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Chapter 33: ‘Copper Dragon’ Retto
After leaving Tullamane’s home near the Needlewood Road, Barthom finally couldn’t resist asking Brandon cautiously, “Sir Brandon, your elders must be well-acquainted with that wizard, yes?”
The young man glanced at the red-bearded mercenary leader and smiled but offered no reply.
Barthom was left pondering for a long while, unable to make sense of the situation.
Though Brandon’s leadership had deeply impressed him—especially after leading them through countless undead hordes—Barthom occasionally found himself questioning the young knight. Brandon’s words and actions didn’t quite align with what one would expect from a highborn noble.
True, the youth had spoken of inheriting a fief, but Barthom still harbored doubts. That said, his loyalty remained unwavering; he believed following this remarkable young man might lead to greater opportunities. Still, deep down, he thought nobles were often more concerned with appearances than substance.
But the events of the past moments had shaken Barthom’s assumptions. Unlike Freya, who merely amplified Brandon’s aura of mystery in her mind, Barthom now firmly believed the young knight’s claims:
Brandon wasn’t just backed by powerful connections—he likely hailed from an extraordinary lineage. Ordinary people didn’t associate with Highland Mage lords, those self-governing nobles who wouldn’t bow even before kings.
With this realization, Barthom stole another glance at Brandon ahead of him, scratching his head in quiet awe.
….
The Third Morning
The group finally arrived at the fabled Braggs—a central hub in southern Goran-Elsun. The city sprawled across the gentle slopes of the Gray Vulture Mountains on the eastern bank of the Usson River, its concentric circular walls rising tier by tier like a plaster mold sculpted into the landscape. Locals often called it the White City due to its gleaming white-gray walls.
On clear days, travelers from Anzek or Dragos could spot the city’s shimmering brown rooftops and terraced streets from miles away. In medieval times, such a sight symbolized the prosperity of civilization. Though Braggs wasn’t a true metropolis, it boasted a dense population of thirty-five thousand within the eastern Usson region—one of the most populous areas in southern Goran-Elsun.
Like most cities, Braggs featured bustling workshops, shops lining Black Pine Avenue, and rows of wooden houses of varying heights that formed its unique streetscape. Travelers and merchants from surrounding regions gathered here, their carts and pack animals weaving through the streets at all hours.
For Freya and Roma, two country girls who once thought Ridenburg and Anzek represented the limits of their imagination, Braggs’ towering walls, tidy streets, and thriving commerce left them awestruck.
Before the Year of the Dagger, Braggs had served as a military fortress to monitor Madara to the south. Its natural grandeur struck even modern sensibilities like Brandon’s, let alone the inexperienced Freya and Roma.
Novelty sparked curiosity, and everyone was eager to explore. However, the two girls soon paused outside a silversmith’s shop, captivated by shiny trinkets. Braggs was renowned for its silverwork, and the craftsmen here were among the finest in the kingdom.
Freya admired a crescent-shaped brooch, while Roma fell in love with a small silver box. Brandon chuckled when he noticed both girls clutching their bags tightly—a shared trait of rural upbringing.
He discreetly pulled Barthom aside to inquire about prices, and the last few hundred torr flowed out like water. Roma accepted her gift with a small squeal of delight and a grateful glance, while Freya hesitated, blushing and murmuring a soft thank-you after much deliberation.
Brandon was accustomed to Freya’s bashfulness, but he turned to see Barthom giving him a thumbs-up. Surprised, Brandon couldn’t help but laugh. The red-bearded mercenary’s thoughts ran wild, though Brandon’s intentions were simple: he didn’t want the girls to leave disappointed.
After this brief interlude, the group crossed the entire street and reached their destination at the end of Black Pine Avenue.
The headquarters of the Silver Wing Cavalry awaited them. Before they could enter, they spotted a familiar figure lurking nearby—Phineas, looking slightly plumper than before. When he saw them, disbelief washed over his face, and he rubbed his eyes as if doubting his senses.
“Big Sis!”
“Brandon!”
“Roma!”
