Act Thirty-Six: The Super-Ego

Brando's heart was greatly shaken. This was the biggest secret in this world for him. Although he and Brando were already one, it was difficult to explain where the memories from two lives came from. Although he had accepted it all, it was inevitable that some knots would remain.

Unexpectedly, this secret hidden deep in his heart was torn open by the Golden Demon Tree. No, but he immediately shook his head. The Golden Demon Tree's mental penetration couldn't possibly reach the depths of his heart so quickly. That monster was exploiting his ingrained thought patterns—why else would Brando's grandfather have said such a thing?

Brando suddenly understood. It must have been his own assumption that the old man would say such a thing. Only a person truly understands what they fear. Here, his enemy was himself.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Realizing that his mental defenses had not yet been breached, the feeling of being completely exposed to the enemy vanished. Brando quickly calmed down. The Golden Demon Tree's first assault was resolved by him using his experience from his previous life by chance, and his mental state became even more stable. He couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.

He drew the Gleaming Thorn and replied, "Whether I'm qualified, we'll find out with a try."

The old man nodded, "Good. That's more like a man of House Damon. However, there are too many braggarts in this world, and I don't want my descendants to be such incompetent people."

Brando's heart stirred. This was not a test. Brando's grandfather's reaction was a manifestation of Brando's self-affirmation. This showed that his confidence was gradually recovering, a sign that his mind was approaching its peak stability.

This was a good omen.

Brando signaled his grandfather to make the first move. Even in a dream, he was facing an elder. Out of politeness and confidence, he should also show deference.

In the dreamscape of the Golden Demon Tree, blindly attacking first was not a sign of your strength being superior; it could very well be an undetectable trap set by this evil being. Only by holding firm to every weakness within human nature could one leave it with no opportunity.

The old man nodded again. He stepped forward with his left foot, placing his sword behind his left arm. This starting posture was one of the most practiced in Military Swordsmanship. Brando's scalp tingled as soon as he saw it. Even he himself hadn't trained Military Swordsmanship to this level back then. As for the swordsmanship of Bresen, Freya, and the others, it was nothing compared to this—Brando, who exactly was your grandfather!

The thought flashed through his mind, and Brando felt the sword in his hand become heavier. He couldn't help but curse. Such a momentary lapse of fear was seized by the Golden Demon Tree. Was there any way to live!

He also adopted a defensive stance. Since he didn't have any other swordsmanship skills, he chose a relatively mature defensive starting posture from Military Swordsmanship. In front of such a seasoned swordsman, displaying the flashy moves of the advanced swordsmanship he used to employ would be meaningless. Without accumulated experience, a mere stance in front of Brando's grandfather would mean his entire body was full of openings.

Brando, as a veteran warrior, understood this deeply.

The old man made no move. With a flash of his sword, he attacked. Brando found that his grandfather's sword was not fast, but it was stable, terrifyingly stable. To describe it in more professional warrior terms—from the front, it appeared flawless. It was a seemingly ordinary sword strike, yet Brando felt that all the gaps from all directions were within the counter-attack range of his grandfather's posture.

He gasped. Was this the swordsmanship of his grandfather from Brando's memory? No wonder he received the Candlelight Medal. Such monstrous swordsmanship, no wonder Brando's swordsmanship talent was so outstanding; it was inherited—he couldn't help but think that if this old man had come from a slightly better background, he would probably have been directly knighted.

Brando had no room to counter-attack, so he could only block the opponent's further advances. With a clang, their swords crossed—such immense power, Brando was inwardly shocked. But before he could finish being shocked, he felt the opponent's sword press down even harder.

Damn your mother, Golden Demon Tree!

Brando naturally knew what was happening. This was seamless, all-encompassing. Compared to this, the Golden Demon Tree in the game was like a toy. What is a master of manipulating hearts? This is it. However, Brando felt no fear at this moment; instead, he felt a surge of fighting spirit.

He stared into his grandfather's eyes. The old man's expression remained as calm as still water, yet it seemed as if he could see through people's hearts.

Brando suddenly felt very strange. Why was such an outstanding grandfather so indifferent in Brando's own heart? Even when he first saw the old man, he had to confirm it from his childhood memories—this was indeed his grandfather.

This was clearly not normal.

He searched his memory. Brando's memories of his grandfather seemed to be limited to sternness, a lack of smiling, and the glorious halos of the Candlelight Medal and being a veteran of the November War. Other memories of this grandfather were not even as profound as those of the old house or the oil painting.

But how could a grandfather and grandson who had spent years together be like strangers when they met again? They had even gradually forgotten the appearance and voice of his grandfather. Brando didn't seem like that kind of person.

