Brando's heart shook violently. This was his greatest secret in this world. Although he and Brando had already become one, it was still difficult to explain where the memories of two lifetimes had come from. Though he had forced himself to accept it all, the knot in his heart was unavoidable.
He had never expected the secret hidden deep in his heart to be torn open by the Golden Demon Tree so quickly. No, he immediately shook his head. The Golden Demon Tree's mental invasion could not have reached the depths of his heart so fast. That monster was exploiting his habitual patterns of thought—if Brando's grandfather had said something like that, then why?
Brando suddenly understood. It was because he himself believed that this old man would say such a thing. Only a person could understand what he feared. Here, his enemy was himself.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once he realized that his mental defenses had not yet changed hands, the feeling of being completely exposed before his enemy vanished, and Brando quickly calmed down. The Golden Demon Tree's first assault had been dissolved by a fortunate coincidence, thanks to the experience of his previous life. His mental state had instead become even more stable, and he could not help silently thanking his luck.
He drew the Gleaming Thorn and replied, "Whether I'm qualified or not, we'll know after one try."
The old man nodded. "Good. Now that looks like a man of House Damon. But there are too many people in this world who make empty boasts. I don't want my descendants to be useless cowards like them."
Brando's heart stirred. This was not a test. His grandfather's reaction was a manifestation of Brando's self-affirmation. It showed that his confidence was gradually returning, a sign that his mind was approaching the peak of stability.
This was a good omen.
Brando gestured for his grandfather to attack first. Even though this was only a dream, he was still facing his elder. Out of courtesy—and out of confidence—he should give way.
In the Golden Demon Tree's dreamscape, rushing to seize the initiative was not necessarily a sign that you held the upper hand. It might instead be an imperceptible trap arranged by this evil creature. Only by guarding every weakness within his humanity could he keep it from finding an opening.
The old man nodded again. He moved his left foot forward and held his sword behind his left arm. This opening stance was one of the most seasoned forms in Military Swordsmanship. Brando's scalp prickled the instant he saw it. Even he had never trained Military Swordsmanship to such a level back then. As for Bresen, Freya, and the others, their swordsmanship was nothing compared to this—Brando, just who exactly was your grandfather?
The thought flashed through his mind, and Brando felt the sword in his hand grow heavier. He could not help cursing aloud. The Golden Demon Tree had even seized upon that brief moment of hesitation. Was it seriously not going to let him live?
He also adopted a defensive stance. Since he had no other sword skills, he chose one of the more mature defensive openings from Military Swordsmanship. Against such a seasoned swordsman, there was no point in putting on the flashy forms of the advanced sword techniques he had once used. Without experience to back them up, a mere stance would leave him riddled with openings before Brando's grandfather.
As an old warrior, Brando understood this deeply.
The old man gave no indication at all. A flash of swordlight appeared, and he attacked. Brando found that his grandfather's sword was not especially fast, but it was steady—terrifyingly steady. In more specialized warrior's terms, from the front it showed no openings whatsoever. It was clearly an ordinary sword stroke, yet he felt that every gap around him lay within the range of a counterattack from that single stance.
Brando drew a sharp breath. This was the swordsmanship of his grandfather from his memories? No wonder he had received the Candlelight Medal. With swordsmanship like this, it was no wonder Brando's talent with the sword had been so outstanding—it ran in the family. He could not help thinking that if this old man had come from a slightly better background, he would probably have been knighted outright.
Brando had no room to counterattack, so he could only seal off the possibility of a further attack. With a clang, the two swords crossed. What tremendous force, Brando thought in alarm. But before his shock had even faded, he felt his opponent's sword grow heavier again.
"Fuck you, Golden Demon Tree!"
Brando naturally knew what was happening. The thing was utterly impossible to guard against, far more terrifying than the Golden Demon Tree in the game, which seemed like a mere toy by comparison. What did it mean to be a master of manipulating the human heart? This was it. Yet Brando felt no fear at all. Instead, his fighting spirit began to blaze.
He stared into his grandfather's eyes. The old man's expression remained as calm as still water, composed, yet seemingly capable of seeing straight through the human heart.
Brando suddenly found it strange. Why was such an outstanding grandfather so distant in Brando's own heart? Even when he had first seen this old man, he had needed to verify it through his memories of childhood before recognizing him as his grandfather.
This was clearly abnormal.
He searched through his memories. Brando's memories of his grandfather seemed to consist of sternness and silence, along with the immense glory surrounding the Candlelight Medal and the veteran of the November War. His other memories of this grandfather were not even as deep as those he had of the old house or the oil painting associated with him.
