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Chapter 24: The Lionheart Sword
“These words were not originally meant for you, but I believe you are capable of fulfilling them.” Eberton paused, lifting his gaze to meet the young man’s eyes.
Brandon sat astride his horse, one hand gripping the reins as he hesitated, saying nothing.
Eberton knew better than to expect blind trust from him, but it mattered little. The undead knight straightened his posture, raising his sword and placing it across his left knee as he knelt on his right. His hands rested on the pure silver hilt of Pale Fang as he intoned solemnly: “When two moons shine together, in the valley where the king lies buried, holly shadows point northwest; stars fade, and dawn bestows its authority—”
Brandon’s expression remained unchanged as he guided his horse past Eberton, then turned it around to circle back. These riddles, cryptic yet familiar, reminded him of similar puzzles from the game. He had never excelled at solving them. The mention of two moons clearly referred to the celestial phenomenon when Vonder’s twin moons appeared in the sky simultaneously. The phrase about the valley where the king lies buried first brought to mind the Land of Saintly Relics, though it could also refer to the tomb of one of Eruin’s ancient monarchs.
The line about holly shadows pointing northwest made Brandon furrow his brow slightly. As far as he knew, holly trees didn’t grow in Eruin. Was this a metaphor? Or perhaps a reference to some noble house’s emblem? After all, holly was a sacred symbol in Vonder’s heraldry, and many noble families in Eruin bore holly leaves in their crests.
As for the fading stars and dawn bestowing authority, Brandon couldn’t decipher its meaning at all.
Eberton gave him time to process, waiting until Brandon raised his head again before continuing: “The two-faced statue remains silent. Has the sage’s vow been forgotten? Emerald Lake, Sacred White Mountain, stone within stone, sword within sword—”
“Wait,” Brandon interrupted suddenly, a surge of excitement coursing through him. Sword within sword? Could Eberton be referring to the true Lionheart Sword?
The Lionheart Sword was the legendary blade passed down through the generations of Eruin’s first royal family, the House of Eck the Merciful. It wasn’t merely a symbol of the Lion Dynasty but also one of the Four Holy Relics of the Cruze Empire. However, after Eck brought it out of the empire, it became an enduring emblem of Eruin’s monarchy.
What few people knew—and what would cause uproar if revealed—was that the real Lionheart Sword had been lost during Eruin’s civil war. Every subsequent king had wielded only replicas, though knowledge of this truth was exceedingly rare. Brandon himself had learned of it only after Eruin’s fall.
If Eberton truly spoke of the Lionheart Sword, the latter half of the riddle began to make sense. The sage’s vow likely referred to the sacred oath Eck swore upon the sword, pledging to lead the southern people of the empire away from the arrogance and greed of the nobility. This act earned him the title “Merciful.”
But what of Emerald Lake, Sacred White Mountain, and stone within stone? Brandon found himself utterly perplexed.
Legends claimed the true Lionheart Sword held the power to determine the rise and fall of kingdoms. Indeed, ever since Eruin lost the genuine artifact, each successive generation grew weaker, culminating in the kingdom’s eventual collapse. Brandon, however, dismissed such notions. A kingdom’s fate tied to a single sword, no matter how legendary, struck him as mere scapegoating.
Still, curiosity gnawed at him. What made this sword so extraordinary that bards sang of it across the land? According to forum posts, it was at least a gold-grade fantastical weapon.
Unable to resist, he asked, “What is Emerald Lake?”
To his surprise, Eberton shook his head. “I do not know. But these lines often come to me, unbidden, along with the memory of a sacred vow. Yet I cannot say where these memories originate or why they persistently haunt me.”
“Not all undead relish their recollections,” Brandon replied. He began to suspect that Eberton, in life, might have been more complex than he seemed. At the very least, in Brandon’s memory, Eberton had no connection to the royal family.
“I am unique, even among the undead,” Eberton admitted, adjusting his helmet. “Most intelligent undead dwell in darkness, but I am different. I do not trust them. However, when I look at you, young man, I feel you may help unravel this mystery.”
Brandon said nothing, weighing Eberton’s sincerity while pondering the meanings of Emerald Lake, Sacred White Mountain, and stone within stone.
Then a chill ran down his spine as he recalled the line about the two-faced statue. Could it refer to the Stone Sage in Jandel’s Southern Basin? The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. If the revelation lay within the Stone Sage, accessing it would require a Philosopher’s Tablet—a rare item scheduled to arrive in Braggs in half a month, priced at five hundred thousand torr on the black market. Not an insignificant sum by any measure.
The one silver lining was that the basin housing the Stone Sage lay along the same route Brandon intended to take next, saving precious time. Time was something Brandon lacked.
Having considered all this, he settled firmly in his saddle and asked, “Is that all you wished to say?”
