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Chapter 27: A Prudent Retreat
When Freya spoke, Brandon understood her thoughts. But he had also calmed down. He had personally experienced three hidden quests above level sixty and knew of many more—no need to risk everything for just one.
Fighting Eberton had nearly drained him completely. Facing opponents above level sixty was a death sentence.
He also considered another issue. After the First Black Rose War ended in late July, Madara’s forces gradually withdrew from Eruin over the following month. However, undead control over this region persisted until mid-August. Before then, this area was virtually a desolate no-man’s-land.
The undead wouldn’t have explored this valley even if they wanted to—the fourteenth-tier lightning strike at the entrance would have deterred them easily.
This meant he still had plenty of time before mid-August. With that realization, he picked up the earrings, then stepped back and patted the girl on the shoulder. “Let’s head back.”
“Brandon?”
“There will be other chances for risks, but Freya and I only have one life each,” Brandon said with a faint smile. “You’re right—I was letting my emotions get the better of me.”
He sighed, realizing his haste stemmed from the pressure of time. The Black Rose War ended in late July, the first signs of Eruin’s internal strife emerged in September, and the coup d’état occurred in November. Even counting from now, he only had five months left.
Though Brandon had no intention of altering history, protecting Roma, Freya, and others required him to build strength. He understood the chaos that lay ahead—justice and morality would be obliterated by war. To survive in such times, he had no choice but to act.
Freya and Roma might not understand, nor would those who currently followed him. But sometimes Brandon couldn’t help but think: being a prophet came with its own burdens—the crushing sense of helplessness, knowing yet unable to change the future, weighed far heavier on him than it ever could on ordinary people.
Freya blushed slightly. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Brandon shook his head.
Sheathing his sword, he stepped out of the rocky patch and gestured for Freya to follow.
No sooner had they left than two figures emerged from the shadows within the crevice—one tall, one short.
The taller figure appeared to be a woman, clad in an unusual white robe adorned with blue feather-like patterns on the cuffs, chest, and shoulders. It resembled the desert robes of the Querolith people—narrow at the waist but with excessively wide sleeves and pant legs. Her long silver hair framed a face marked by two crimson streaks, her deep azure eyes as serene as the depths of a lake. She wore no expression as she watched Brandon and Freya’s retreating backs for a long moment before speaking.
“Aloz, aren’t you going to stop them?” Her voice was neutral, as bland as water.
“Flora, your aggression should remain hidden like claws and fangs—if exposed, it ruins the fun,” replied a cheerful, mischievous voice.
The shorter figure, a girl appearing around fourteen or fifteen in human years, sported twin golden ponytails that gleamed brightly. She wore traditional adventurer’s leather gear but carried a towering iron box on her back, marked with a pattern of five interconnected stars.
Flora pondered for a moment. “Then why did you attack them, Aloz?”
“You’re so dull, Flora—it was just a little test.”
“No wonder. That blow contained less than two percent of your usual power. I was worried there might be an issue with the Golden Law—”
“Aloz, I truly don’t want to marry a dull person like you—”
“Flora, we are dragons.”
“The term ‘person’ is merely figurative. Forget it—I don’t want to argue about this. That human man took your earrings, Flora. Does he not realize what that means?”
As she spoke, Aloz chuckled softly to herself.
Flora glanced at her but remained silent this time.
“Fine, you’re as boring as ever. Still, I’m curious to see their expressions when they discover your little gift. I’ve heard humans are quite greedy creatures.”
“Aren’t you here searching for the legend of the Golden Fruit Tree, Aloz? Why give them that item?”
“Ah, but the struggles of tiny beings are far more entertaining than legends of the golden fruit tree. I’ve decided to let these two take on this adventure. Besides, that human man looks kind enough—he might even be connected to the King of Knights.”
Flora turned to look at her. “Do you know the King of Knights?”
Aloz immediately coughed. “It’s just an expression, Flora—a mere figure of speech.”
“What exactly are you planning?” Flora asked coolly.
“Nothing much—just a small experiment.”
Aloz chuckled again.
Flora frowned.
……….
