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Chapter 50: Fishing in Troubled Waters Part 2
The wooden platform shattered as the colossal red figure landed, sending splinters flying in all directions. Brandon raised an arm to shield his face and peered through the swirling dust. There, rising from the wreckage, stood a towering skeleton clad in blood-red armor—easily three times the height of a man. Its massive crusader helm bore the fiery emblem of a nine-headed hydra. At the sight of it, Brandon’s breath caught sharply in his throat.
This was no ordinary undead. This was one of Madara’s General Guard—the Crusader Executioner.
A cold shiver ran down Brandon’s spine, as if icy water had been poured over him from head to toe. His earlier thoughts of opportunism evaporated instantly, replaced by sheer survival instinct. He almost choked on his words but managed to bark out orders without hesitation: “Back up! Everyone, retreat! Follow me!” His voice carried an uncharacteristic severity, far sharper than even when he’d faced armies of undead before.
If he could, he might have cursed aloud. What in the blazes were Braggs’ guards doing? How had they let this monstrosity inside? They might as well have opened the gates and surrendered outright.
Barthom and Antietta exchanged puzzled glances, but Brandon knew exactly what the Crusader Executioner represented. In this place, calling it the Grim Reaper wouldn’t be far off. It wasn’t merely a summoned undead—it was a lair creature, one of Madara’s rare high-tier physical undead entities. Among its peers were only Flesh Golems and Black Knights.
It was a high-level undead—a being of mid-tier silver-rank strength.
Brandon noticed that the Executioner seemed momentarily disoriented from its fall. Without wasting a second, he pulled the others toward a small door beneath the stage on the left—a route they’d already planned to take.
Barthum and Chael reacted quickly. The seasoned mercenary immediately sensed the oppressive aura radiating from the Executioner—an overwhelming presence of death and slaughter. Only someone with Barthom’s experience could fully grasp the danger posed by this crimson-armored giant wielding a massive axe.
The group hurried beneath the stage, but their luck ran thin as the undead finally regained its footing. With no other enemies in sight, it locked onto them as its sole target.
Brandon shoved Antietta and Roma through the doorway, followed by Chael and Barthom. As he glanced back, he saw the creature’s hollow eye sockets glowing with twin flames of soulfire, fixated on them. It raised its axe, staggering upright amidst creaks and groans.
“Brandon?” Roma asked hesitantly.
“Quiet,” Brandon snapped, slamming the heavy iron door shut behind them. Fortunately, the door was solid and thick enough to buy them precious time.
“How powerful is that thing? What do we do?” Barthom questioned urgently.
Brandon steadied himself, replying, “I need a moment. I think I have a plan.” As he spoke, he summoned Wind Spirit Spiders, sending the tiny constructs scurrying along cracks in the walls. An idea formed in his mind, though doubt lingered—he wondered if his strategy was too risky. Part of him hoped the monster would turn its attention elsewhere; after all, there were plenty of targets still in the hall.
But before he could finish thinking, the door shuddered violently under a tremendous impact, nearly knocking Brandon off his feet. Alarmed, Barthom and Chael rushed to brace it. Brandon scrambled back into position, abandoning any lingering hope. With grim determination, he declared:
“There’s only one way. You all run, split up. I’ll hold it off.”
“Brandon…” Roma stared at him, seeing for the first time an expression of uncertainty on the young man’s face. Her earlier excitement faded like rain-soaked embers. She wanted to stay and fight alongside him, but this time, he insisted she flee.
This battle wasn’t hers to fight.
Brandon understood the stakes. The Crusader Executioner possessed nearly 47 units of strength—far beyond what Barthom or Chael could handle. Engaging it directly would mean instant death. While Chael might recover eventually, losing Barthom, the cripple, Antietta, or little Roma was unacceptable.
In seconds, he devised a plan. Only he, familiar with the monster’s nature, could lure it away and find a chance to escape. Yet, as he gazed at the towering Executioner—its soulfire eyes locked onto them—he felt no confidence. This was a mid-tier silver-rank threat, leagues above Soul Puppet captains or fledgling silver-rank foes like Eberton.
For a fleeting moment, Brandon considered abandoning Barthom, the cripple, even Antietta. He could justify it—they didn’t know the Executioner’s true power, and a single misstep could doom them all.
