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Chapter 17: Valkyrie
The roaring flames burned fiercely, casting a golden-red hue that formed a gradient of light and darkness on the edges of everyone's faces.
Brandon lifted his head, carefully examining the young vice-chief of the Guard Unit sitting on horseback. He saw the seriousness mirrored on the other's face: lips pursed, eyes fixed on him as if intending to make him submit with a stern gaze.
But neither Su Fei nor Brandon were buying into it.
"I'm a militiaman from Ankerze. With all due respect, Vice-chief Breyson, since when did Buchi's Guard Unit have the authority to issue orders to allied forces across jurisdictions? And where is your letter of commission?" Brandon spoke up, causing the riders behind Breyson to tense up. Having fought for Eruin in the game for twenty-one years, Brandon was much clearer on the kingdom's laws than these youngsters.
The young vice-chief pondered for a moment before stubbornly replying, "Special circumstances call for special measures."
Brandon knew the other wouldn't back down easily, but he didn't want to argue either. If Breyson hadn't come looking for trouble, he wouldn't bother with these petty squabbles.
"I'm looking for Freya and Ethan. Have you seen them?" he asked, tilting his head upward.
This was Brandon's primary concern. The fire around them seemed to have been started by these young members of the Guard Unit, but he couldn't help but wonder, in a poor taste, if Eruin's future Valkyrie had perished in such flames. If that was the case, then Breyson had quite the crime on your hands.
Of course, it was just a thought.
But Brandon's casual tone grated on Breyson, who saw it as arrogance. He couldn't fathom what this fallen, now insignificant man had to be proud of. Suppressing his disgust, Breyson asked, "Freya? Third militia squad? What's she doing with you?"
Brandon could discern the man's fondness for Freya, yet his abrasive demeanor still irked him. With each repeated provocation, he couldn’t help but think to himself, even the gentlest soul had its limits.
"Vice-chief Breyson, it's my freedom to be with whoever I choose. As for why I'm here, I suppose it's the same reason as you. Don't think I'm unaware of your current situation." Brandon retorted, unable to hold back.
"What's with your attitude!" One of the young men behind Breyson snapped angrily, unable to contain himself. "You're just a militiaman, and the person in front of you is a Vice-chief of the Guard Unit. Show some respect!"
Brandon was slightly taken aback by the scolding. He couldn't help lift his head to scrutinize the young man. As his gaze swept over the group of young men, the riders in front straightened up, as if to assert their dominance.
Before him were fifteen young men on horseback, donned in immaculate navy blue uniforms and gleaming armor, emanating the aura of elite soldiers.
He understood why these youths held such pride. They were the finest from the rural areas or towns of the Goran-Elsun region, meticulously chosen through rigorous training and screening. Their strength was undeniable, nearly on par with those of the First Level Strength.
According to the Temple of Flames, an individual with an average strength ranging from 3oz to 20oz within them could be considered as possessing the First Level Strength. This category included all the swordsmen of White Rank, Wizard Apprentices, Affinitists (Novice Elementalists), as well as Squires of Knights Templar and those lower-ranking clergy throughout the continent.
The Temple of Flames used amber stones to test the purity of one's strength. Brandon had seen such props in the game, but players had direct access to their data and didn't need such tests.
He recalled reading game-related materials in the past. Throughout Vonder, over sixty percent of the population possessed the First Level Strength due to the generally long human lifespan exceeding a hundred and sixty years. However, within the age range of seventeen to nineteen, the same proportion dropped to twenty percent or even lower. In Eruin, apart from the Church, wizard academies, and knight reserves, the majority of this twenty percent served in the Guard Unit.
That included the people he was seeing now.
Indeed, faced with the ragtag militia, these young people had every reason to feel superior. But militia was militia, and Brandon was Brandon. As someone born and raised in a free world, he was somewhat of an anomaly in this world; he never harbored any inferiority complex.
This was a deeply ingrained perception of modern people—God comes first, and I come second.
Therefore, he stared coldly at the guy, silently assessing his strength. Despite their individual prowess, Brandon considered himself no less than them with his Lustrous Stinger and the Ring of the Wind Sovereign. Moreover, he had the option to utilise his experience of a level one hundred and thirty veteran warrior, which would surely make short work of them. Of course, they could overwhelm him together, but Brandon doubted Breyson could afford that humiliation.
What surprised him, however, was the young vice-chief raising his hand to stop his men and sternly questioning, "How do you know why we're here, and what else do you know? Who told you?"
Of course he knew, Brandon thought to himself.
Why would Buchi's Guard Unit be here, and what was their objective? While Brandon might not be privy to every detail, considering the general direction of history at this moment would give him a rough idea. He knew they weren't here for a counterattack. Tut there had to be a motive, right?
