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Chapter 4: Turmoil
The news of Madara’s army entering the city spread through Ridenburg like a plague. For centuries, the dark land beyond the Usson Mountains had been painted as a den of evil—home to undead horrors, bandits, and sporadic raids that seemed to bring nothing but misfortune to Eruin. The nobles clung to their unchanging rule with smug indifference, while the common folk trained themselves for battle, ever vigilant against threats from across the mountains.
But now, the enemy who had long existed only in legends and tales was no longer confined to parchment—it had come alive, baring its fangs, hungry for blood. Yet when the citizens of Ridenburg looked around, they found themselves asking: Where were the nobles? Where was Ridenburg’s army?
As Brandon made his way through the streets, he saw more and more people emerging from their homes, gathering scraps of information from fleeing refugees before rushing back inside to pack up their belongings and head toward the northern gate. Soon, these scattered groups merged into a massive tide of people. To Brandon’s eyes, it resembled a grim oil painting—a sprawling canvas filled with old men, children, women, men, livestock, carriages, and families dragging themselves forward in weary desperation.
Children clutched at adults’ hands, their faces still tinged with curiosity despite the chaos. Women leaned on their husbands or companions, their pale faces etched with tension. Yet amidst this vast throng, few spoke; the only sounds were the shuffling footsteps of thousands moving as one.
Without anyone to maintain order, streams of people collided, creating bottlenecks and confusion. Opportunists began to take advantage of the disorder. Ahead, a carriage overturned in the middle of the road, further clogging the flow of panicked people. Arguments broke out, escalating quickly into confrontations. Shouts of anger echoed behind them, and an undercurrent of panic rippled through the crowd.
It was during this moment that Brandon and Chael finally located Roma. Brandon instructed the carriage driver to pull the vehicle to the side of the road. He and Chael then positioned themselves on either side of the carriage, guarding it as they watched the growing unrest unfold.
“Brandon, you’re finally here. I was so worried,” Roma said, visibly relieved. Her polished boots tapped nervously against the wooden floor of the carriage.
“The roads were crowded, which slowed us down,” Brandon replied, drawing his sword.
“And Freya?”
“I don’t know. We’ll wait and see.”
Chael, observing silently for a moment, leaned close to whisper in Brandon’s ear. “My lord, there are individuals stirring trouble within the crowd.”
“What do they stand to gain?” Brandon frowned, puzzled. In his gaming experience, he’d never paid much attention to the behavior of civilian NPCs—he wasn’t exactly a psychologist.
“They thrive on chaos. My lord, some people instinctively recognize that disorder brings opportunity. Ambition cannot abide stagnation. There are those who crave turmoil but rarely find the chance—until now.” Chael’s gaze swept over the restless masses, his tone icy.
“Even at a time like this? Are they not afraid for their lives?” Brandon, though familiar with human nature from his modern perspective, struggled to comprehend the scene before him. As social creatures endowed with higher intelligence, humans exhibited behaviors that reflected both their collective strengths and flaws. This was his first encounter with such ruthless infighting among members of the same class, driven purely by ambition.
He watched as the chaos escalated. Near the overturned carriage, people jostled and shoved, and soon the cries of frightened children pierced the air. Panic deepened as rumors of Madara’s forces nearby spread like wildfire, growing more exaggerated with each retelling. Those farther back hesitated, considering whether to turn around, and their uncertainty infected others.
The streets descended into pandemonium.
“Even now, my lord, madness emboldens men,” Chael remarked, gesturing toward the agitators weaving through the crowd. “In the black stone tower where I studied magic in Karasu, apprentices learned not only how to unravel spells but also how to manipulate human nature.”
Brandon nodded thoughtfully. The methods of Highland Mages in Karasu differed significantly from the wizards of Buga, whose pristine robes and marble halls marked them as aristocrats of arcane knowledge—scholars and rulers among spellcasters.
“What do they want?” Roma asked, wide-eyed with curiosity.
“To plunder, to rob, to seize what they could never dream of obtaining otherwise—such as a beautiful young lady like yourself.”
“No, don’t say that!” Roma blushed furiously, her delicate brows furrowing in embarrassment.
