The Middle-Aged Man

Seeing Freya flustered and at a loss, Brando figured she had probably gained some understanding of what these so-called local troops of Ridenburg were really like—but not enough. He intended to make her see it more clearly. Only reality could make Freya understand the situation they were in now.

Of course, Brando did not want to shatter the last trace of hope she had in this country. It was just that sometimes, doing things did not depend on sheer enthusiasm. Charging recklessly ahead would only leave one battered and bloody.

Brando had never been rash. He hoped Freya would learn to act with composure as well. Naturally, when necessary, he would step in to protect them. His bottom line was that these people could not truly harm Freya or Roman.

He was calmly watching how Freya would deal with this crisis when he saw her gaze fall into the distance. He paused, then followed her line of sight and saw that it led toward the barracks on Ridenburg's eastern side—or so they seemed to be called. There, he saw a group of people of varying heights clustered around a tall, middle-aged man. Behind them followed a group of White Mane Light Infantry, spread out and deployed across the area. They look like nobles.

Brando suddenly found things interesting. He had not expected to be this lucky—it was practically as though someone had brought him a pillow the moment he wanted to sleep. Freya had reacted quickly, too, noticing those important figures at once. He roughly understood what she was thinking and could not help nodding inwardly.

From an ordinary person's perspective, Freya's reaction was entirely correct. Of course, Brando only wanted to watch her get beaten bloody against reality. That sounded a little unfair to the future Valkyrie, but Brando knew his intentions were for her own good. That was enough.

Besides, this had been Freya's own choice.

He turned around. Two guards were drawing their longswords and approaching Freya. They clearly had not expected the girl to resist after their two companions had obediently surrendered—and to resist so decisively, at that. The moment she leaped into the tower, she had rushed straight toward the weapon rack to one side.

The two men were startled and hurriedly drew their longswords to meet her. But Freya suddenly wheeled around and reached for one guard's wrist with her right hand. She slipped to the side and struck his armpit with a knife-hand blow from her left hand. From seizing the sword to subduing him, the entire motion flowed as one. In the blink of an eye, the guard let out a miserable cry, doubled over, and collapsed to the ground.

Ponytail Girl snatched up the sword and clashed with the other guard. After three consecutive strikes, the strength she had developed while fighting the Golden Demon Tree drove the guard back five steps, all the way to the wall. She then reversed the blade and slammed the hilt into the unlucky man's head, leaving him bleeding and sprawled on his back.

She turned around again, and the force of her presence was enough to make the remaining four guards and their captain all retreat a step in unison. Freya could not help feeling bitter. The Ridenburg army she had always relied on was actually only this strong. She had thought they were all as formidable as Brando—or perhaps a little weaker, but at least not far behind!

Brando, however, secretly cried out, Beautiful. The local guards were no more than veteran militia in terms of skill, while Freya's abilities had already firmly reached the level of the Guard Detachment. Her calm and composure on top of that made her exceptionally remarkable.

But he glanced at the White Mane Light Infantry in the distance and thought that if Freya assumed the kingdom's regular army had the same fighting strength, she might soon suffer a major loss.

For now, though, his task was not to interfere with the future Valkyrie's judgment. Thus, he suddenly grabbed the two guards beside him and threw them out before they could react. Then he spun around, seized his own Elven Treasure Sword, and knocked the longswords from the hands of the two guards holding Roman.

"What are you planning to do?" He ignored the guards groaning on the ground and ran over while holding Roman's hand.

Freya glared at him, then glanced toward the barracks. Her meaning was obvious.

"Go over there? All right. As the saying goes, the King of Hell is easy to deal with, but his underlings are troublesome." Brando smiled.

"What does that mean?" Roman asked curiously from behind them, rubbing her wrist. Those people had used far too much force. Her hand still ached from their grip.

"It means we'll see what those important people have to say."

Freya felt that there was more behind his words, but there was no time to argue with him now. She glanced in disgust at the guard captain, who had already been frightened limp on the ground, then climbed out of the tower first.

"Brando, Freya seems angry."

"It's fine. Just keep up with her."

Merchant's Daughter looked at him curiously.

***

Lord Golden Fruit Seber had been in a fairly good mood throughout the day—if not for what had just happened in front of him.

When he saw the girl suddenly charge up to him, he had only just frozen in surprise when the guards behind him surged forward and surrounded her. Seber also saw two others inside the encirclement, both dressed like country folk. After staring blankly for a moment, a furious rage erupted in his chest.

What the hell are those idiots doing? How did they let three filthy bumpkins get in here? Who is the captain on duty tonight? I'll make him go home and eat his own words!

Seber's face shifted between green and white, and he was just about to explode when someone jabbed him with the handle of a cane from behind. He turned and saw the fleshy face of that nauseating industrialist, the great workshop owner, Sir Burnley. To be honest, he did not want to say one unnecessary word to this money-stinking, miserly fat man. Fortunately, Lord Seber's mind was clear enough to understand that, at least for now, they were on the same side.

He followed the other man's gaze and was startled when he saw Freya's shoulder insignia. Militia from Buchi? Hadn't Madara's army already reached Beledor Forest? How had they gotten here?

He could not help glancing toward the somewhat more distant area behind him, hoping that the important figures there had not noticed the commotion. Then he pressed down on his sword and barked in a deep voice at the guards, "What are you doing here? Take the assassins away."

