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Chapter 36: Transcendence
Brandon’s heart trembled. This was his greatest secret in this world. Though he had come to accept the duality of his existence—the merging of two lifetimes’ worth of memories—there remained an unspoken knot deep within him, a lingering unease that defied explanation.
He hadn’t expected this hidden wound to be so ruthlessly torn open by the Golden Magic Tree. But no—wait. He shook his head firmly. The tree’s psychic infiltration couldn’t have reached so deeply into his mind so quickly. The monster was exploiting his own mental habits, preying on his subconscious fears. If Brandon’s grandfather had spoken those words, it was because Brandon himself believed that such a statement would come from him.
Only one’s own mind truly knows what it fears most. Here, in this dreamscape, his enemy wasn’t the Golden Magic Tree—it was himself.
Closing his eyes, Brandon took a deep breath. Realizing that his mental defenses hadn’t yet crumbled, the raw vulnerability he’d felt moments ago began to fade. He steadied himself, his composure returning. By sheer coincidence—or perhaps through the wisdom of his past life—he had managed to deflect the tree’s first assault. His mental state grew stronger, and he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief.
Drawing the Lustrous Stinger, he replied, “Whether I’m worthy or not is something we’ll find out soon enough.”
The old man nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s the kind of response I’d expect from a Damon man. But there are too many loudmouths in this world who talk big and do little. I don’t want my descendants to be among them.”
Brandon’s heart stirred. This wasn’t a test—it was a reflection of his own self-assurance. His confidence was slowly returning, a sign that his mind was stabilizing and approaching its peak resilience.
A good omen.
Brandon gestured for his grandfather to make the first move. Even in a dream, it was only proper to show respect to an elder. Politeness, coupled with unwavering confidence, demanded no less.
In the Golden Magic Tree’s dreams, rushing to attack wasn’t a sign of strength—it could very well be a trap laid by the malevolent entity, subtle and undetectable. Only by guarding against every weakness within himself could he deny the tree any foothold.
The elder nodded again, stepping forward with his left foot and positioning his sword behind his left arm. This opening stance was one of the most refined techniques in military swordsmanship. Brandon’s scalp prickled at the sight; even in his previous life, he had never mastered such precision. Compared to this, Breyson’s and Freya’s skills were laughable. Who exactly was this grandfather of his?
The thought flashed through his mind, and immediately, Brandon felt the weight of his own sword increase. He cursed under his breath. Even a fleeting moment of hesitation had been seized upon by the Golden Magic Tree. Was there no end to its cunning?
He adopted a defensive posture, choosing a mature starting stance from military swordsmanship since he lacked access to other styles. Against such a seasoned swordsman, attempting flashy techniques without the experience to back them up would leave him riddled with openings.
As a veteran warrior, Brandon understood this all too well.
The elder made no further gestures. With a flash of steel, he struck. Brandon noticed that his grandfather’s sword wasn’t particularly fast—but it was terrifyingly steady. To describe it in professional terms, the strike appeared unremarkable at first glance, yet somehow it seemed to cover every possible angle of counterattack.
He sucked in a breath. So this was the swordsmanship of his grandfather as remembered in his past life? No wonder he had earned the Candlelight Medal. Such monstrous skill explained why Brandon’s own talent with the blade was so exceptional—it ran in the bloodline. Had his grandfather been born into better circumstances, he might have been knighted outright.
With no room to counterattack, Brandon focused on sealing off further advances. Their blades clashed with a resounding clang. The force behind the blow startled him, but before he could fully process it, he felt the pressure increase.
Damn you, Golden Magic Tree!
Brandon knew exactly what was happening. The tree’s manipulation was relentless, far surpassing anything he’d encountered in the game. Yet instead of fear, he felt a surge of battle fervor.
He locked eyes with his grandfather. The old man’s expression remained calm, like still water, yet it carried an unsettling ability to pierce through one’s soul.
Suddenly, Brandon found himself puzzled. Why did such an extraordinary grandfather feel so distant in his memories? When he’d first seen the old man here, he’d had to search his childhood recollections to confirm that this was indeed his grandfather.
It wasn’t normal.
Scouring his memories, Brandon realized that his recollections of his grandfather were sparse: sternness, silence, and the aura surrounding the Candlelight Medal and his status as a November War veteran. Other details about the man were faint, overshadowed even by memories of the old family estate and a certain oil painting.
