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Chapter 58: After the Storm
“Riots?”
Barthom sat perched on a thick tree stump—likely the remains of an elm or beech, common in the Goran-Elsun region. His boots rested on the gnarled roots as he sneezed abruptly. The seasoned mercenary rubbed his nose and looked up with an incredulous expression.
This abandoned logging site lay on the outskirts of Braggs, where sparse stumps dotted the forest’s edge. Most timber came from upstream along the Usson River, floating down to be processed here. A corner of the lumber mill peeked out from behind a nearby pine grove, its silhouette barely visible from this angle.
The first moonrise was approaching—the initial surge of magical energy. This phase, known among Matatanians as "the Slumber of All Things," restricted Planeswalkers to five card types: blue, black, gray, cyan, and white. Typically, they used this time to fortify defenses and set traps for counterattacks.
As the silvery crescent moon rose above the pines, Brandon watched the last few birds flap their wings through the shadowy forest before silence fell, broken only by the intermittent hoot of a distant owl.
Braggs lay far to the north. Standing at the forest's edge and gazing that way, one could see the glow of lights scattered across the dark hills like stars fallen to earth—a luminous web of pearls woven into the night.
Brandon was no stranger to this place. As a child, he’d trained in swordplay here with his grandfather every morning. For another soul, though, it would later become a hideout for a local thieves’ guild—seven years hence, when Princess Regent cracked down on illicit trade, forcing the city’s underground auction market to relocate here temporarily.
But those events belonged to days yet to come, their memories faded into a pale yellow hue, like old photographs. What unsettled Brandon was how blurred the timeline felt—he couldn’t tell if these were echoes of the past or premonitions of the future.
Antietta stood uneasily in the moonlight, clad in a beautiful gown of pale ivory. She had never ventured so far from Braggs at night, nor had she often joined other noblewomen on daytime excursions during her sheltered upbringing.
Antietta had always considered herself somewhat solitary, but she prided herself on believing it stemmed from being wiser than her shallow peers.
Her gaze fixed on the silver moon hanging over the pines. The dark forest unnerved her, yet there was an undeniable allure—a romantic yearning for adventure and the thrill of the unknown stirring within her heart. This life was both novel and uncertain, and she found herself drawn to staying with these people.
Still, Antietta forced herself to suppress her girlish whims. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she picked up Barthom’s thread of conversation. “I believe Teste either sought to test us or Ouroboros Society is plotting something significant, requiring us to draw the nobles’ attention. More likely, both.”
“That settles it,” Barthom declared loudly from his perch. “Sir Brandon, we should avoid entanglement with those fiends masquerading as humans. That pompous noble isn’t here now; he can’t threaten any of us. Didn’t you say you’re heading to Jandel? Let’s go together—put distance between us and him. See what he can do then!”
Antietta glanced at Brandon after Barthom’s words. Earlier today, she learned that Brandon wasn’t merely a high-ranking member of the recently famed mercenary band but also its hidden leader. This revelation added another layer of mystery to the young man in her eyes.
What solidified her resolve, however, was discovering that Viscount Teste, who had been covertly investigating her, belonged to the Ouroboros Society. In Eruin along the seashores, the organization’s infamy extended beyond mere notoriety. At the mention of its name, Antietta’s face turned ashen.
Though she briefly wondered if Brandon might lie to her, the young knight seemed to have no reason to deceive her.
Antietta soon noticed Brandon shaking his head.
Brandon turned away from inspecting his attributes. Drawing upon his extensive gaming knowledge and experience, he had pieced together the nature of the Planeswalker class—or rather, realized that Planeswalker wasn’t truly a class at all.
His list of classes still showed only mercenary, militiaman, commoner, and scholar. This meant Planeswalker wasn’t counted as a separate class or even a secondary role. Instead, it represented a vast and unique item system centered around Fate Cards. Players could simulate and actualize the abilities of any class through this system.
In essence, it operated outside traditional rules—a meta-rule unto itself. While powerful, it wouldn’t feel overpowered if accessible to every player. But why did such a system exist here and not in the original game?
What intrigued Brandon was its potential for growth. This progression wasn’t tied solely to collecting more card sets but correlated directly with the user’s personal capabilities. When his warrior level reached ten, he held four cards. By thirteen, he gained a fifth, and the elemental capacities in his Elemental Pool—red, gold, and gray symbols representing the knight deck—each increased by one unit.
But now, Barthom’s voice broke his train of thought.