But how could grandparents and grandchildren who had lived together for several years become strangers when they met again one day? How could he even gradually forget his grandfather's face and voice from the past? Brando did not seem like the sort of person who would do that.
He blocked the old man's sword once more. With a clang of metal, he felt the sword in his hand grow heavier again. It almost slipped from his grasp and flew away. Brando's heart jolted, and he could not help looking at the old man.
The old man's expression grew stern, as though somewhat displeased.
It's been ten years. Am I still no match for Grandfather?
Brando could not help reading that thought in his heart, word by word. No, this is self-doubt! His heart lurched. The crack in his mental defenses widened further. His attacks became increasingly disordered, and the old man knocked him to the ground with a sudden assault. Our protagonist's heart turned icy, and he hurriedly used the momentum to climb back up from the grass.
But when he rose and looked back, there was no grassland anymore. It was clearly a gray, gloomy house. Right—this was Buchi's old residence. That night, he had awakened here before coming to this world.
Cold sweat covered Brando's forehead. This showed that the Golden Demon Tree's invasion had deepened further. He could not help reaching toward his waist pouch. The key to overcoming this scene was inside—but he hesitated. Should he take a shortcut?
A sudden unwillingness rose in his heart. He lifted his head and looked at the old man's face—his grandfather's face. The old man remained stern, but there was a trace of disappointment on his wrinkled face.
That disappointment pierced him deeply.
It was as if Brando's twenty years of memories had suddenly become clear, as though they wanted to break free from his body and fight his grandfather on their own.
I can do it. Let me do it—
He suddenly felt this thought arise within him. He knew it was Brando's emotions influencing him. He had already merged into this world, into the memories of the family that belonged to him.
But he shook his head. No—perhaps this was the Golden Demon Tree exploiting human weakness. He had to use that technique immediately to leave this dreamscape. Yet when he placed his hand on that spot, he could not help being startled.
The disappointment on the old man's face had become even more pronounced—
"No. I can't abandon Brando."
"But you have to understand that the Golden Demon Tree is exploiting Brando's weakness."
"Even so, that is still a part of me."
"You'll fail."
"But abandoning weakness isn't the same as defeating yourself."
Brando suddenly calmed down.
He abruptly realized something. Why had Brando's grandfather not spoken even once from the moment he drew his sword? The old man had clearly had many chances to completely shatter Brando's mental defenses, and disappointment had remained etched across his face the entire time.
Yet the old man had said nothing. He had simply watched in silence and waited in silence.
Brando suddenly felt lightning tear through his mind, illuminating every dark corner within it. He suddenly understood. This was not the Golden Demon Tree taking pity on Brando.
No. It was that young man still guarding the final patch of pure land within his heart!
Why was that?
Brando could not help lifting his head to look at the old man's stern, slightly sighing face. Half-hidden in the shadows of the old house, the old face seemed to conceal something beneath its age. Was it disappointment?
It was disappointment.
He suddenly began trembling all over. What was the waiting within that disappointment? It was a wordless expectation, Brando. This was the grandfather in Brando's memories: stern, with a deep gaze filled with disappointment at this young man's growth. But that deep disappointment was not blame—it was the hope that one day Brando would understand and feel the family affection behind that expectation.
Your family would never truly blame you. They would only wait, waiting for the day you understood. Perhaps one day they would grow old; perhaps one day they would no longer be in this world. But they would still remain in your heart, waiting for the day you understood.
Waiting for you to understand their love for you.
Brando lifted his head and gripped his sword tightly. He raised his head again, forcing himself not to let his tears spill over. He had always thought he understood this world, but he had never expected that he understood nothing at all.
"Brando, do you remember what I told you? Your back 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 my heart." The old man raised his sword once more.
"Come. Let me see what you've 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 were not. They were the answer he had given himself in his own 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?"
"What are you crying for? A little scrape isn't going to kill you."
"Tell me, how should I punish you this time?"
The grandfather in his memories should have been the one sitting sternly in the head of the family's place, silent, watching him with a disappointed gaze.
The grandfather in his memories should have been the one who was always dissatisfied with everything he did.
But the old man in his memories had finally reached the end of his life. Brando stood before the wooden bed and felt his grandfather's hand gently rest on his head, just as it had when he was a child beside the Brags River, ruffling his hair. In the end, however, the hand lost its strength and slid across his young face.
It had been so rough, yet it had filled him with a sense of security he could rely on. That sigh—had it still been disappointment in the end, or had it carried a heavy responsibility and hope?
Brando felt his grandfather's dreamscape collapsing around him. In his hand, he held the Candlelight Medal as it turned into specks of sand and faded away. For a long time, he said nothing.
"Thank you, old man."
"Thank you, Grandfather."