Nightfall

The moment Brando and his retainers dismounted from the gargoyles, they saw Romane and a pale-faced Freya in the alley. The latter in particular was glaring at him resentfully. Brando found it rather amusing. Who would have thought the dignified future Valkyrie would be afraid of heights? Thinking of her terrified expression up in the sky, she had been no different from the girls in his old party.

"All right, let me explain the situation." Afraid that Freya would settle the score with him afterward, Brando hurried to speak the instant he landed.

Freya saw through his little trick and gave a soft snort. She turned her head away, too lazy to argue with him.

"We've already delivered the message. Whether the nobles believe it is their business. Next, before Madara launches its attack, we need to find Romane's aunt and escape Ridenburg—but that won't be easy." Brando waved for the gargoyles to fly up onto the rooftops, where they froze in place to watch the surrounding area. Since nightfall, he had been experimenting with the spell on the amulet, and he had finally found one that worked.

However, he still lacked an offensive spell.

"Freya and Romane, you're both registered militia, so your relatives in Ridenburg will definitely be on record. If we contact Romane's distant relative, we may risk being discovered, especially when we don't know whether he can be trusted."

"Wouldn't that put Aunt Jenny in danger?" Freya turned back and asked.

Brando glanced at Romane. She said nothing, merely lowering her head to fiddle with the hem of her clothes.

"Generally speaking, they still have time to react. But if we all act together, the chances of failure will be much higher. To save time, we'll split into three groups and make sure everyone knows exactly what they need to do."

He took a breath, unconsciously assuming the air of a party leader from the game. Yet in reality, with other people's fates in his hands, Brando could not help feeling a trace of nervousness.

His gaze lingered over the three faces before he assigned their tasks.

"Freya, you'll contact Romane's relative."

"Me?" Freya pointed at herself in surprise.

"Yes."

"But I only know he lives in Ponoan Market. I don't even know the exact address. Besides, I don't even know where Ponoan Market is." The Ponytail Girl looked troubled.

"You can ask around. Ponoan Market is nearby. Once you leave this alley, there's a tavern called The Copper Dragon's Storytelling Bar. You can go there to gather information." Brando suddenly smiled. "But be careful. The mercenaries in taverns don't have very clean hands. Don't let them take advantage of you."

Freya's face instantly turned red. She glared at him viciously. "S-Shameless!"

Charles chuckled quietly from the side, finding his lord rather interesting. Nobles rarely visited crude places like taverns, yet Brando seemed to know every level of this kingdom exceptionally well. Wizards always liked being around clever people—especially those with broad knowledge. Naturally, this young man was no exception.

"After you find the wool merchant named Hood, don't reveal your identity right away. Give him a time and arrange to meet us at the tavern. Watch his reaction, and you'll know whether he can be trusted. If you notice traces of the military, don't worry. Until they understand our relationship, they won't alert the enemy. They also want a chance to catch us all in one sweep."

Freya thought for a moment, as if confirming whether she could handle all that, before nodding.

"What about me, Brando?" Romane asked, blinking.

"Romane, help us arrange a carriage and wait for us at the north gate. Ridenburg only has two inns, so they may be under surveillance. If you find anything suspicious at one, switch to the other. If both have problems, go to the north gate by yourself. No matter what, we'll leave the city as soon as the gates open at dawn. If we're lucky, we might get out before the lockdown order is issued."

The Merchant's Daughter nodded readily.

Then Brando took out the money he had obtained from that noble's belongings, divided it into two portions, and handed them to the girls. "Both of your tasks may require money. There are thirty silver coins here—fifteen each should be more than enough. If possible, Romane, buy some food as well."

The Merchant's Daughter nodded again, even more seriously.

"What about you, Brando?" Freya asked.

"The pressure on you two will be too great if you act alone. The White Mane Legion could intervene at any moment. Charles and I will pay a visit to a few old friends and draw the attention of Ridenburg's guards." Brando answered calmly.

Only heaven knew how much resolve Brando had needed to say those words. His principle had always been to keep risks under control, just as when they crossed Xavier Mountain Pass—it was because he had been confident he could ensure Romane's and his own safety. He had never considered himself a born savior or hero.

Even the most meticulous plan can fail, let alone a gamble with everything at stake. Those were words Brando's old party leader from the game had given him, and he had taken them as his own motto.

But this time, even he did not know how great the risks were. Still, he had promised Romane back at the old house in Buchi. As a man, sometimes one had to stubbornly insist on something. At that moment, Brando felt a force that made his blood boil, yet also supported him in remaining calm as he carried out this task and fulfilled his promise.

"You're crazy, Brando!" Freya caught the hidden meaning in his words and stared at him wide-eyed. "Y-You'll be hanged! What are we supposed to do?"

She suddenly realized her words could be misunderstood. Her face reddened as she explained, "I mean, I don't want to become a bandit with you..."

