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Chapter 59: Final Night in Braggs Part 1
No matter what, the Eruin that bathed in the sunset’s waning light had already sown the seeds of its internal strife. King Obergu VII, feeling the weight of his advancing years and desperate to pave the way for the new king’s ascension, could no longer restrain himself—he acted. His greatest threats were the two rebellious duchies in the southern reaches of the kingdom.
Brandon knew well that the current sovereign, Obergu VII, had only taken the throne at the age of ninety-three—a king whose end would likely be far from peaceful. In his youth, Obergu VII had harbored grand ambitions, yearning to emulate his grandfather, Anson XI—a ruler who presided over the early days of the Militia and Guard Unit decrees, a time when the central power of Eruin was at its zenith during the latter half of the kingdom’s history.
But fate is an unyielding master. As Obergu VII entered middle age, he bore witness to the arrogance of the local nobility—the younger generation’s Duke Anlek had even coerced his father, Obergu VI, into altering defense edicts. These memories left deep scars on the king’s soul.
Yet, he lacked the balance of Anson XI—whose reign combined both mercy and might, flexibility and strength. After all, during Anson XI’s era, Eruin faced no internal discontent or external threats, and the royal family still held sway over the legions stationed across the land. How could this crumbling, storm-tossed age compare?
In the chill of Braggs’ outskirts, the wind began to pick up.
It came from the direction of the sea, coursing along the northern ridges of the Kalanja Mountains, weaving through the hills and peaks of Jandel, carrying with it the scents of forests and rivers gathered on its long journey. The wind seeped into the lungs of everyone standing at the edge of the woods.
Roma stood barefoot in the stream, her skirts lifted slightly, and now she couldn’t help but raise her head, squinting as the breeze caressed her forehead.
“The scent of the wind here—it’s just like Buchi, Brandon,” she said, eyes closed, taking a deep breath, her voice tinged with delight.
Antietta inhaled as well but broke into a fit of coughing.
Brandon glanced at her, then raised his head, watching as the night wind carried a dark cloud from the west, blotting out a vast expanse of stars.
It felt like an omen of the kingdom’s dark and uncertain future.
But Brandon didn’t feel weighed down. Instead, a thrill coursed through every nerve ending in his body. For him, the impending chaos was an opportunity—a chance to step into history and, with his meager strength, attempt to alter the cold, unyielding course of events carved into stone.
This wasn’t idle fantasy; it was a call to action. Brandon sensed a faint warning in the air. He turned back, his pale face flushed with excitement, and asked, “Did you get the money?”
Cripple didn’t understand why such a simple piece of news had left Brandon momentarily lost in thought. But lately, he found himself increasingly unable to read this young man. Back at the auction house, he’d witnessed Brandon dispatch a formidable undead with ease—a feat beyond the capabilities of ordinary men. Now, reflecting on it, he could only chalk it up to Brandon being the descendant of that old man.
He stole another glance at Brandon before answering earnestly, “The money’s secured, Brandon. I transferred it to a safe place as you instructed.”
“Any compensation from the auctioneers?”
Cripple started, then quickly nodded.
Brandon knew the underground trade meeting in Braggs was backed by a prominent local noble—a poorly kept secret. Thus, he wasn’t worried about unnecessary losses. For such people, reputation and honor mattered far more than coin.
“How much in total?” Brandon asked.
Cripple held up his hand to indicate a number—two hundred fifty thousand torr, after deducting what they’d already spent. Brandon glanced at the figure, then looked up just as Roma approached, shoes in hand.
He cast a quick look at Barthom and Antietta, seated nearby, before replying, “Good. That wraps up what we needed to do in Braggs.” In truth, there were still details Brandon had planned to address—for instance, acquiring a low-level skill manual from the Noble Library or drinking the golden wine at the ‘Crossed Stars’ tavern to permanently increase his strength by a unit.
But those tasks weren’t things that could be completed overnight. Recalling the month or more it took him to finish them in the game, he knew it would take even longer here.
As a perfectionist player, he should have stayed to reap every possible benefit. Yet the shifting winds within Braggs and the shadowy presence of the Ouroboros Society convinced him it was no longer safe to linger.
The moment the warning surfaced, Brandon acted swiftly.
He had already decided to leave this place, heading east or south, venturing deep into the mountains of Jandel or crossing the Torsandika Forest along the northern ridges of the Kalanja Mountains, seeking treasures that awaited him.