Amid the pushing and shoving, violence erupted. No one knew who threw the first punch, but suddenly fists flew, and opportunists surged forward, trampling families and scattering loved ones. Those knocked to the ground rarely rose again. Cries of pain, screams of terror, and wails of despair filled the air.
Brandon watched silently, powerless to stop the carnage. He signaled the driver to move the carriage further aside, but this drew unwanted attention. Some of the rioters noticed the well-appointed carriage and, upon spotting Roma, their eyes gleamed with greed.
These men—vagrants, disreputable mercenaries, disgraced adventurers—shared a common language of lawlessness. Without words, they coordinated their movements, shoving aside anyone in their path as they closed in on Brandon’s position.
Brandon frowned, shifting his sword to his other hand. Beside him, Roma and Chael tensed.
“Young man, hogging an entire carriage isn’t very considerate, especially now. Let me hitch a ride,” sneered a filthy mercenary clad in stained leather armor, grabbing hold of the carriage’s lantern rail and attempting to climb aboard.
“Get off,” Brandon commanded, pressing the tip of his blade against the man’s throat.
“I just want a ride, kid. You wouldn’t dare kill me, would you?” The mercenary smirked, pausing with one foot on the carriage step. His mocking glare turned accusatory. “You nobles abandon us in times of need, yet refuse even a simple favor. Go ahead, kill me if you dare—you heartless cowards!”
A mob gathered around the mercenary, glaring at Brandon provocatively. But their gazes lingered longest on Roma, ravenous and predatory.
“Brandon…” Roma trembled, clutching his arm with her small, delicate hand.
Brandon patted her reassuringly, then addressed the mercenary with disdain. “This carriage carries a lady. She does not welcome your presence. Leave.”
His firmness enraged the mercenary, who cursed loudly and lunged forward. Behind him, the mob surged, confident that Brandon—a mere noble youth—wouldn’t dare act decisively in such a volatile situation.
“Lord, don’t provoke him—” Chael began, but his words died in his throat as Brandon coldly withdrew his sword, plunged it into the mercenary’s chest, and kicked the body off the carriage.
The dying man wore an expression of disbelief, unable to fathom that Brandon had actually struck. But Brandon’s actions sent a clear message: Do not test me—I am not someone to be trifled with. Though ordinarily compassionate and reluctant to harm others, Brandon was resolute when pushed too far. Just as he had been in Usson Castle, where his first kill left him nauseated afterward—but not hesitant in the moment.
The corpse hit the ground with a thud, and the surrounding crowd instinctively recoiled, startled by Brandon’s callous disregard for life. However, they quickly rallied, realizing they outnumbered him.
“That damn noble killed someone in broad daylight!” someone shouted.
“We just wanted a ride!”
“These nobles treat our lives as worthless!”
“They’ve never seen us as human!” The mob advanced slowly, twisting facts to incite outrage.
“Teach him a lesson!”
“Drag him out of the carriage…”
“Kill him!” Most people followed blindly, believing only what they heard and saw. A large group soon surrounded the carriage.
Chael and Roma exchanged worried glances, sensing the situation spiraling out of control.
Brandon remained seated, gripping his sword tightly, his expression icy. Another man charged forward, assuming the ‘young noble’ would show restraint under public scrutiny.
He was wrong.
Without uttering a word, Brandon thrust his sword through the man’s throat, sending him collapsing in shock. The crowd gasped in horror, stunned by the swift brutality.
But Brandon didn’t stop there. Leaping down from the carriage, he landed amidst the mob, causing everyone to retreat instinctively. With one hand resting on his sword, he swung it in a wide arc above their heads—
A gust of wind sliced past, chilling those it grazed. Strands of hair floated to the ground, and moments later, a deafening crack split the air as a ten-foot gash appeared in the roof of a nearby building.
All eyes turned to the gaping fissure, mouths agape.
“Choose wisely,” Brandon intoned coldly, sheathing his sword and climbing back onto the carriage. While the confrontation delayed him, his thoughts lingered on Freya. Why hadn’t she appeared yet?
Roma, however, stared at him with starry-eyed admiration.
“You’re amazing, Brandon,” Roma gushed.
“Killing is no great feat, especially when the victims are mere civilians,” Brandon replied, shaking his head.
“But you’re the only one protecting me.”
Brandon paused, then smiled faintly.
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