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Chapter 41: The Spy
"Brandon, what Roma says might be true," Freya reminded him from the side.
Brandon already knew that Roma’s words were likely accurate—her keen perception was something he had witnessed firsthand. But inwardly, he thought, I’m just joking around to lighten the mood. Future Valkyrie princess, if you keep being so serious all the time, you’ll age prematurely.
He couldn’t help but glance back at Roma. Roma, catching his gaze, quickly looked away. To be honest, her curious stare sometimes made him feel a little uncomfortable—especially when he had something to hide.
But Brandon genuinely liked this girl. In his eyes, she was different, and he found her unexpectedly adorable.
After a moment of thought, he turned back and said, "We’ll stop here for a while."
"Stop?" Freya asked. "But Madara’s army is right behind us. At most, they’ll be two or three hours behind. We don’t have much time left, Brandon."
Brandon pulled out the signet and waved it in front of them. "It’s midnight, and the city will be under curfew. This ring alone doesn’t prove anything. If we’re mistaken for Madara spies, it’s all over, understand?"
"So… what do we do?" Freya had thought her efforts would at least count for something.
Brandon glanced at her. He knew full well he was spouting nonsense. Was it possible that Ridenburg hadn’t noticed Madara’s invasion? Not necessarily. The nobles weren’t careless about their safety—they simply preferred to hunker down in their cities and wait for reinforcements.
He remembered an event from the Year of the Burrowing Beast (Year 342), when the Blood Staff swept through eastern Karasu. The undead army left nothing alive in its wake. The lord of Silver Horse City ordered the gates sealed shut, ignoring pleas for help from the eastern farming districts. This forced countless impoverished farmers to flee westward, leaving that region barren and deserted to this day.
And yet, these lords faced no repercussions afterward. By the time King Obergu VII ascended the throne, the royal family had long lost the authority to dictate terms to the nobles. This incident occurred in the northern Karasu Province of Goran-Elsun—a story Roma and Freya wouldn’t know, but Brandon did.
He didn’t say it aloud, but his real plan was to help Roma rescue her aunt—and perhaps save others if the opportunity arose. As for alerting Ridenburg’s garrison, he held no such hope. Brandon never saw himself as a savior.
Expecting those arrogant nobles to listen to reason was like expecting pigs to fly. During the old Eruin era, players in the game often clashed with these haughty aristocrats. Some even participated directly in the December Coup.
Brandon’s opinion of these men had never been favorable.
But then he reconsidered. Freya’s perspective might differ from his own. He glanced at her again—the country girl gripping her sword and staring at the glowing lights of Ridenburg still trusted in her nation. There was nothing wrong with that, but he worried she might act impulsively at a critical moment.
Even if he told her the truth, she might not believe him, which could only cause division between them. Brandon didn’t want to argue. After some thought, he came up with a plan. Of course, necessary preparations were still required.
Pretending to think deeply, he replied, "After some consideration, it seems we have no choice. As citizens of Eruin, we can’t avoid risk entirely."
"But," he paused, "we must prepare thoroughly."
Brandon’s noble-sounding words left Roma and Freya with no choice but to agree. Even the spirited ponytailed girl softened slightly, her gaze softening as she looked at Brandon, suddenly finding him less despicable.
Only heaven knew how relieved Brandon felt after saying that. He realized with surprise that he seemed to have found a balance between who he was now and who he used to be. He had never been someone bound by rules, but recently, it felt as though an invisible hand had been pushing him forward mechanically, making it hard to breathe.
But as his strength grew and his soul was cleansed in the dream of the Golden Magic Tree, the old feeling returned. Problem-solving became effortless once more, and his thinking grew sharper, infused with a cunning unique to Brandon.
It felt good.
He took out the ebony Gargoyle statue, which still bore a small crack. Turning back, he added, "You both need to prepare as well. Freya, turn your ring around—the flame agate in the middle is too conspicuous. Little Roma, keep your short sword close to your body. Those lazy guards won’t search too carefully."
"Do I need to turn my ring too?"
"No, no one will care about your cheap ring."
"Brandon, aren’t those people city guards? Why don’t you seem to trust them?" Freya couldn’t help but ask.
"It’s not that I don’t trust them—it’s that I’ve never trusted them. You’ll understand later. For now, just do as I say."
Freya had never entered a city before, but she felt Brandon might be overreacting. Still, Brandon was the authority figure now, so she chose to trust him.
As Brandon spoke, he began sorting through various items he had on him. Most were trinkets taken from the remains of that nobleman, yet to be appraised. He discovered the pipe was ordinary junk and tossed it aside. The dark gray stone fragment was unfamiliar even to him—but that wasn’t surprising. With thousands of types of materials in existence, it was normal for Brandon to not recognize one.
