Earl

The brass alarm bell of Pine Castle hung high atop its towering spire. When it was rung, its tolls spread across most of the city. Like invisible ripples, they passed through the streets and alleys sunk in midnight slumber, filling them with vitality and waking them one by one.

People poured into the streets, uneasy and bewildered, asking one another what had happened.

Lyckbeson was waiting for news in the eastern barracks of Ridenburg. When the clear clang of the alarm bell rang out from beyond the stone-slit window, he turned his head toward the dimly lit Inner City and his expression changed. Before the messenger outside could even open the door to report, the captain of the sword regiment flung it open and roared outside:

"Can't you hear it? Get up, all of you! Get up and assemble! Have the Second and Third Companies outside follow me to Yusong Castle at once, you idiot Seber!"

Everyone looked at one another.

"Captain, what about the city gates?" someone asked as he rose.

"Are you an idiot? Other than that Highland Knight, who else could have broken into Yusong Castle? As for that fool Seber, if he wants to hide the news, let him suffer the consequences himself." After cursing, he took a breath and his tone eased slightly. "If anything happens to the person in the castle, you'll face His Majesty the King's dragon's wrath. Maybe someone wants him dead, but I'm not taking the blame for it. As for everything else, just keep a close eye on the target!"

The others froze for a moment before springing into action.

Only then did Lyckbeson let out a breath. But when he remembered that the opponent was a Highland Knight with a Mage Retainer, he couldn't help feeling troubled. Highland Knights had always maintained their own system throughout history. Even at the height of the Kolkova Dynasty, the royal family had been helpless against those fiercely protective fellows, let alone him.

He couldn't help cursing Lord Golden Fruit Seber's female relatives under his breath again.

*********

Freya followed the girl down a long, deep alley. When she heard the bell, she froze and instinctively turned around. Looking up in that direction, she wore a worried expression.

"What's wrong?" asked the girl named Su.

"Sorry, it's nothing."

"There's going to be a war," Su suddenly said.

Freya froze and turned back to her in confusion.

"The nobles have issued a curfew. They only do that when there's a war. No one says anything, but everyone knows it. It's always been like this before." Su spoke quietly as she walked ahead.

"You mean they know there's going to be a war?"

"Who are 'they'? The noble lords? Of course they know. They have their own channels for gathering information. Usually, by the time news starts circulating in the city's taverns, they already know."

Freya didn't answer. She merely clenched her fists. Her head lowered, and only a flash of calm fury passed through her bright eyes.

"But why isn't the city reacting?"

"If there were a reaction, we wouldn't be able to see it. But the nobles will certainly make preparations. Ridenburg is so sturdy that the people in the city don't need to worry too much. Still, the price of bread and wheat rose by ten percent today. Those are the changes people normally fail to notice."

"What if Ridenburg is conquered?"

"How could that happen?"

Freya couldn't help recalling Brando's certain tone. She shook her head, casting the thought aside. "But I have a friend who said Ridenburg would be breached."

"Then he must be a liar," Su calmly replied.

*********

After ringing the alarm bell, Charles went to the roof of the barracks. He glanced over the battlements at the moat. Men and horses had gathered in the streets, forming a dark mass. It seemed the nobles' private troops had arrived first.

But that wasn't what he needed to worry about. He withdrew his gaze and ran to the other side, roughly estimating the distance from there to the castle. He then found a feasible route and lit the Witch Candle in his hand. Recalling how Brando had taught him to use it, he murmured, "Et'ham—"

The first syllable activated a portion of the magic power connected to the Abyss of Darkness, which was governed by the Twin Goddess Ilian. Unless witches were using spirit communication, they generally used this portion of magic power as a medium. Charles then raised the candle in his hand, letting its light reach roughly fifteen feet away.

He chose a tree, and in an instant, it felt as if his entire body had entered a passage of light and been pulled forward. When he recovered from his daze, he found himself atop the tree canopy.

"Truly amazing. As expected of a witch from Brunson." Charles looked around and selected another tree opposite him.

After repeating this seven or eight times, only a short stub remained of the candle in Charles's hand. But he had reached the stone-slit window on the other side. He raised the candle and placed it on the window opening, then threw himself through the passageway inside amid a stream of light. When he recovered again, he was already in darkness.

He shook off the dizziness caused by teleportation and could vaguely hear fighting ahead.

I seem to be a little late, but it's fine. The lord will have left us some time anyway. Charles consoled himself, unaware that Brando currently wanted nothing more than to stab him.

*********

A few minutes earlier—

When Brando pushed open the heavy oak door, he didn't see the earl cowering in a corner as he had expected. Instead, the room was comfortably lit. There were enough tallow candles to make it neither glaringly bright nor too dim. The earl himself sat calmly on the sofa, his black velvet formalwear so neat that it didn't have even the slightest crease. He raised his head and met Brando's gaze. On the low table before him lay the Elven Treasure Sword—Gleaming Thorn.

Brando couldn't help pausing when he saw this. He hadn't expected this important minister at the king's side to have some courage. Naturally, that also made him wary. The man's complete lack of fear meant he must have something to rely on.