Barthom’s words echoed Brandon’s inner thoughts, but Brandon knew better than to act on them. He was no longer just a player. Aligning with Ouroboros Society, he realized, might benefit him—not to join their ranks but to play a double agent.
So he shook his head.
“Why?” Barthom hesitated, frowning. “You mean to work with them, Sir Brandon? But those men are scoundrels, infamous villains without honor.”
Antietta, who had intended to speak earlier, now held her tongue. Brandon’s decision relieved her. Though she hadn’t voiced it, she planned to caution him: Ouroboros Society wielded considerable influence. If Teste let him leave, there must be contingencies.
She didn’t want the Amber Sword mercenaries to make enemies before leaving Goran-Elsun. As Brandon’s advisor, Antietta instinctively viewed the group as his private asset.
“I understand precisely who they are, Barthom,” Brandon replied calmly. “But consequences matter. I proposed plans to that man knowing full well they wouldn’t unravel immediately.”
“So you intend to incite the refugees to riot?” Barthom scratched his head reluctantly.
“Of course not,” chimed Roma, standing by the riverbank, bending to skip stones across the water. Hearing Barthom’s concerns, she turned with a smile. “Brandon will surely have a solution. That’s just the way he is. Back in Buchi, we all used to call him Brandon the Resourceful.”
When exactly did you start calling me that? Brandon shot her a glare, exasperated.
Roma’s current demeanor clashed hilariously with her attire. Both she and Antietta had changed clothes after their previous garments were damaged in the auction chaos. Lacking spare outfits, Roma wore a formal gown borrowed from Antietta’s wardrobe—a sleek black dress edged with gold embroidery. Its voluminous skirt revealed only a hint of white lace beneath. Paired with her confident posture and ample curves outlined by the fitted bodice, Roma radiated elegance.
Antietta had styled Roma’s light brown hair into an elaborate updo adorned with floral decorations. When Roma emerged from the room, twirling proudly before Brandon and tossing him a playful wink, even Antietta felt a pang of envy.
Yet Roma’s behavior now contrasted sharply with her regal appearance. Rolling up her sleeves, exposing slender arms, she bent earnestly over the riverbank, searching for flat stones to skim across the water. Her actions mirrored wealthy merchants from Ampersal Port—but none of them would stoop to such tasks.
Brandon found himself staring, bemused. Why she insisted on wearing such elaborate clothing outdoors baffled him.
Perhaps the answer would simply be: Because I’m a merchant, delivered without a second thought.
Barthom eyed Brandon skeptically after Roma’s remark.
Brandon nodded. “Within half a month, unrest will erupt among the refugees south of Braggs. The upcoming festival may pacify them briefly, but it won’t address the root cause. Those pampered nobles don’t comprehend.”
“Truly?” Antietta asked curiously.
Brandon nodded again. The August riots weren’t historically significant but sufficient to provide Teste with results—and effortlessly so.
He harbored no intention of stopping the riots, nor did he possess the means. Resettling tens of thousands of displaced mouths was daunting. Nobles shirked responsibility, unwilling and unable to bear the burden.
Just then, Brandon spotted Cripple emerging from the shadowy forest with his companions. Spirits lifted, Brandon awaited news from his reconnaissance mission.
As expected, Cripple and two short-statured thieves emerged from the bushes. “It’s confirmed,” Cripple reported. “Negligence allowed undead disguised as merchants to infiltrate the city.”
“Who?” Brandon asked.
“A cavalry captain named Carancardo,” Cripple replied. Before elaborating further, he caught Brandon shaking his head. Brandon recognized Carancardo—the future commander of the White Mane Legion’s Silver Wing Cavalry. “He’s loyal to the crown,” Brandon muttered.
So it was negligence—or perhaps something more sinister. Brandon recalled the embers at the auction. This affair likely involved the royal family. Events in Braggs during the day had been meticulously covered up; otherwise, Brandon wouldn’t remain oblivious. Someone powerful pulled strings behind the scenes.
The royal court was playing with fire.
Understanding dawned on Brandon, sending a chill down his spine. King Obergu VII’s scheme reeked of folly. Wasn’t this akin to inviting wolves into the fold? Fortunately, Enstallone’s ambitions didn’t include Goran-Elsun. Otherwise, seizing the opportunity could devastate southern Eruin.
Cynically, Brandon mused—perhaps Obergu VII believed the southern situation couldn’t worsen further anyway.
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