The glass bead, however, was intriguing. Brandon realized it was the container of a depleted Soul Gem—a storage item for spells. The spell inside was likely a ten-foot silence spell, useful for bypassing monster nests during wilderness adventures.
Unfortunately, as a warrior, Brandon lacked the ability to activate stored spells. After some hesitation, he tucked these items and cards securely against his body to prevent greedy gate guards from snatching them.
He looked up at the sky. It was still early.
The trio descended the eastern slope of Finderk Mountain, where scattered buildings began to appear. Mostly farms and solitary cottages nestled in the night, fields stretching along both sides of the Usson River, connected in vast patches. A few roadside inns dotted the landscape—places frequented only by passing adventurers and those engaged in illicit trades.
Of course, aside from players, most adventurers weren’t exactly clean-handed. Even NPCs often lumped players together with tomb raiders.
They walked for about an hour in the wilds when suddenly, the towering walls of Ridenburg loomed ahead in the darkness. Torches burned atop the drawbridge beneath the watchtowers, casting light dozens of meters outward. Brandon signaled Freya and Roma to slow down, then emerged cautiously from the shadows beyond the firelight.
The guards on the wall were chatting idly, punctuated by the occasional snore. Brandon’s sharp ears caught every sound. Frowning slightly, he estimated there were seven or eight people on the tower.
Their appearance silenced the chatter.
"Who are you?" A voice called out sharply. Moments later, a soldier wearing a pointed helmet popped his head above the parapet and shouted down. Roma squinted, recognizing the black pine emblem on the helmet.
Brandon had explained earlier: the black pine marked local militia. The White Mane Legion soldiers wore wolf feather insignias. Sure enough, Brandon knew everything, she thought.
"A man and two women. We come from the forest, sir. We saw strange things. My wife and I are terrified and wish to take refuge in the city!" Brandon raised his hands and shouted loudly.
Freya, hearing this, flushed with embarrassment and anger. What kind of crude nonsense was this—one man and two women? When Brandon referred to them as his wives, she couldn’t resist jabbing him hard in the back with her sword scabbard. That despicable man was clearly doing this on purpose.
She thought.
Roma, however, didn’t mind. She probably thought being Brandon’s wife wasn’t so bad since he’d protect her anyway, right?
Brandon had his reasons. Only by saying this could he make the guards lower their guard. As for the rest of the story, he, Freya, and Roma each looked different. Claiming they were siblings wouldn’t fool anyone.
"Do you carry weapons?" the tower guard asked.
Freya tensed, gripping her sword tightly. But Brandon remained calm, raising his voice: "How could we dare walk in the forest unarmed? Besides, I’m a former militiaman, sir."
Silence fell on the tower, broken only by the sound of snoring.
After a moment, a basket was lowered. The guard shouted, "Remove your weapons and place them in the basket. Then we’ll pull you up one by one."
Brandon nodded to Freya, signaling them to comply. His Lustrous Stinger, though exquisite, wouldn’t reveal itself as a magic sword unless activated—after all, elven blades were somewhat known in the human world. Once their weapons were handed over, the basket was sent down again to lift them up individually. To ensure Roma and Freya’s safety, Brandon went first. Freya let Roma ascend next, and she followed last.
But as Freya was hoisted onto the tower, she saw Brandon and Roma surrounded by drawn swords. Two guards approached her, drawing their blades.
"What’s going on?" Freya froze, shocked. She instinctively looked to Brandon, but to her dismay, he avoided her gaze, turning away without answering.
The ponytailed girl panicked. She had always relied on Brandon as the group’s anchor, but now it seemed the decision rested solely on her shoulders. What should she do? Should she let them capture her? Was this standard procedure?
Brandon, answer me! What are you thinking, damn it!
"Seize them all! They’re Madara scouts!" Just then, a voice commanded from the shadows. Freya started, turning and blurting out, "You know Madara’s army is invading?"
Brandon’s expression turned grim. Though Freya had grown, she was still a naive girl. Her words betrayed her lack of experience. She thought her question harmless, unaware that Ridenburg’s defenders feared nothing more than messengers from Buchi bringing news of the invasion.
These men intended to suppress the information until the final reckoning, when they could shift blame elsewhere. Brandon understood perfectly. They believed Ridenburg’s high walls and sturdy defenses guaranteed their safety, oblivious to how the war was spiraling into unpredictability.
"Wait! We’re not scouts!" Freya protested. "We’re militiamen from Buchi! We have proof from the Buchi Guard Unit!"
But the voice ignored her, shouting instead, "Hurry up and seize her! What are you waiting for?" The speaker stepped out of the shadows, clad in black chainmail. The feather on his pointed helmet marked him as the leader of this group.
The sleazy middle-aged man eyed Freya lecherously, thinking he’d struck gold. He believed Freya’s claim—her militia armband was still visible on her arm.
So even the backwater of Buchi has such fine women, he mused, stroking his chin.
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