, Little Finis, as well as Essen and Macmi. Their families are among those people. Freya and the others fought to defend Bucci, so what are you fighting for?" Brando pressed. "Listen carefully. I'm not arguing with you. I want an answer—"

Those resounding words silenced all the young guardsmen. The whispers that had continued until then vanished.

"Move aside, Brando," Bresen said darkly.

Brando's heart sank, and a terrible premonition rose within him.

He shook his head. "Take me to Captain Maden. I'm going to find Freya and the others. I will lead you out of this predicament, but before that, you must tell me: did something happen to the family of someone in the Third Squad?"

Bresen's expression darkened, black as storm clouds pressing down overhead.

"You?" The young captain of the guard practically forced the words through his teeth. Then, his face still dark, he turned and waved to his men, signaling for them to proceed from another direction.

He did not want to say another word to Brando. He even regretted what he had said earlier. Whenever he thought of that afternoon's battle, he could not help feeling that it had been the greatest nightmare of his life.

He even suspected that this nightmare would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Brando stood to one side, watching the knights leave in silence. Countless guesses flashed through his mind, but in the end, they all narrowed down to one possibility. He could not help calling out, "Bresen."

The young vice-captain of the guard halted atop his horse.

"Was it Freya?"

Bresen's body stiffened. After hesitating for a moment, he nodded.

"What happened?"

"If you find Freya, help me pass along a message—"

"What?"

Bresen sighed. "If you find her, apologize to her for me. Tell her Aunt Syl and Uncle unfortunately... during this afternoon's battle..."

Just as he reached that point, he suddenly heard a soft clatter from behind him.

Everyone froze. The knights turned around and saw Freya standing there, pale as a sheet, her longsword fallen from her hand. Her face was filled with disbelief.

The young man named Essen stood behind the future Valkyrie, looking utterly at a loss.

"Freya—!" Brando was startled. Of course, he had already guessed what that foul-mouthed bastard Bresen had been about to say.

"How could that be? Auntie... she wouldn't..."

Freya suddenly broke down in tears. Tears spilled from her pale face.

Everyone had a place where they were most vulnerable.

And when Brando saw the always-strong Freya crouch down and weep in utter grief, as helpless as an injured little animal, he felt the softest part of his heart struck all at once. His throat went dry. He wanted to offer some words of comfort, but he could not say a single thing.

He silently watched her, but then suddenly Realized something. Was it precisely the baptism of such cruel war that had led that innocent, plain, kind-hearted country girl onto the path of the Valkyrie?

Then history was returning to its course.

Note:

Regarding Occupations and experience: in The Amber Sword, characters could take up Occupations freely, just as they could in the real world. He could be a cook today, a tailor or warrior tomorrow, or perhaps a scout.

But a person's time was limited; that was to say, the experience they gained through combat, adventure, production, and daily life was always limited.

If a person could not focus on a single Occupation, then every additional Occupation they took on would impose an experience penalty due to divided attention. Starting from the first Occupation (excluding commoner), the experience required for every additional Occupation would double.

Also, unless otherwise specified, the settings of the world of Vonder and The Amber Sword (the game) were always identical.

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