Brando suddenly found this girl who said one thing and meant another rather cute. "It's fine," he said. "I'll invite you to join us if there's a chance." He thought there would definitely be an opportunity—the only question was how likely he was to persuade this future Valkyrie.

"There's no chance," Freya said bitterly. "You can go with Romane. I'm worried about her."

"No need. I trust Little Romanee."

The Merchant's Daughter raised her brows, secretly delighted.

Freya gritted her teeth in anger. She thought this guy clearly knew she was worried about him, yet he deliberately forced her to say it. What was even more infuriating was that even if she said it, he certainly would not listen.

"Forget it. I can't be bothered with you," she said, lowering her head and brushing her ponytail behind her. "Y-You be careful."

Meanwhile, the Merchant's Daughter gave him a small everything-OK gesture and even waved it around—something she had learned from Brando over the past two days. "I'll wait for you at the north gate, Brando! The carriage of a future great merchant won't set off until Brando gets on board—"

Brando's heart stirred at her words, and he smiled.

About ten minutes later, inside the camp of the White Mane Legion's swordsman regiment—

"You say you didn't hear anything?"

Lyckbeson picked up a broken piece of timber and pointed at the cross-section. "Judging by how thoroughly it was shattered, it took at least first-tier strength. Someone at the level of a Black Iron Swordsman broke down the door of our White Mane Legion's cell, and you're telling me you heard nothing?"

Known as the Tiger, forty-five-year-old Lyckbeson had dark skin and a sharply chiseled forehead. His high cheekbones revealed that half his blood came from the mountain folk. His cheeks were flat and gaunt, while a trace of wildness lurked in his deep-set eyes. Lyckbeson had served as commander of the White Mane Legion's 104th Swordsman Regiment for ten years. If he wanted to rise further, he would have to rely on his reputation and seniority in the army.

Yet politically, Lyckbeson leaned toward Everton's faction—the so-called Revival Party. It was an established fact that the White Mane Legion had long since become Count Plar's private force, and he was now one of the unwelcome figures in this army. Still, that did not prevent him from displaying his authority before his subordinates. Tiger Lyckbeson was not one of those pretty-faced noblemen who had risen through backdoor connections.

The general's words immediately made several junior officers exchange looks, especially the man who had been on duty that night, whose face had turned dark red. White Mane infantrymen in blue uniforms and pointed helmets moved in and out of the room. Compared with the Guard Detachment, the most distinctive feature of these soldiers' uniforms was the tuft of white wolf feathers hanging from their epaulets.

This unique ornament commemorated the glorious honor of the regiment's refusal to retreat even unto death during the Battle of Jatinga, and it was also the origin of the White Mane Legion's name.

"If the opponent was a Highland Knight, then it wouldn't be impossible for his apprentice retainer to do this," someone said.

"For the White Mane Legion, the important thing isn't what your opponent did. It's what you did. Ten minutes to react—are you militia?"

Lyckbeson's rebuke left the others instantly speechless.

Just then, an officer entered after announcing himself, followed by his adjutant. The newcomer held a stack of parchment and reported, "Commander, we checked the records of the Buchi militia. There are indeed people named Freya and Romane on the rolls, but that young man called Brando does not seem to be a local of Buchi."

Just as Lyckbeson had expected. He tapped the table with his fingers. "And?"

The adjutant stepped closer and whispered something in his ear. Lyckbeson nodded. Then he asked, "What is His Majesty's envoy's attitude?"

"His Excellency the Count did not say so directly, but he seemed to be implying that we should execute them on the spot," the officer replied.

Lyckbeson was slightly stunned. Would a royal envoy really pick a fight with a mere commoner? He rubbed his chin, trying to decipher the meaning behind it, but before he could, the whole room had already erupted into buzzing discussion—

"Really? But would that old bastard go that far over a commoner?"

"I think he has his eye on those two women. That old lecher."

"A mere jester. I saw him admiring that Elven Treasure Sword with my own eyes."

"What a country bumpkin who's never seen the world." Someone gave a disdainful sneer.

Lyckbeson immediately slapped the table, making the unruly officers stop. He was about to reprimand them when someone else pushed open the door—it was the messenger from outside.

"Commander, the local council building is on fire."

"What a fine diversion," Lyckbeson cursed under his breath. He immediately rose and ordered, "You have ten minutes. Assemble the Second and Third Companies at the fastest possible speed!"

Rows of officers stood up.

He pointed to the other side. "You two, go keep the designated targets under surveillance. Marquelin, your assignment is the inn. You know what to do—don't alert them."

The three men who had been called upon lowered their heads and acknowledged the order. They did not dare hesitate before turning and leaving at once.

"Commander, what about Sir Seber's side?"

"No need to remind me. Those fellows must have already run off in a panic to curry favor with our royal envoy. They have to rely on one side or the other, don't they?"

The commander's words drew a round of low laughter from the room.

(PS: Chongqing has become like the countryside too. There are power outages every day; the electricity only came back at seven today.

Seeing so many people say that two updates a day is still slow makes me want to cough up blood.

Please vote!)