Eberton nodded. “I have one final request.”
“Speak.”
Brandon glanced behind him. Under Retto and Mano’s command, the battle in the valley was nearing its end.
Eberton removed the badge from his chest and said, “I wish to die as a true knight, my sword and armor forever accompanying me. This badge, called the Lion Crest, holds great magical power, though it means nothing to me now. I entrust it to you. And here is my pouch—it contains items that may prove useful.”
Brandon knew that if he desired, he could claim more than just these items; Pale Fang itself could be his. He had initially considered giving the sword to Freya. But after studying the ‘White Knight,’ he simply nodded.
Both understood that oaths meant little between the living and the dead. Trust in promises carried far greater weight. Eberton’s willingness to share so much stemmed from his belief in Brandon, and for that alone, Brandon resolved not to renege.
Of course, Eberton had to die. The refugees would never tolerate the presence of a high-ranking undead commander. Accepting the badge, Brandon examined it. Its brass surface bore the engraving of a lion’s head: “Lion Crest, +1 Aura of Resilience.” Skill Badge.
Brandon nearly dropped it in shock. Aura of Resilience was a core skill of the Knight Templar class, maxing at level 29. Non-class players could only reach level 10, granting +1 protection initially, with each subsequent level adding progressively more. By level 21, it provided +2 protection; by 22, +3, and so forth. At maximum level, it granted +10 protection—but this badge added an extra level, totaling +11.
Eleven points of protection equated to roughly 14mm of frontal armor—nearly the equivalent of three full suits of plate mail. In that moment, Brandon solidified his path forward: Temple Knight. He already knew of a full-steel suit of armor that granted +1 Aura of Resilience and a Mighty Lion Shield offering another +1. Combined with the badge, advancing to Temple Knight would grant him nearly 40 points of additional protection.
He would become a veritable fortress on the battlefield, and every soldier within sixty feet of him would effectively transform into walking tanks. The implications for combat were staggering.
Brandon recalled Eberton’s reputation for terrifying defense in Madara’s later years. No wonder—the man had worn full steel armor. Truly, Conqueror Eberton lived up to his name.
Despite the turmoil in his mind, Brandon maintained a composed exterior. Days of life-and-death struggles had matured him beyond recognition. In the game, acquiring such a badge would have sent him into fits of glee, but not anymore.
Pocketing the badge, he inspected Eberton’s pouch. To his disappointment, the White Knight’s collection proved modest, containing mostly low-grade materials. The most valuable items were several pieces of refined adamant—material used in crafting full-steel armor. Clearly, even in undeath, Eberton had planned ahead, understanding the badge’s significance.
Brandon glanced at him thoughtfully.
“No other requests?” he asked.
Eberton shook his head. “Proceed.”
Brandon knew leaving Eberton to perish alone here would dishonor the knight’s legacy. A warrior deserved to fall by an enemy’s hand, returning to the earth’s embrace. Though he lacked time for proper rites, he could at least honor Eberton’s wish.
Chael drew his sword and stepped forward, but Brandon stopped him.
Sweat dripping from his brow, Brandon unsheathed his elven blade and locked eyes with Eberton. Spurring his horse forward, he leaned down laboriously and thrust the sword into the undead knight’s chest.
Eberton’s lips curled into a grin, and the flames in his eye sockets flickered once.
“I shared these memories with you, young man,” he rasped.
“For until my final breath, I remain Eberton of Madara.”
“Perhaps I should thank you for freeing me…”
The undead knight sighed. “Yet I die as a dark noble. Eternal Madara, symbol of immortal fire—I merely did not expect defeat.”
With that, the soulfire in his eyes dimmed and extinguished.
Thus ended Eberton, the White Knight. Brandon understood that with his death, Madara’s Four Knights of Revelation ceased to exist. He gazed silently at the remnants of the fallen knight as silvery light rose from the ashes, merging with his body. It felt like a warm, radiant force suffusing him entirely—a sensation unlike any experience absorption he’d known before. This was raw, unadulterated soul power.
From the thirty-something-level corps commander, Brandon gained a staggering 1,300 experience points. Combined with earlier battles, including Sasal’s defeat, he had amassed nearly 2,000 experience in just a few hours.
Leveling up seemed well within reach, but Brandon suppressed the urge. He needed to conserve experience for what lay ahead. Much remained to be done after the war. Looking skyward, he saw clouds part, revealing the constellation of the King of Knights shining brightly against the night.
Raising the White Stag Statuette in his hand, he watched the elegant creature appear atop a distant hill before vanishing northeastward.
Turning back, he saw Retto riding toward him.
“Zombies have been spotted on both hills…” Retto whispered urgently.
“I understand. Time is short,” Brandon replied calmly. “Have the refugees move out. We cannot afford further delays.”
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