Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Previous | TOC | Next |
Chapter 50: The Earl
The brass alarm bell of Usson Castle hung high atop a towering spire. When it rang, its sound reverberated across half the city. Like an invisible ripple, the tolling spread outward, awakening streets and alleys from their midnight slumber, injecting life into the sleeping populace.
People poured onto the streets, bewildered, questioning one another about what had transpired.
Luc Besson was waiting for news in the eastern barracks of Ridenburg when the clear, resonant chimes reached him through the stone-framed window. He turned his head toward the dimly lit inner district, his expression darkening. Without waiting for the messenger to burst in, the commander flung open the door and bellowed:
"Didn’t you hear that?! Get up! Move! Second and third companies outside—follow me to Usson Castle immediately! Ceberus, you incompetent fool!"
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
"Commander, what about the gates?" someone asked hesitantly.
"Are you an idiot? Who else but a Highland Knight could breach Usson Castle? Let Ceberus deal with the consequences of hiding this mess," he snapped, exhaling sharply. His tone softened slightly as he continued, "If anything happens to the person inside that castle, we’ll face the king’s wrath—his dragonfire fury. Some may want him dead, but I’m not taking the blame. As for everything else, keep your eyes on the target!"
With that, the room sprang into action.
Luc Besson exhaled deeply, but thoughts of facing a Highland Knight and his mage squire left him uneasy. Historically, Highland Knights operated independently, even during the height of the Colcova dynasty when the royal family struggled to control them. How much more so now?
He silently cursed Lord Ceberus of Golden Fruit and his entire lineage.
..........
Freya followed the girl, Su, down a long, narrow alleyway. When the alarm bells rang, she paused instinctively, turning her head toward the distant glow of the inner city. Her face clouded with worry.
"What’s wrong?" Su asked.
"Nothing, sorry."
"There’s going to be a war," Su said suddenly.
Freya blinked, looking at her in confusion.
"The nobles have issued a curfew. It only happens during wartime. No one says it aloud, but everyone knows. Every time before, it was the same."
"You mean they know there’s going to be a war?"
"They? You mean the noble lords? Of course they do. They have their own channels for gathering information. By the time rumors start spreading in taverns, they already know."
Freya remained silent, clenching her fists tightly. Her bright eyes flickered with restrained anger.
"But why isn’t there any reaction in the city?"
"There are reactions—we just don’t see them. The nobles will prepare. Ridenburg is strong; the people here don’t need to worry too much. But today, bread and wheat prices rose by ten percent—a change most wouldn’t notice."
"What if Ridenburg falls?"
"It won’t."
Freya couldn’t help but recall Brandon’s confident assertion. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. "But I have a friend who says Ridenburg will fall."
"He must be a liar," Su replied calmly.
..........
After ringing the alarm, Chael made his way to the rooftop of the barracks. Peering over the parapet toward the moat, he saw a sea of men and horses gathering beyond the streets—likely the private militias of the nobility arriving first.
This wasn’t his concern. Retracting his gaze, he moved to the opposite side, estimating the distance from the barracks to the castle. Selecting a viable route, he ignited the witch’s candle in his hand. Recalling Brandon’s instructions, he murmured, “Et’ham—”
The first syllable activated the connection to the Abyss of Darkness, overseen by Elaine, the twin goddess. Witches often used this energy as a medium unless practicing necromancy. Holding the candle aloft, he let its light touch a point fifteen feet away.
Choosing a tree as his destination, Chael felt himself pulled forward into a corridor of light. When he regained his senses, he found himself perched atop the tree canopy.
"Truly remarkable, those Brunson witches," Chael muttered, scanning the area. He selected another tree as his next waypoint.
Repeating this process seven or eight times, the candle burned down to a stub, but he was close enough to reach the castle’s stone-framed window. Placing the candle on the sill, he stepped through a stream of light into the passageway beyond. Emerging from the dizziness, he found himself enveloped in darkness.
Shaking off the disorientation, he faintly heard the sounds of combat ahead.
He was late, but it didn’t matter—Brandon would surely leave him some leeway. Or so Chael consoled himself, unaware that Brandon was now itching to run him through with a sword.
..........