How could years of shared life between grandfather and grandson fade to the point of near-strangership? How could he have forgotten even the sound of his grandfather’s voice? Brandon wasn’t the type to let such things slip away.
Parrying another strike, the clash of metal rang out. The weight of his sword increased again, nearly slipping from his grasp. Startled, Brandon glanced at the elder.
The old man’s expression darkened slightly, tinged with disappointment.
Ten years later, and I’m still no match for my grandfather.
The thought echoed in Brandon’s mind, unbidden. Alarm bells rang in his head—this was self-doubt creeping in! A crack in his mental defenses widened, and his attacks grew erratic. In an instant, the elder seized the opening, knocking Brandon to the ground.
Cold dread washed over him as he scrambled to his feet. But when he turned around, the grassy field was gone, replaced by a dim, gray house. Yes, this was the old Buchi estate—the very place where he had awakened to this world.
Sweat dripped from Brandon’s brow. The Golden Magic Tree’s invasion was deepening. His hand instinctively moved toward his pouch, where the key to overcoming this trial lay—but he hesitated. Should he resort to a shortcut?
A spark of resistance flared within him. He looked up at the elder’s face—his grandfather’s face. The old man’s expression remained stern, etched with lines of disappointment.
That disappointment cut deeper than any blade.
It was as if twenty years of memories suddenly crystallized, threatening to break free from his being and confront his grandfather on their own.
I can do this. Let me handle it.
The thought arose unbidden, and Brandon recognized it as the influence of his past self. He had integrated into this world, into the memories of his own kin.
But he shook his head. No, this could be the Golden Magic Tree exploiting human frailty. He needed to use the technique to escape the dream. Yet as his hand hovered over the item, he froze.
Because the elder’s disappointment had grown even more pronounced.
“No, I can’t abandon Brandon.”
“But you must understand—the Golden Magic Tree is using Brandon’s weakness.”
“Even so, that weakness is part of me.”
“You will fail.”
“But abandoning weakness isn’t the same as conquering oneself.”
Brandon calmed.
A sudden realization struck him. Why had his grandfather remained silent throughout the duel? Despite numerous opportunities to shatter Brandon’s defenses, the elder had simply watched and waited, his gaze heavy with disappointment.
A bolt of clarity pierced Brandon’s mind, illuminating every shadowy corner. This wasn’t mercy from the Golden Magic Tree. No—this was the young man clinging desperately to the last bastion of his soul!
Why?
Brandon gazed at the elder’s stern, slightly sighing face, half-hidden in the shadows of the old house. Beneath the wrinkles and age, there was disappointment—but also something else.
Expectation.
His body trembled. That silent waiting wasn’t rejection—it was hope. This was the grandfather Brandon remembered: stern, with a gaze full of disappointment, yet brimming with quiet expectation for the young man’s growth.
Family doesn’t truly rebuke you—they wait. They wait for the day you understand, even if they grow old, even if they pass on. They remain in your heart, waiting for you to grasp the love behind their expectations.
Brandon raised his head, gripping his sword tightly. Tears threatened to spill, but he held them back. He had thought he understood this world, but now he realized he knew nothing.
“Brandon, do you remember what I told you? Your spine should be as straight as your sword. A Damon man stands tall and proud. You’re my grandson—you’re the best version of yourself in my eyes.” The elder raised his sword once more.
“Come. Show me what you’ve learned in the ten years since I left.”
Brandon nodded, tears streaming down his face. These weren’t just his grandfather’s words—they were the answers his own heart had given him. This was the path Brandon sought.
He took a deep breath.
Their swords clashed again.
“Stand up, Brandon. A Damon man doesn’t show weakness like this.”
“Why are you crying? A scratch won’t kill you.”
“Speak. What punishment do you think you deserve this time?”
The grandfather in his memories was the stern figure seated in judgment, silent and disapproving.
The grandfather in his memories was the man who found fault with everything he did.
But the grandfather in his heart had walked the final leg of his journey. Standing by the wooden bed, Brandon felt the old man’s hand rest gently on his head, just as it had by the Braggs River in his youth. The rough, calloused fingers ruffled his hair one last time before losing their strength, brushing softly across his young face.
Rough, yet filled with a sense of dependability. That final sigh—was it disappointment, or was it laden with responsibility and hope?
Brandon felt the dream crumbling around him. In his hand, the Candlelight Medal dissolved into grains of sand, slipping away like time itself.
“Thank you, elder.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
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