Act 42: Middle-Aged Man

Seeing Freya's flustered state, Brando figured she must have gained some understanding of these so-called local Ridenburg forces. However, it wasn't enough. He intended to make her understand more clearly; only reality could make Freya grasp their current predicament.

Of course, Brando didn't want to shatter her last shred of hope for this country. It was just that sometimes actions couldn't be driven by sheer passion alone. Rushing headlong would only lead to bloody heads.

Brando was never a reckless person, and he hoped Freya would also learn to act with composure. Naturally, he would step in to protect them when necessary, with the bottom line being that these people couldn't truly harm Freya and Romane.

He leisurely watched how Freya would handle this crisis, only to see her gaze drift into the distance. He was startled and followed her gaze, discovering that direction was the Ridenburg eastern barracks—that seemed to be its name. He saw a group of people there, varying in height, all surrounding a tall, middle-aged man. Behind them followed a troop of white-maned light infantry, spreading out to control the area—they looked like nobles.

Brando suddenly found it interesting. He hadn't expected his luck to be so good; it was like someone delivering a pillow when you wanted to sleep. However, Freya's reaction was also quick, immediately noticing those important figures. He roughly understood Freya's thoughts and couldn't help but nod in approval.

From a normal person's perspective, Freya's reaction was entirely correct. Of course, Brando just wanted to see her bump her head and bleed, which felt a bit unfair to this future Valkyrie. But Brando knew his intentions were for her own good, and that was enough.

Besides, this was Freya's own choice.

He turned his head back; two guards were approaching Freya, drawing their longswords. They clearly hadn't expected this girl to dare resist when two of their comrades had meekly surrendered. Moreover, she was so decisive. The moment she jumped into the tower, she first rushed towards the weapon rack nearby.

The two were startled and quickly drew their longswords to meet her. But Freya suddenly turned, her right hand grabbing a guard's wrist, sidestepped, and swung her left hand in a chop, hitting his armpit directly—from disarming him to subduing him, the entire action was seamless. In the blink of an eye, the guard let out a scream, hunched over, and fell to the ground.

The ponytail girl snatched the sword and clashed with the other guard. Three consecutive strikes, relying on the strength she had gained from fighting the Golden Demon Tree, forced the guard back five steps until he hit the wall. Then she reversed the sword and struck the unlucky fellow's head with the pommel, causing him to bleed and fall backward.

Then she turned around again, her imposing aura causing the remaining four guards, along with their captain, to collectively take a step back. Freya couldn't help but feel frustrated. The Ridenburg army she had always relied on was only at this level. She had thought they were all as powerful as Brando, perhaps a little less, but at least not far off!

But Brando secretly exclaimed, "Beautiful." The local guards were merely at the level of veteran militia, while Freya's current skills could firmly place her in the guard force. Her composure and calmness were especially commendable.

However, he glanced at the white-maned light infantry in the distance and thought that if Freya believed the kingdom's regular army had this level of combat effectiveness, she might suffer a significant loss very soon.

But what he needed to do now was not to hinder this future Valkyrie's judgment. Therefore, he suddenly grabbed two guards beside him and threw them out before they could react. Then he snatched back his Elven sword and knocked the longswords out of the hands of the two guards holding Romane.

"What are you planning to do?" He ignored the groaning guards on the ground and ran towards Romane, grabbing her hand.

Freya glared at him, then looked towards the barracks, her meaning clear.

"Go over there? Alright, as the saying goes, it's easier to offend the King of Hell than a petty demon." Brando smiled.

"What does that mean?" Romane asked curiously from behind, rubbing her wrist. Those people had used too much force, making her wrist sore.

"It means, let's see what those important figures have to say."

The merchant girl felt that this guy's words had hidden meanings, but there was no time to refute him now. She glanced with disgust at the guard captain who had already collapsed on the ground in fear, then was the first to flip out of the tower.

"Brando, Freya seems angry."

"It's fine, just follow along."

The merchant lady looked at him curiously.

Lord Seber of Golden Fruit had been in a good mood all day, if not for the incident that had just occurred.

He was stunned when he saw the girl suddenly rush in front of him. The guards behind him swarmed forward and surrounded her. Seber also saw two other people within the encirclement, both dressed as country folk. After a moment of stunned silence, a surge of anger rose in his chest.

What the hell were these bastards doing, letting three dirty bumpkins barge in here? Who was on duty tonight? I'll have him fired and sent back to eat his own words!

Seber's face turned from green to white as he was about to unleash his fury. Then he felt someone behind him nudge him with a cane handle. He turned his head and saw the disgusting industrialist and workshop owner, Sir Burnley's, face full of flesh. To be honest, he didn't want to say an extra word to this fat man who reeked of money and was always calculating. Fortunately, the Lord was clear-headed enough to understand that at least they were on the same side now.

He followed the other's gaze and was startled. He saw Freya's epaulet. Bucci's militia. Weren't they told that Madara's army had already reached Beledor Forest? How did they get here?

He couldn't help but cast a glance towards the slightly further back, hoping the important figures there hadn't noticed the commotion. Then he placed his hand on his sword and sternly hissed at the guards, "What are you doing here? Take the assassins away."