Minutes earlier—
When Brandon pushed open the heavy oak door, he didn’t find the Earl cowering in a corner as expected. Instead, the room was softly illuminated by an array of beeswax candles, casting a warm, balanced glow. The Earl sat composedly on a plush sofa, his black velvet suit immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight. He met Brandon’s gaze evenly, a delicate elven blade—the Lustrous Stinger—resting on the low table before him.
Brandon froze momentarily, surprised by the Earl’s composure. Clearly, the man wasn’t lacking in courage. This realization heightened Brandon’s alertness. The Earl’s calm demeanor suggested he had something up his sleeve.
"I didn’t expect it was you, young man. I thought it was another assassin sent by those fools in Gobsburg. Though, you might also be a hired killer—care to enlighten me?" The middle-aged man spoke casually, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise.
Gobsburg? So he wasn’t loyal to the crown? Brandon frowned internally but shook his head. "Afraid not. But if you cooperate, I have no interest in killing you."
"No interest, you say? How generous. Unfortunately, I’m quite interested in killing you." As he spoke, a handheld crossbow materialized in the Earl’s hand. Brandon’s sharp eyes caught the faint blue glow along the bolt’s edge—poison.
Anticipating such tricks, Brandon deflected the bolt with a swift swing of his sword. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, a sudden gust of wind warned him of danger. Instinct honed through countless battles prompted him to whip his sword behind him—
A deafening crash sent Brandon flying into a cabinet. Amidst the cacophony of splintering wood, he gritted his teeth and climbed out of the wreckage.
Upper-tier iron-rank swordsman—and an ambush, no less! Is there no justice in the world?
Brandon suppressed a shiver, grateful for his experience against players. Had it been anyone else, that surprise attack might’ve ended him. Players, after all, had no sense of honor—they thrived on underhanded tactics. Brandon had grown accustomed to expecting the unexpected. Still, facing an upper-tier iron-rank swordsman with strength exceeding 15 units was daunting, even with Strength Surge.
On the other side, the Earl and his companion were equally stunned. Their supposedly fatal strike had missed. Though Brandon appeared battered, both sides knew the damage was negligible to an iron-rank swordsman.
The Earl smirked. "I didn’t think a mere peasant like you had any skill. But it changes nothing."
Picking up the elven blade, he stood, sneering. "You’ve seen my guard’s strength—you’re no match for him. A worm like you doesn’t deserve such a treasure. Here’s my offer: cut off the hand that touched this blade, and I’ll spare your life. Your companions, however, are mine. I’ll make them my slaves, treat them kindly—at least better than dogs. Hah!"
His laughter echoed mockingly.
Brandon’s breath hitched. Though he knew the Earl was trying to provoke him, rage surged within. Roma, Freya, and the militia squad—they were real to him, anchors in this strange world. How dare this man speak of them so vilely?
His grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles whitened.
The Earl observed Brandon’s reaction, signaling subtly to his companion. Both were pleased—seasoned swordsmen rarely lost their cool over external provocations. Yet, Brandon had fallen right into their trap.
"Ulysses, press him!" the Earl commanded silently.
The tall swordsman advanced, his movements flawless, leaving no openings. Brandon, focused solely on the Earl, leaned forward into an aggressive stance from Eruin’s military swordsmanship.
Ulysses smirked inwardly. What arrogance—from a boy facing a superior opponent!
He tightened his grip, ready to strike. Brandon’s side seemed exposed—a perfect opportunity.
"Ulysses!" the Earl shouted suddenly.
Taking it as a signal, Ulysses lunged, certain he’d found an undefendable gap.
But his cruel grin barely formed before a silver-gray ring on Brandon’s right index finger caught his eye—
"Oss!"
A thunderous roar erupted. There was no time to evade. Jagged streams of air pierced forward, striking Ulysses squarely in the face, chest, and abdomen. His body crumpled grotesquely before being hurled upward into the ceiling, creating a gaping hole. Light dimmed momentarily as debris, sand, and viscera rained down.
Before the Earl could react, a cold blade pressed against his throat.
"Choose," Brandon emerged from the dust, his voice icy. "How do you wish to die?"
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
No comments:
Post a Comment