The thought chilled him to the bone. If he could betray Barthom now, discard Antietta or the cripple, then someday he might abandon others too—Freya, Roma, the princess, everything he stood for. He’d become nothing more than a cold, self-serving monster.
Shaking off the dark notion, Brandon wiped sweat from his brow. After what felt like an internal war, he commanded again: “Run, split up. I’ll hold it off.”
Barthom hesitated. “Sir Brandon. You’ve hired me to serve you. How can I leave you?” The red-bearded mercenary naturally assumed the role of a loyal retainer, unaware of how seamlessly he’d embraced it.
“My lord, that is one of Madara’s General Guard. You cannot defeat it. Allow me to buy you time,” Chael interjected, placing a hand over his chest earnestly.
“You recognize it?” Brandon blinked in surprise.
“Sir Brandon,” Antietta stepped forward, her tone serious. “We don’t need your heroics. We’ve placed our hopes in you. At least honor your promise to protect us weak women.”
“What nonsense is this, Antietta?” Barthom growled, gripping her shoulder tightly.
Before another argument could erupt, the door shook violently again, this time with even greater force. Time was running out. Brandon gestured sharply toward the rear, his voice firm: “When did men’s battles become women’s concern? Barthom, take her and go.”
Antietta faltered, then exhaled deeply, seemingly understanding Brandon’s intent. She gave him a complex look before nodding silently.
“And me, Brandon?” Roma piped up, blinking innocently.
“Aren’t you a woman too?” Brandon shot back tersely.
“Oh…” Roma deflated slightly, disappointed.
With no room for defiance, Barthom led Antietta and Roma toward a hidden emergency exit concealed behind a curtain. Most underground auction houses had such passages—sometimes elevators powered by magic or manpower—for both convenience and evading inspections. Though the latter scenario rarely occurred.
Meanwhile, Brandon exhaled in relief. Had he made such chauvinistic remarks in Amber Sword, his senior guild leader would have beaten him senseless. Yet somehow, he’d grown into a capable leader himself. Those who once fought beside him had moved on, leaving him alone to shoulder the burden.
Just as in the game, so it was here.
Though Brandon had allies like Roma and Freya, subordinates like Barthom and Retto, and Antietta as his strategist, loneliness gnawed at him. No one truly understood why he pushed so hard. Turning to Chael, he found the apprentice mage still steadfastly watching him.
“My lord, you understand my role,” Chael said resolutely. “Your safety outweighs my life. If I perish, you can revive me later. But if you fall, everything loses meaning.”
“You’ve convinced me,” Brandon nodded. “Stay, then.”
The door groaned, cracking open slightly. A blood-red blade pierced through, shaking violently and flinging both Chael and Brandon backward. This time, they didn’t resist. Instead, Brandon gestured for Chael to follow. “Come, we’ll go the other way.” Grabbing his attendant, he cast one last glance behind them and sprinted toward another exit.
The Crusader Executioner smashed through the doorframe, ducking into the room. Before it could survey its surroundings, a bolt of white light struck its forehead—but the spell shattered ineffectively. The undead turned, spotting Brandon and Chael. The young apprentice mage still held his casting gesture defiantly.
“Over here, brainless undead,” Brandon taunted.
The crimson-armored skeleton roared, charging toward them. Despite its size, it moved with terrifying speed, shattering the wooden ceiling like it was paper. With 22 units of agility, the Executioner closed the distance in mere moments, accompanied by the deafening sound of collapsing debris.
But Brandon anticipated this. Seeing Chael’s attack fail, he yanked the apprentice aside, rolling them both into cover behind the door. Barely escaping, they watched as the Executioner obliterated the frame with a single blow, striding into the room amidst a cloud of rubble. Spotting Brandon and Chael across the chamber, it surged forward once more.
Panting, Brandon rose to his feet. Unlike during their frantic escape from Buchi, his mind was clear now. He knew neither he nor Chael could harm the Executioner—but he wasn’t entirely without options. Two paths remained:
First, endure until the Silver Wing Cavalry arrived. Their commander, though aligned with the Ouroboros Society, wouldn’t side with Madara. Besides, as a Gold Rank knight, defeating this monster would be child’s play for him—or any of his elite company leaders, each boasting Silver Rank strength or higher.
But staring at the Executioner looming before him, Brandon doubted he could survive long enough. Decapitation loomed as a very real possibility. Realistically, relying on himself was the only viable choice.
That left option two: finding the Elemental Revelation Scroll.
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