"Assassins?"

Freya was just about to speak when the word left her stunned. She widened her eyes helplessly, wanting to defend herself, only to discover that all the guards surrounding her had drawn their longswords. A clear metallic ringing filled the air, as though it were about to pierce her heart.

"What is going on here?"

At that moment, a calm, stern voice cut in, causing everyone to instinctively step aside. When the crowd parted, it revealed a middle-aged man behind them. He had deep-set eyes, a high nose, and a gloomy, severe face. He rested both hands on a golden cane and regarded everyone present with an icy gaze.

Seber drew a breath and cursed inwardly. Damn it, this trouble still got dragged over here. His thoughts raced, but his expression remained unchanged as he replied, "A few commoners broke in. They might be assassins again."

"Commoners?" The middle-aged man frowned.

"My lord, we aren't assassins. We're militia from Buchi," Freya hurriedly explained. "We came here to deliver a message. Buchi is under attack by Mada—"

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

"F-Freya." Freya froze. The man's cold gaze made her feel as though a venomous snake were staring at her, and she could not help lowering her head.

"And you?" he asked Roman.

"My name is Roman, mister." The future Merchant's Daughter blinked as she answered.

Someone in the crowd could not help laughing twice, but quickly stifled it. The middle-aged man's expression did not change this time. He merely waved his hand. "Take them away. We'll decide what to do after questioning them."

"My lord, we..." Freya was startled and hurriedly raised her head to explain.

But the other party did not listen to them at all. Instead, he had the guards surge forward and pin down the three of them. Then, while the middle-aged man watched coldly, he suddenly spoke again. "Wait."

His words seemed to carry tremendous authority. Everyone instinctively stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.

"Let me see the sword that man is holding." He pointed his cane at Brando.

The sword?

Everyone froze for a moment before noticing the sword's shape in Brando's hand. It was an Elven Treasure Sword. Elven swords were renowned for their exquisite craftsmanship and generally circulated among the upper classes as works of art. Seber could not help grumbling inwardly again. This man really has sharp eyes. He has his sights set on both women and the sword.

What made him uncomfortable was that the man's identity and status were far above his own. Even if the other party merely stated that he wanted it, Seber could only obediently present it. He could not afford to offend the power represented behind that man.

He waved his hand, and several guards immediately understood. They drew their swords and pointed them at Brando.

Brando turned to look at Freya and saw the girl standing there in bewilderment, somewhat dazed. He knew this was almost enough, but he still had to remain calm for now. He shrugged and obediently handed over the sword.

At least this brat knows his place, Seber thought.

A guard carried the sword over at a jog and presented it to the middle-aged man with both hands. The man took it coldly, turned the blade over, and read the inscription aloud:

"A'ssonston, Donamiru—" (Elven: Born from light, it makes all foes tremble)

He raised the sword. The Elven Treasure Sword shone brilliantly in his hands, and everyone around them could not help drawing in a sharp breath. A Magic Sword. The nobles all turned their gazes toward Brando and the others, even more firmly convinced that the three were assassins. After all, what militia would carry a magical weapon on them? No one would believe such a thing.

The middle-aged man, however, gazed at the faintly glowing leaf-shaped sword in his hand, and for the first time, a smile appeared on his face. He glanced at the industrialist beside him and asked, "Sir Burnley, you are extremely wealthy and widely experienced. Can you tell me the origins of this sword?"

The nobleman, who resembled a ball of suet, hurriedly rolled his body forward and said ingratiatingly, "I have seen some Elven weapons, but if we're speaking of broad experience, how could what I've seen in that circle compare to what you, my lord, have encountered?"

The middle-aged man gave a cold laugh and replied, "Then, out of consideration for this sword, make things easier for them tonight. Tomorrow, I will personally interrogate these assassins. Take good care of the two ladies. You'd better repeat these words exactly to your captain, Granson. Don't think I don't know about their filthy dealings—"

His voice grew colder and colder until the guard in front of him was trembling with fear. The others, however, wore meaningful smiles. The clearer this lord's attitude became, the more advantageous it was for them.

After all, it was only two women and a sword. Compared to their own interests, they cared more about the latter.

Freya's face flushed crimson with fury. She could not help drawing a deep breath. Her teeth clenched, and both hands tightened into fists. For a moment, Brando was genuinely afraid that she would lose control and act recklessly. Fortunately, the Valkyrie was already far more composed than when he had first met her.

He raised his head and looked at the middle-aged man, then at the Gleaming Thorn shining in his hand. He frowned slightly. Who is that man? He seems to hold a very high position. Unfortunately, he could not know every detail of every event in history. Still, the man's reaction was interesting.

But he was not particularly nervous. The real show had yet to begin.

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

"All right, back to the main matter. Mister Seber, when are you planning to let me leave the city?" The middle-aged man's voice was indifferent, carrying a faint note of mockery.

"My lord, these are dangerous times. Madara has already reached the foot of Vanmir Fortress. Buchi's flank could be affected at any moment. The wilderness is far too dangerous, especially since you are one of His Majesty's close advisers. What reason would we have to let you put yourself in danger?"

The middle-aged man smiled and said nothing more.

(PS: Amber has made it into the top three on Sanjiang, and there's a vote going on. I hope everyone will go cast a vote! Also, those with free annual votes, please concentrate them on Amber! The author doesn't need any votes.)