"I didn't expect it to be you, young man. I thought another assassin sent by those useless fools from Gobsburg had come. Of course, you might also be a killer they hired at great expense. But can you tell me which answer is correct?" The middle-aged man was slightly surprised to see him, but he asked the question with an unchanged expression.

Gobsburg? Could this man not be a member of the Royalist Faction? Brando was puzzled, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't. However, if you cooperate properly, I'm honestly not interested in killing you."

"Is that so? You're not interested in killing me? I should be grateful, then. But unfortunately—I'm very interested in killing you." As the middle-aged man spoke, a hand crossbow suddenly appeared in his hand. The moment Brando saw the faint blue glimmer along the bolt's edge, he realized it was poisoned.

But he had guarded against this trick long ago. He knew the nobles' games all too well. The instant the man moved, he swung his sword and knocked the bolt aside with a clang. Before he had time to breathe a sigh of relief, a gust of wind suddenly struck from behind. The experience he had gained through countless battles made him instinctively turn his sword behind him—

With a thunderous crash, Brando was sent flying into a cabinet. Amid a clatter of splintering wood, he gritted his teeth and crawled out of the wreckage.

A Black Iron High-level Swordsman—and he'd even launched a sneak attack. Was there any justice or law left in this world?

Brando couldn't help feeling a lingering fear. Luckily, my opponents back then were players. Otherwise, I'd have been finished by that sneak attack. Then he remembered those old opponents from the game. Players had no need for so-called experts' dignity. They were practically synonymous with shamelessness. Some were even despicable for the sake of being despicable. That was what it meant for a hooligan to know martial arts—no one could stop them.

Brando had therefore long since grown accustomed to guarding against sneak attacks; it had become instinctive. In other words, had anyone ever seen a player who disliked sneak attacks? Even so, the Black Iron High-level Swordsman still made him feel troubled. The man's strength was at least above Energy Level 15. Even if Brando activated Power Burst, he might not gain the slightest advantage.

On the other side, the middle-aged man and his companion were also startled. They had believed that strike would certainly land, yet it had missed. Although Brando looked miserable, everyone knew that, to a Black Iron Swordsman, that amount of damage was nothing.

The middle-aged man frowned, then immediately sneered. "Who would have thought that a commoner as lowly as a vermin would have a few tricks? But it won't change the outcome."

He picked up the Elven Treasure Sword from the low table and stood. With a cold laugh, he said, "You've seen the strength of my guard. You're no match for him. But then again, how could a minor character like you deserve such a treasure? I'll give you some advice. Either cut off those filthy hands of yours that touched this sword, and I'll spare your life—or hand over your two companions. I've decided to make them my slave girls. I guarantee I'll treat them somewhat well, at least well enough to let them live like dogs. Hahaha—"

He laughed arrogantly as he spoke.

Brando sucked in a cold breath. His expression darkened. He knew the man was deliberately provoking him, but he still couldn't stop his fury from rising. After arriving in this world, the first people he had met were Roman and Freya, along with everyone in the militia squad. Compared with the rest of this world, they gave him a precious sense of reality.

Just like the grandfather he had seen in his dreams, they had become his greatest spiritual support in this world. How could he tolerate this bastard spewing such filthy words?

His fingers tightened around the longsword until they turned faintly white.

The middle-aged man secretly watched Brando's expression while signaling to his companion behind his back. The two men were pleasantly surprised. Veteran swordsmen rarely lost their reason over external matters—but he had never expected a casual test to strike the other man's sore spot so perfectly.

"Ulysses, pressure him!" the middle-aged man ordered with a gesture.

The tall swordsman immediately advanced toward Brando's side. His swordsmanship was exquisite, and there was practically no opening along his attack path. Brando's eyes, however, held only the middle-aged man. He leaned forward, taking the most aggressive attacking stance in Military Swordsmanship.

Ulysses secretly smiled at the sight. A hotheaded youngster was still a hotheaded youngster. He actually dared to act so rashly before an opponent stronger than himself.

He couldn't help tightening his grip on the treasure sword as he waited for a chance to kill with one strike. He could almost see the opening on Brando's flank.

"Ulysses!" the middle-aged man suddenly shouted.

Ulysses instinctively took it as a signal to attack. Yes, now! I've caught an opening he can't defend!

His sword had no time to withdraw—

But the tall man's vicious grin had only appeared halfway when the silver-gray ring on Brando's right index finger entered his sight.

"Oss!"

A thunderous boom erupted, leaving no chance to evade. Sharp spikes formed from streams of air surged forward. The tall swordsman's face, chest, and lower abdomen caved inward grotesquely upon impact. Then the immense pressure of the wind hurled his entire body into the ceiling.

With a roar, a massive hole opened upward. The light dimmed in an instant as mud and stone fragments rained down, mixed with viscous liquid and pieces of flesh...

On the other side, the middle-aged man had barely recovered from the sudden turn of events when a cold treasure sword was already pressed against his neck.

"Speak. How do you want to die?" Brando slowly emerged from the smoke and dust, asking coldly.

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