He parried the old man's sword again, with a clang of metal. He felt the sword in his hand grow heavier, almost slipping from his grasp. Brando was startled and couldn't help but glance at the old man.

The old man's expression turned serious, as if he were somewhat displeased.

Ten years, and I'm still no match for Grandpa.

Brando couldn't help but read the information in his heart word by word—No, this is self-doubt! He was startled. The slight crack in his mental defense widened further. His attacks became more erratic, and he was knocked to the ground by the old man's aggressive move. Our protagonist felt a chill run through him and quickly got up from the grass.

But as he got up and looked back, there was no grass; it was a gray house. Right, this was Bucci's old house. That night, he had woken up here and arrived in this world.

Cold sweat trickled down Brando's forehead. This indicated that the Golden Demon Tree's invasion had deepened further. He couldn't help but reach for his waist pouch, where the key to overcoming this scenario lay—but he hesitated. Should he take a shortcut?

A sense of unwillingness suddenly arose in his heart. He looked up at the old man's face, Brando's grandfather's face. The old man's face was still stern, with wrinkles, and a slight hint of disappointment.

This disappointment pierced him deeply.

It was as if Brando's twenty years of memories had suddenly become clear, as if they were about to detach from his body and fight his grandfather alone.

I can do it, let me do it—

He suddenly felt such a thought arise in his heart. He knew these were Brando's emotions influencing him. He had integrated into this world, into the memories of his own kin.

But he shook his head again. No, perhaps the Golden Demon Tree was exploiting human weakness? He had to leave this dreamscape immediately using that technique, but as he placed his hand in that position, he couldn't help but startle.

Because he saw the disappointment on the old man's face becoming even more pronounced—

"No, I can't abandon Brando."

"But you must understand, the Golden Demon Tree is exploiting Brando's weakness."

"But even so, that is a part of me."

"You will fail."

"But abandoning weakness is not conquering oneself."

Brando suddenly calmed down.

He suddenly realized something. Why hadn't Brando's grandfather spoken a single word since he drew his sword? Although the old man should have had many opportunities to completely crush Brando's psychological defenses, although the old man's face always showed deep disappointment.

But the old man said nothing. He just watched quietly, waiting quietly.

Brando suddenly felt a lightning bolt pierce his mind, illuminating every dark corner of his heart. He suddenly understood. This was not the Golden Demon Tree showing mercy to Brando.

No, it was because that young man was still guarding the last piece of pure land in his heart!

Why was that?

Brando couldn't help but look up at the old man's stern, slightly sighing face, the face hidden in the shadows of the old house. Beneath the aging face, something seemed to be hidden. Was it disappointment?

It was indeed disappointment.

He suddenly trembled all over. What was this waiting in disappointment? It was unspoken expectation, Brando. This was the grandfather in Brando's memory, stern, his deep gaze filled with disappointment in the young man's growth. Yet, this deep disappointment wasn't a reprimand – it was a hope that Brando would one day understand, and feel the familial love behind that expectation.

Family will never truly scold you; they only wait, waiting for the day you understand. Perhaps one day they will grow old, perhaps one day they will no longer be in this world, but they will still remain in your heart, waiting for the day you understand.

Waiting for you to understand their love for you.

Brando raised his head, his hand gripping his sword tightly. He raised his head, holding back his tears from spilling out. He had always thought he understood this world, but he never expected that he understood nothing at all.

"Brando, do you remember what I told you? Your spine must be as straight as your sword. A man of House Damon must live with his head held high and his chest out. You are my grandson, the best one in both our hearts." The old man once again raised the sword in his hand.

"Come, let me see what you have learned in the ten years since I left."

Brando nodded, his face already streaming with tears. These were his grandfather's words, and yet they weren't. These were the answers he gave himself in his heart. This was the path Brando wanted.

He took a deep breath.

The two swords crossed—

"Get up, Brando. How can a man of House Damon be so weak?"

"Why are you crying? A little scratch won't kill you?"

"Tell me, how should I punish you this time?"

The grandfather in his impression should have been the one sitting sternly in the position of the patriarch, silent, looking at him with disappointment.

The grandfather in his impression should have been the one who was always dissatisfied with everything he did.

But the old man from his memory had finally completed his final journey. Brando stood before the wooden bed, feeling his grandfather's hand gently placed on his head, stroking his hair as he did by the Brags River when he was young. But finally, his strength failed, and his hand slid across his young face.

It was so rough, yet it made him feel he had someone to rely on. That sigh, was it disappointment even until the end, or was it entrusting him with a heavy responsibility and hope?

Brando felt his grandfather's dream disintegrating around his body. He held the Candlelight Medal in his hand, which was turning into dust and disappearing, and remained silent for a long time.

"Thank you, old man."

"Thank you, my grandfather."