As long as he organized his thoughts and remembered that at this time, Buchi's Guard Unit was primarily focused on breaking through to Ridenburg, wouldn't all the remaining questions be explained?
This was unfolding just like the historical development in the game. On this very day in the game, the undead army of Madara completed the blockade of the Beldor Forest. Either this afternoon or earlier in the day, Buchi's Guard Unit and fleeing villagers would have been attacked by the undead army, marking the closest they had ever come to Riedenburg in history. They were on the brink of success, only to be met by Kabirus' skeletal army, resulting in the tragic failure of their efforts.
And at this moment, Ridenburg wasn't even aware of the invasion from the east.
But this wasn't accidental, nor was it luck not favoring the people of Buchi. They were facing the terrifyingly efficient left wing of the Enstallone army in the first Black Rose War. No matter how many families and dependents Buchi's Guard Unit brought along, they couldn't match the speed of this historically famous undead army.
Moreover, they had been pinned down by Roscoe's skeletal wizard army beforehand, sealing their fate.
Brandon watched the young riders, their faces tired and dusty. He could guess that this was Marden's first defeat. This veteran of the November War now needed food, medicine, and reassurance to prepare for the next breakout.
But they wouldn't anticipate their subsequent failures—the main forces of "One-eyed" Targus would soon press forward, and the tragedy would repeat itself.
Perhaps Breyson would escape with his life, but he'd lose all the honor befitting a soldier.
Thinking this, Brandon shook his head. Suddenly, he had no appetite for argument. However, although he wasn't one to bear grudges, he still disdainfully said, "Isn’t that obvious, isn't it all written on your faces, coming here in such a pompous manner?"
"You—" The young man behind Breyson's face turned red with anger. If not for the former restraining him, he might have drawn his sword to duel Brandon.
"You guessed it right. But since you're unwilling to take responsibility as a militiaman, please step aside," the young Guard Unit leader spoke, his tone calm. "Please don't block our way."
"Wait," Brandon couldn't help but feel irritated. Was this guy resorting to provocation now? He stood in the middle of the road, asking in a deep voice, "Are the villagers with you now?"
"Not your concern."
"How many people were injured?" Brandon pressed on.
Breyson's face stiffened. "Not your concern."
"It's definitely my concern. Among them are my friends' relatives—Freya, little Phineas, Ethan, and Markumi. Their families are among these people. Freya and others fought to defend Buchi, but what about you?" Brandon asked. "Listen, I'm not arguing with you. I just want an answer."
His resolute words silenced all the young members of the Guard Unit, and the whispers that had been going on ceased.
"Move aside, Brandon," Breyson said, his face darkened.
Brandon's heart sank, a bad feeling creeping over him.
He shook his head. "Take me to Chief Marden. I'll find Freya and the others. I'll get you out of this predicament. But before that, you must tell me, did something happen to the family members of the Third Squad?"
Breyson's face darkened further, like a storm cloud overhead.
"Just you—?" The young Guard Unit leader seemed to squeeze the words out between his teeth. With that, he turned his head, signaling his men to move in another direction.
He didn't want to say another word to Brandon. He even regretted what he had said earlier. Every time he thought of the battle occurring in the afternoon, he couldn't help but feel it was the biggest nightmare of his life.
He even wondered if this nightmare would haunt him forever.
Brandon stood aside, watching the riders silently depart. Various speculations crossed his mind, but they all boiled down to one possibility. He couldn't help but call out, "Breyson."
The young vice-chief on horseback halted.
"Is it Freya’s family members?"
Breyson tensed up, but after hesitating for a moment, he nodded.
"What happened?"
"If you found her, tell her on my behalf... , in this afternoon's battle, Aunt Syl and Uncle all..."
When he was about to finish that sentence, he suddenly heard a light clatter behind him.
Everyone froze, and all the riders turned back subconsciously, only to see Freya, her face pale, dropping her longsword to the ground, wearing an expression of disbelief.
Ethan, the young man behind this future Valkyrie, looked equally lost.
"Freya!" Brandon exclaimed in surprise, realizing what Breyson was about to say.
"How is that possible, Aunt Syl wouldn't..." Freya's voice choked, tears streaming down her pale face.
Everyone had their weaknesses.
And when Brandon saw the usually strong Freya kneeling down, crying in despair, as vulnerable as an injured animal, he felt a pang in his own softest spot. His throat felt dry, and he couldn't muster any comforting words.
He silently watched her, but suddenly realized something. Could it be that it was precisely the baptism of such cruel wars that propelled this simple, kind-hearted countryside girl onto the path of a Valkyrie?
So history was repeating itself.
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