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Chapter 23: The Quest
The effects of Holy Water No. 9 were nowhere near as swift as those of Holy Water No. 7. Its restorative properties had merely dragged Brandon back from the brink of death. With the aid of Chael and Freya, he managed to bind his wounds using his Battlefield First Aid skill, forcing himself to take a breath despite the overwhelming dizziness caused by blood loss. His face was as pale as a ghost’s, but at least he could confirm from his own heath stats that the danger had passed.
Brandon staggered to his feet, nearly collapsing several times due to his weakness. Chael and Freya quickly moved to support him on either side. To his surprise, Brandon glanced back at Freya’s actions with astonishment—he had assumed she would remain furious with him for his earlier jest and ignore him for at least a day.
Freya, however, turned her head away, her cheeks flushed. Though she had been angry at first about Brandon’s deception, upon reflection, she realized that losing him entirely would have been far worse to endure.
Still, she clenched her teeth inwardly, vowing not to fall for his tricks so easily next time.
Despite his surprise, Brandon hadn’t forgotten his purpose. Leaning one hand on Chael’s horse, he turned to his squire and said, “Chael, help me up.”
Before Chael could respond, Freya stepped forward to block him. “Wait! What are you two planning now?”
“To sit on the horse, as you can see,” Brandon replied calmly.
“No, absolutely not.”
“What now?” Brandon asked, taken aback.
“You’re injured so badly! Stop moving around like this—do you even care how worried people get?” The young woman muttered under her breath, her ponytail swaying as she lowered her head, her face red with frustration.
She couldn’t help but think of all the times this had happened before. Didn’t he realize that the wounds he bore would be fatal to anyone else?
Seeing Freya’s reaction, Brandon understood immediately. Softening slightly, he gave her a faint smile. “Freya, I’ll be fine. The potion I took was holy water—you saw how it saved Jason’s life that night, didn’t you?”
Freya bit her lip, wavering between doubt and trust. She watched as Brandon, who could barely stand upright, insisted on mounting the horse. Yet she knew from experience that arguing with him only left her at a disadvantage. So instead, the stubborn girl simply stood in silence, her head bowed, blocking his path.
This left Brandon momentarily at a loss. Explaining the difference between Holy Water No. 9 and Holy Water No. 7 wouldn’t help; Freya likely wouldn’t understand anyway. But neither did he wish to hurt her feelings—not when she was genuinely concerned for him. How could he bring himself to speak harshly to such a girl?
“Lady Freya, let Lord Brandon mount,” came Chael’s voice, relieving the tension.
Freya froze, stunned. She had expected the young mage-squire to side with her—after all, wasn’t it his duty to protect the knight he served? In Vonder, squires gained honor through their knights, yet here Chael seemed unconcerned about Brandon’s well-being.
“Chael, how can you…” She faltered, unsure of what grounds to argue from.
“My lord is no longer in danger, though he remains weak. But leave the care of our lord to me,” Chael said firmly, glancing at Brandon with both worry and admiration. “He must appear on horseback—it is where he belongs. As long as he stands there, he is still the banner leading us forward. It is his honor, and the symbol of his sword. He fights for something greater than himself.”
Brandon chuckled softly. While Chael’s words painted him in an overly noble light, the truth was simple: he needed to be seen atop the horse, a beacon of hope for the mercenaries and refugees behind him. The recent battle had shaken them deeply, and Brandon knew his makeshift army—a ragtag band of militia and hired swords—would crumble without confidence. By staying visible, he reassured them that victory was still within reach.
Freya looked at Brandon with conflicted emotions. When he nodded, she reluctantly stepped aside.
With Chael’s assistance, Brandon climbed onto the horse, though privately he doubted whether he had the strength to hold the reins. Just days ago, he had been an ordinary man—what right did he have to push himself so hard? Yet to his own astonishment, sheer willpower kept him upright, like a spear planted firmly in the ground.
To outsiders, it might have appeared as though the young general had merely switched horses after another triumph. But only Chael, Freya, Retto, and Mano noticed the cold sweat dripping from Brandon’s brow or the slight tremors in his arms. Still, Brandon remained silent, maintaining a stern expression as he ignored those around him.
