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Chapter 17: The Aftermath of Battle
"Knight's Challenge?" The silver-haired maiden set down her teacup, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. That Black Knight certainly had a knack for devising delaying tactics. Yet, she sighed softly, turning her gaze to the grand arched windows that framed the bright, clean world beyond.
Her silvery-gray eyes drifted through the slanted sunlight streaming in, catching the motes of dust dancing lazily in the air. A flicker of concern passed over her face. To sacrifice one’s honor and even the dignity of knighthood for the sake of war—was it truly for the blooming black roses of Brovento? Or was there something deeper stirring in the shadowed kingdom across the field? A land embroiled in centuries of ceaseless conflict—what could unite its people now?
Little did the princess know that her idle speculation would soon become reality. She turned back to find herself locked in an unspoken exchange with Orville.
"When Eruin's forebears, led by the wise King Eck, declared independence from Cruze, it was to defy the Empire's relentless exploitation of the southern lands. Our nation was founded on the principle of ending the arrogance and greed of imperial nobility," she murmured softly.
"But has our own nobility not grown just as greedy and arrogant?" she continued, her voice tinged with melancholy. "Have we lost the ambition and sense of honor that once bound us together?"
Orville hesitated before replying, "Your Highness, though the nobles may have decayed, the common folk still hold faith in the Crown."
The princess nodded, feeling marginally reassured.
Seeing the weight of her thoughts, Orville pressed on. "Even the most barren soil can sprout new life, Your Highness. Since the reign of King Anson X, the kingdom has trained militias and formed Guard Units—all seeds planted for renewal. And if a young man such as the one I met can forsake personal pride, then perhaps the youth of Eruin are no less capable than those of Madara."
Neither mentioned aloud that Brandon hailed from the Highland Knights—a faction far removed from the royal court. Still, the princess couldn’t help but wonder what drove him to abandon his honor. Was he not a knight? How could any true knight refuse a challenge?
.................
What the future regent princess failed to realize was that Brandon was no knight at all. Nor did the Black Knight Sasal anticipate this truth—which is why he met his end ignobly amidst the chaos of battle. Brandon paid him no heed; he merely struck him down with a single sword swing as their paths crossed. In that fleeting moment, these two rising stars—one from Eruin, the other from Madara—locked eyes.
In Sasal’s burning soulfire, Brandon saw a yearning for true honor and belief. He understood that no single person could ever be strong enough, but the unity of countless hearts could forge an unstoppable force. The 'black roses of Brovento,' a mere geographical concept for centuries, were now witnessing the birth of something extraordinary within Madara.
It was a process that even cold undead creatures might find worthy of reverence—if only Brandon cared to partake. But he did not. His path lay elsewhere.
Conversely, Sasal, lying broken on the ground, saw only cold pragmatism in the eyes of the human knight above him. For Brandon, ideals meant little compared to raw strength. If Eruin, Valkyrie, and everyone else were to be saved, it would be by his hand alone.
Brandon knew the future—but he also knew no one would believe it. Thus, he needed power, influence, and the means to make the world listen. All else—the titles, the accolades—were but fleeting shadows.
Did that Black Knight truly think a petty trick could sway him?
How naïve.
Brandon turned away. Even on the battlefield, a knight’s duel required witnesses, seconds, proper grounds, and rituals. Unless he were half-mad, he would never consent to such absurdity. This society revered classical virtues, where knights were expected to respect one another. But Brandon was more than just Brandon—he carried a piece of another world within him.
Fair competition? No. Modern warfare thrived on asymmetry and overwhelming force.
Thus, Sasal’s final confusion lingered until his dying breath. As mercenaries swarmed and plunged gleaming blades into his chest, he stared uncomprehendingly: How could he refuse? Is he even a knight?
The undead army had been utterly routed.
Brandon reined in his steed, letting it trot a few paces before halting. Turning back, he noticed the peculiar looks cast his way. It was understandable—in this world, refusing a knight’s challenge was considered a grave offense. These mercenaries, seasoned fighters though they were, remained bound by societal norms.
Yet Brandon raised his sword and addressed them. "You may wonder why I declined his challenge. The reason is simple. A knight’s challenge stems from mutual respect among nobles, not deceitful schemes masquerading as sacred duels. To accept would desecrate the very code of chivalry."
He added, "As for why I say this, you’ll have to ponder it yourselves."
A murmur of understanding rippled through the group, though Retto, Voltaron, and others still harbored doubts. Seeing their expressions, Brandon elaborated, "Of course, all that is mere rhetoric. Put crudely, I have no interest in a wager without stakes."
This blunt explanation resonated with the mercenaries. Many cheered loudly, especially Mano, who nodded fervently, convinced Brandon was a kindred spirit. Yet when Brandon glanced at Retto, he saw lingering skepticism. Still, he knew he’d said enough. Further explanation would only raise suspicions.
Truthfully, he didn’t need to hide anything. Time was too short for niceties. With a gesture, he signaled the others to begin scavenging the battlefield. Dismounting, he approached the bodies of Sasal and the three Black Warriors.
It was time to claim his spoils.
The Black Warriors had burned to ash, leaving behind only their armor and trinkets. Disgusting as they appeared, to someone like Brandon—a ‘player’—they equaled loot.