Assassins?

Just as Freya was about to speak, she was stunned by these words. Her eyes widened in helplessness, wanting to argue, but found that the guards surrounding her had all drawn their longswords—a clear, crisp metallic hum, as if piercing her heart.

"What's going on here?"

It was at this moment that a calm, stern voice cut in, causing everyone to subconsciously make way. As the crowd parted, it revealed a middle-aged man with deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and a grim, stern face. He held a golden cane and looked at everyone present with icy eyes.

Seber took a breath and cursed inwardly: Damn it, he had attracted this trouble after all. His mind raced, and with an unchanged expression, he replied, "A few commoners broke in, possibly assassins."

"Commoners?" The middle-aged man frowned.

"Sir, we are not assassins. We are Bucci's militia," Freya hastily explained, "We came here to deliver a message. Bucci is being attacked by Ma—"

The middle-aged man showed a look of disgust and interrupted, "What is your name."

"F-Freya." Freya was startled, feeling as if she were being stared at by a venomous snake under his chilling gaze, and couldn't help but lower her head.

"And you?" he asked Romane, who was standing nearby.

"My name is Romane, Uncle," the future merchant lady replied, blinking her eyes.

Someone in the crowd couldn't help but chuckle a couple of times, but quickly suppressed it. This time, the middle-aged man's expression didn't change. Instead, he waved his hand, "Take them down and we'll question them thoroughly."

"Sir, we..." Freya was shocked and quickly raised her head to explain.

But the other party didn't listen to their explanation at all and instead had the guards swarm forward to subdue the three of them. However, the middle-aged man watched coldly and then spoke again, "Wait."

As if his words held immense power, everyone subconsciously stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

"Show me the sword that person is holding," he said, pointing at Brando with his cane.

Sword?

Everyone was stunned, and only then did they notice the design of the sword in Brando's hand. It was an Elven sword, famous for its exquisite craftsmanship and generally circulated as an artwork in upper circles. Seber couldn't help but mutter to himself again, thinking that this guy who devoured people without spitting out bones had really sharp eyes; he had taken a liking to both women and the sword.

What made him uncomfortable was that the other party's identity and status were much higher than his. Even if he expressed his desire, he could only obediently hand it over. He couldn't afford to offend the forces behind the other party.

He beckoned, and several guards immediately understood, drawing their swords and pointing them at Brando.

Brando looked back at Freya, seeing the girl's face blank with bewilderment, lost in thought. He knew it was about time, but he still needed to stay calm. He shrugged and obediently handed over the sword.

That kid's got some sense. Seber thought to himself.

A guard trotted over with the sword and presented it with both hands to the middle-aged man. The middle-aged man indifferently took the sword, flipped the blade, and read the inscription:

"A'ssonston, Donamiru—" (Elvish: Born from light, striking fear into all enemies)

He raised the sword, and the elven blade shimmered in his hand, causing everyone around to gasp. A magic sword. The nobles couldn't help but cast their eyes towards Brando and his companions, their suspicion that the trio were assassins now solidified. After all, who would believe that a militiaman would carry a magical weapon?

However, the middle-aged man gazed at the faintly glowing, leaf-shaped longsword in his hand, a smile appearing on his face for the first time. He glanced at the industrialist beside him and asked, "Sir Burien, you are wealthy and knowledgeable. Can you tell me the origin of this sword?"

The noble, with his mutton-fat jade-like eyes, quickly rolled his body and said obsequiously, "I have seen some elven weapons, but how can my knowledge compare to what you have seen and heard in your circles, my lord."

The middle-aged man gave a cold laugh and replied, "Then, for the sake of this sword, I will make their night a little easier. Tomorrow, I will personally interrogate these assassins. As for you two ladies, take good care of them. You'd best tell your captain, Granson, this message exactly. Don't think I don't know about their sordid—"

His words grew colder, eventually silencing the guard before him. However, others revealed knowing smiles. The more obvious the lord's attitude became, the more advantageous it was for them.

It was just two women and a sword, after all. Compared to their personal interests, they cared more about the latter.

Freya's face, however, was flushed crimson with anger. She couldn't help but take a deep breath. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her fists. For a moment, Brando truly feared she might act impulsively without considering the consequences, but thankfully, the Valkyrie lady had become much more composed than when he first met her.

He looked up, glancing at the middle-aged man, then at the Gleaming Thorn shimmering in his hand. He furrowed his brow. Who was that person? He seemed to hold a high position. It was a shame he couldn't know every detail of history, but the other person's reaction was interesting.

Still, he wasn't too nervous. The real show was yet to come.

As they were escorted away by numerous guards, Brando clearly heard the middle-aged man ask:

"Alright, back to the main topic. Mr. Seber, when do you plan to let me out of the city?" The middle-aged man's voice was indifferent, filled with a faint mockery.

"My Lord Count, these are perilous times. Madara has already reached the foot of Vanmir Fortress. Bucci's flank could be affected at any moment. The wilderness is too dangerous, especially since you are a close confidant of His Majesty. What reason do we have to let you risk danger?"

The middle-aged man smiled and said no more.