When Retto saw Brandon and Freya returning, the refugees had already settled and begun preparing meals. From afar, the misty valley now bore wisps of smoke rising from cooking fires, lending a touch of life to the otherwise desolate scene.
After a night of fierce battle, both mercenaries and militiamen were utterly exhausted. As Brandon rode past the crowd, he saw groups of three or four collapsing into sleep wherever they sat. Yet some refugees actively cared for their protectors, waking sleeping warriors to offer steaming food.
Seeing this, Brandon felt a flicker of satisfaction. Without him, barely ten percent of these people would have survived. By changing their lives, they in turn would influence others—history was shaped in such small increments.
Though still fragile, the seeds of change were beginning to take root.
He exchanged a glance with Retto, the veteran of the November War and owner of Copper Dragon Tales. The older man quietly asked if they should depart immediately, but Brandon glanced back. Chael and Su were sprawled atop a wooden crate nearby, fast asleep, while the rest of the camp lay quiet. Reflecting for a moment, he shook his head. They had already accomplished much of their plan; there was no need to push everyone too hard. Time in Fairyland’s nights approached a standstill, and leaving at dawn would still allow them to stay ahead of Madara’s forces.
Besides, the valley’s northern exit bordered the riverbank leading toward Thornstone Valley—victory was within reach.
“Have you rested?” Brandon asked.
“Don’t worry, Sir Brandon. We mercenaries excel at taking care of ourselves in such conditions.” Retto patted his chest and smiled.
Brandon nodded.
“Freya, go get some rest,” he turned to the ponytailed girl who hadn’t slept in days. Though the Baptism of the Holy Word’s effects restored physical stamina, mental exhaustion remained unaddressed.
Freya quickly shook her head. “I can hold on a bit longer, Brandon.”
“That’s an order, Freya.” Brandon’s tone brooked no argument.
“I… I…” Freya’s eyes widened. Was she really expected to obey his commands? Wasn’t she supposed to be the militia captain? But recalling how this young man had carved a path through enemies outnumbering them tenfold—or even a hundredfold—she found herself unable to protest. Lowering her head, she nodded reluctantly.
“I… I understand.”
Unaware of the subtle submission in the future Valkyrie’s tone, Brandon watched her leave before turning casually to Retto. “By the way, where’s Roma?”
“Lass Roma just rode ahead of the group,” Retto replied, glancing forward. His expression suggested he’d just witnessed something extraordinary.
“‘Rode’?” Brandon echoed, puzzled. Had that girl tied herself to the horse again? He wondered if Roma had forgotten the lesson from earlier.
Before he could finish the thought, a familiar voice called out behind him. “Hey, Brandon! You’re back?”
The voice was unmistakably that of a certain carefree young lady.
Turning, Brandon saw Roma proudly riding her horse back and forth in front of him. To his astonishment, she had actually learned to ride.
“How… how did you learn?” Brandon asked, incredulous. His ability to master riding instantly stemmed from the game system’s assistance—but what about Roma?
“Because I’m a merchant!” Roma halted her horse in front of him, beaming with pride.
“What does being a merchant have to do with riding?”
“Eh? It doesn’t?” Roma blinked in confusion, her eyebrows furrowing. “But shouldn’t all merchants know how to ride?”
“I hate to break it to you, Roma, but most merchants don’t ride horses,” Retto interjected helpfully.
Roma’s brows knitted together. “Is… is that so? Well, I’m a special kind of merchant, Brandon. Don’t you agree?”
“Sure, sure.” Brandon rolled his eyes. Perhaps this was fate’s way of compensating her—some people were born lucky despite their quirks. He sighed and dismounted, issuing a command. “Little Roma, since you’re so free, come walk with me through the camp.”
“Alright, Brandon!” Roma chirped enthusiastically.
“Shall I join you, Sir Brandon?” Retto turned his horse, offering.
Brandon barely suppressed a groan. Did this guy have to be so eager as a third wheel? Still, he appreciated Retto’s goodwill and reluctantly nodded.
But as soon as he dismounted, Brandon felt something strange in his pouch. Frowning, he opened it—and immediately froze. At first, he thought it was a hallucination. Closing the pouch, he reopened it to confirm.
There was no doubt now. He must be hallucinating.
How could that possibly be in his pouch?
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