Kicking aside an empty breastplate, Brandon dismissed it. The Black Warriors’ size rendered their gear useless without extensive reforging. Instead, his focus lay on potential magical items.
The haul was modest: a single iron-grade Serpent Ring, granting +0.1 Agility. Better than nothing, but hardly impressive.
Still, Brandon wasn’t disheartened. These warriors were mere appetizers. His real target was Sasal, a level-twenty elite.
Approaching the fallen Black Knight, Brandon noted the half-armor fit for use—if not for the slashes carelessly inflicted by the mercenaries. Cursing under his breath, he lamented their lack of consideration. Unlike Freya, the militia commander, he, a knight-commander, lacked decent armor.
Curses aside, Brandon crouched and rummaged through Sasal’s pouches. Experience told him most spare magical items and talismans would be here.
Sure enough, he found a serpent statuette and three magical amulets. Amulets were prized possessions, relics originally crafted by northern ice forest wizards. Carrying them would bring good fortune. Over time, their creation spread, becoming a cornerstone of magical item crafting. In-game, each amulet ranked bronze-grade or higher, immune to carrying limits—a boon indeed.
The three amulets granted +1 health, +2 health, and +0.1 innate protection respectively. Cheap trinkets, yes, but better than nothing.
Pocketing the amulets, Brandon examined the serpent statuette. It was a poison charm, typically made by druids or skeletal wizards. Activating it coated weapons with a venomous effect (12oz, gradually weakening the target).
"Not exactly honorable," Brandon muttered darkly. "Using poison? Some knight you turned out to be." He shook his head, grateful his own morals weren’t so rigid—or he’d have fallen victim.
Carefully stowing the items, he checked Sasal’s neck and hands—prime spots for magical gear. No rings or necklaces, but a frost-colored glass bracelet caught his eye.
Of course, it wouldn’t be made of glass at all.
"Elemental Bracelet!" Brandon exclaimed, hastily removing it. Though bronze-grade, its energy rating was formidable. Even the lowest-tier elemental bracelets boasted at least 25oz, with practical attributes to match.
It imbued melee or ranged attacks with elemental damage proportional to its energy rating. A 25oz bracelet added 4-4 elemental damage—a significant boost.
In his past life, Lustrous Stinger dealt 9-9 base damage without enhancements. This bracelet rivaled silver-grade ancient artifacts during its peak popularity—an unattainable dream for Brandon then.
For early physical classes, attack power equaled survival.
Alas, the bracelet required level twenty or higher. Brandon could only admire it wistfully. Carefully storing it, he treated it with reverence surpassing even Lustrous Stinger.
After all, the Lustrous Stinger was merely a transitional longsword—its sharpness and durability insufficient for swordsmen of mid-tier iron rank or higher. Brandon had already considered a replacement in his mind. Yet, for now, he had not acted on this plan, content to bide his time.
The Elemental Bracelet, however, was another matter entirely. There were only two bracelet slots available, and Brandon doubted he would find a better alternative before reaching level forty. And by then, he would be at least at the upper echelons of silver-rank strength.
Satisfied he’d missed nothing, Brandon exhaled deeply and rose. The battle’s spoils were bountiful: 770 experience points and gear nearly doubling his total equipment unit.
Especially the elemental bracelet, it was an unexpected windfall.
With matching rings and another bracelet, completing a pure offensive set, Brandon dared dream of confronting the young black dragon haunting Viero Pinefall Hill Passage—before level thirty, no less. The allure of dragon treasure was irresistible.
Lost in thought, he blew gently on Lustrous Stinger’s blade, imagining victory already won.
Reality, however, loomed large. Shaking off fantasies, he watched mercenaries gather the corpses. Most had found worthwhile loot—Retto and Mano among them, targeting skeletal wizards. Alchemical items, even minor ones, significantly boosted individual prowess.
No one scorned power.
With the battlefield cleared, Brandon checked the time: forty-five minutes since combat began. The progress of the militia neared completion. Glancing at nearby hills, he noted Gargoyle’s limited scouting range. Madara’s skeletal cavalry could appear at any moment. They needed haste.
The refugee column had already resumed its march under the guidance of a few key leaders shortly after the battle began. With the Gargoyle scouting ahead to clear the path, Brandon harbored no concern for their safety. For now, his priority was to locate Freya and then lead the others in catching up to the group.
So far, his plan unfolded smoothly. What remained was evading Madara—and awaiting the constellation of the King of Knights in the night sky.
Reflecting, Brandon retrieved the White Stag Statuette, gazing upward at the dark heavens.
.................
Notes on Equipment Units:
An individual’s total magic item units depends on their Magic Coordination stat, calculated as follows:
Base (20) + Willpower x10 + Total Levels x5 (measured in oz).
Example: Brandon, with 17 total levels and 2.9 units of willpower, can carry up to 134oz worth of equipment (20 + 2.9x10 + 17x5).
Currently equipped items include:
- Lustrous Stinger: 20oz
- Ring of the Wind Sovereign: 20oz
- Protective Gauntlets: 5oz
- Gargoyle Talisman & Soul Statuette (White Stag): 7oz each
- Ghoul Necklace & Lesser Serpent Ring: 3oz combined
Total: 62oz.
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