The boy cried out joyfully, leaping off a rock near the cavalry headquarters. He stared at them as if caught in a dream. “Heavens, I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Freya instinctively wanted to scold the excitable youth but softened instead. “Phineas, how are the others?”
“They’re fine, Big Sis! Everyone’s safe.” Then, turning to Brandon with admiration, he asked, “Brandon, is it true? Did you really fight alongside the legendary mercenary ‘Copper Dragon’ Retto?”
“Copper Dragon Retto?” Brandon blinked, having anticipated some nickname but not expecting this.
“Young whelp, do you even know what strength means?” Barthom interjected, though he knew the rumors were carefully spread by Brandon among the refugees. He didn’t understand why the youth shunned the spotlight but felt compelled to defend him nonetheless.
“Of course I do! Leading hundreds against tens of thousands of undead isn’t impressive enough?” Phineas replied earnestly. “‘Copper Dragon’ Retto—they say he’s a veteran of the November War, just like Captain Marden. Being formidable is expected of him. By the way, who are you, sir?”
Barthom nearly choked but recovered quickly. Before he could respond, Phineas’s eyes lit up. “Wait—you’re Redbeard Barthom, aren’t you?”
“What? You know me?” Barthom was taken aback.
“Everyone in Braggs knows you now! Tales of the fearsome Redbeard Barthom are spreading everywhere—even the cavalrymen inside have heard.” Phineas beamed.
“Fearsome Redbeard, eh? Not bad,” Barthom admitted, flattered despite himself. But remembering the young man responsible for these feats standing nearby, he quickly sobered and grumbled, “Bah, foolish bunch.”
Phineas looked confused but shrugged it off, assuming eccentricity came with greatness. Turning to Brandon, he asked, “Brandon, you must’ve been part of those mercenaries too, right?”
Brandon chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair, and nodded.
“Ha! I knew it! Those kids on the street didn’t believe me.”
Freya rolled her eyes at Brandon, thinking, This fraud. Yet recalling his fearless charge through thousands of undead, her heart raced, and she quickly turned away.
Roma simply smiled knowingly, lost in her own thoughts.
Meanwhile, news of the arrival of the “Heroes of Ridenburg” had already spread around the cavalry headquarters. Townsfolk, ever eager for spectacle, crowded the streets. Even some young members of the Silver Wing Cavalry ventured out in groups to catch a glimpse of those who’d survived the undead onslaught.
These soldiers, part of the White Mane Legion’s regular army, had faced Madara’s forces and understood their tenacity. Initially skeptical of the rumors, the cavalrymen began to take notice as refugees corroborated tales of comrades from Ridenburg. Sir Charnal, the Silver Wing Cavalry’s commander, realized the stories might hold truth.
After all, thousands of refugees still lingered near Braggs—and though no one knew what the fabled Copper Dragon Retto looked like, the implications were undeniable.
A monumental achievement indeed.
Unsurprisingly, opinions differed between ranks. Higher-ups were eager to contact the heroes and uncover the truth, while junior officers harbored competitive feelings.
“Phineas, are these the mercenaries from Ridenburg?”
Several youths emerged from the crowd, addressing Phineas.
“Yes! This is my Big Sis, this is Brandon, and this…” Phineas paused dramatically, pointing at Barthom.
“Is that… Redbeard Barthom?”
Their faces paled—Barthom’s fiery beard was unmistakable.
“Heh, smart guess,” Phineas gloated, practically glowing with pride. He’d always known Brandon was extraordinary, but discovering his ties to legends made today’s reactions priceless.
As Phineas basked in the attention, Brandon noticed several hostile glances from the Silver Wing Cavalry. He wasn’t surprised; he’d deliberately downplayed his role to avoid drawing undue attention. His resources were still limited, and stepping into the limelight too soon would only invite trouble.
Initially, he’d planned to use Barthom as a shield, but needing someone familiar with the area, he settled for Retto instead. What he hadn’t anticipated was the military’s resentment surfacing regardless. Sighing, he resolved to remain vigilant.
Trouble stemming from fame and jealousy wasn’t uncommon—not in reality, nor in games.
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