Retto and Mano exchanged glances before bowing deeply and retreating to reorganize the scattered cavalry. They had intended to assist Brandon but realized he neither needed nor wanted their help. Though they were still learning his character, they recognized the pride that ran deep within him—not arrogance, but confidence born of self-belief. That pride was a banner unto itself.
Suppressing the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, Brandon spurred his horse toward Eberton, the knight who knelt motionless on the ground. Along the way, he casually discarded the cracked remnants of the Gargoyle Amulet. Once its gargoyle guardian perished in combat, the amulet became useless, though it might theoretically be repaired. However, crafting a new one would likely prove easier. This marked the loss of one of Brandon’s most valuable magical items during recent battles, alongside his ruined protective gauntlets.
And the one responsible for this loss now knelt before him—none other than the infamous ‘White Knight’ Eberton, one of the Four Knights of Revelation, a name that struck dread into the hearts of all who heard it in the game.
Never in his wildest dreams had Brandon imagined defeating one of Madara’s elite commanders. Yet here stood reality, absurd and undeniable: Eberton knelt silently, his soulfire flickering dimly. Soon, even without a finishing blow, the undead knight would burn out entirely.
Brandon knew Eberton’s history well.
Born during the Year of the Walnut, Eberton hailed from a noble family and rose naturally to knighthood. He joined the Free Cavalry Corps and fought against the northern Cruzean, earning renown as a capable commander. After living a storied life, he somehow awakened as an undead knight.
Most of what Brandon knew about Eberton came from historical records within the game. As one of Madara’s top generals, Eberton wasn’t meant to fall easily. Thus, details about his questline were scarce.
But based on today’s battle, Brandon suspected there might be a hidden quest tied to the fallen knight—especially given his cryptic remarks about oaths.
Hidden quests often yielded extraordinary rewards. For instance, the Ring of the Wind Sovereign, which Brandon currently wore, stemmed from a hidden questline and counted as a 20oz item. Such treasures were rare finds, particularly at lower levels. Most hidden quests began appearing around level forty, peaking in frequency at seventy or eighty. Finding one accessible at Brandon’s current level was practically unheard of.
Given Eberton’s stature, Brandon found himself intrigued by the secrets the undead knight might hold. Riding closer, he addressed him respectfully, mindful of the knight’s former status.
“What do you wish to say, Eberton?”
A brief silence followed.
“Young man… do you know me?” The kneeling undead knight stirred, his voice raspy and low.
Brandon shook his head. “I do not know you—but perhaps I do. The Eberton I know is a hero of Eruin, laid to rest beneath the earth, embraced by Lady Marsha.”
“Therefore, he is you, but you are not him.”
Eberton let out a cold snort, gripping his sword tightly as he rose creakily to his feet.
“You should already be dead, young man, yet here you stand.” His tone carried a mix of disdain and curiosity. “So tell me, knowing this shell’s past, what do you seek from me?”
Seeing Eberton rise from the ground startled Freya—she was all too aware of how weak Brandon still was. Just as she moved to shield him, Chael grabbed her arm to hold her back.
Confused, she glanced back to see Chael shaking his head slowly.
Though the young mage squire didn’t fully grasp the connection between his lord and the undead knight, he trusted Brandon enough to know he wouldn’t recklessly endanger himself.
Brandon was surprised by Eberton’s response but decided to probe further, drawing on his gaming experience. “Earlier, you asked if I was of royal blood. Suppose I answer yes—then what?”
The undead knight smirked bitterly.
Brandon sighed inwardly. Things weren’t playing out exactly as they did in the game, but perhaps that made them feel more authentic. He couldn’t help but chuckle ruefully at the thought.
“It seems you intend to carry your secrets to Lady Marsha, Eberton,” Brandon remarked, sensing the futility of triggering the quest.
But to his surprise, Eberton shook his head.
“Perhaps not.”
His voice rang with quiet certainty, leaving Brandon—and everyone else—wondering what secrets the White Knight still guarded.
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