“Where are we going?” Barthom, who had initially clamored to leave this troublesome place, now hesitated, uncertainty creeping in. Though a mercenary, the farthest he’d ever been was Karasu—and according to Brandon, they might traverse Jandel entirely, reaching the shores of the Starry Sea. There, they would see the towering mountain sung of in poets’ tales, and beyond it, venture into untamed wilderness.
Legends spoke of endless deserts beyond the Torsandika Forest or along the silver beaches stretching eastward. The Sioux called this desert home, and their oral traditions whispered of kingdoms to the east—like the famous tale of the Pearl Land, the Nine Phoenix Kingdom.
“We’ll split into two groups,” Brandon said after a moment’s thought. “Barthom, you take the Cripple with you and regroup with Retto. Have Retto gather everyone and head to a place called Gris. You’ll need a guide; the safest route recently has been the northern passage of Jandel. Just fly the mercenary banner, and you won’t encounter trouble.”
“Gris? What kind of place is that?”
“It’s the easternmost port in the kingdom,” Brandon replied with a smile. “The scenery is lovely, and the local girls are kind and spirited. Barthom, you might just find someone who catches your fancy there.”
Barthom’s weathered face reddened. “I’m a wandering mercenary, Sir Brandon.”
“That was the past. Now, you’re my retainer.” Brandon dismissed the comment without hesitation.
The red-bearded mercenary fell silent, though a flicker of longing remained on his face. Despite earlier reluctance, he now seemed eager to embark on this new adventure.
“And you, Sir Brandon?” Barthom ventured after a pause.
“I have some personal matters to attend to,” Brandon said, thinking of the Lustrous Stinger he’d left behind at the auction house. It was a pity, but the sword had already begun to lose its minor divine artifact luster beyond level twenty. Replacing it was inevitable.
In truth, over the past month, his equipment and strength had seen little improvement—a far cry from his original plans. Still, the preparations in Braggs were necessary. Sharpening the blade doesn’t delay the cutting of wood, and Brandon had moved quickly enough. He simply wasn’t satisfied with himself.
Especially after his encounter with Teste, the urgency of strengthening himself had become painfully clear. That encounter had cemented his resolve to embark on this journey.
His primary goal remained the long-forgotten kingdom, but first, he needed to verify the cryptic words White Knight Eberton had shared with him.
The Lionheart Sword was no trivial matter, and Brandon dared not take it lightly.
To make the Stone Sage speak, he needed the Philosopher’s Tablet. The one arriving in Braggs in a few days was already out of reach—not only was time too short, but he also lacked the five hundred thousand torr required.
But that was fine. If so, he’d simply acquire a Philosopher’s Tablet elsewhere. He knew of several “dungeons” in the game where they could be found. The nearest ones were in Jandel, the Misty Forest at the border of Goran-Elsun and Anlek, the ruins of the Temple of the Dead, and the Dragon’s Gorge.
These places suited his current level, requiring only minimal preparation. Brandon recognized the need to boost his strength, and this plan would kill two birds with one stone.
When Brandon mentioned personal matters, Barthom didn’t press further, his thoughts already drifting to Gris. Brandon’s description of the place had ignited a spark of curiosity within him—he’d never seen the sea in his life.
Turning back, Brandon asked, “And you, Roma? Any plans? Join me, or stay behind to handle the festival arrangements?”
Roma tilted her head, answering matter-of-factly, “Of course, I’m going with Brandon.”
But the gleam in her eyes clearly said—of course, I’m going on an adventure. Roma wanted to explore.
“You’re not earning money anymore?” Brandon was surprised, instinctively reaching to check her forehead for fever.
“Of course not,” Roma swatted his hand away, grinning smugly. “I’ve already arranged everything here. I handed it over to Su. All that’s left is waiting for the funds to come in.”
“Su?” Brandon blinked, recalling the girl who always glared at him with a cold expression, as if he owed her a hundred thousand torr. “Isn’t she Retto’s daughter?”
“Yes,” Roma nodded. “She came looking for Freya. And since I’m Freya’s best friend, naturally, I could ask Su to help with a small task.”
“You really trust people too easily,” Brandon muttered, giving her forehead a light tap—a gesture that had become habitual lately.
Roma’s grin widened, resembling a mischievous fox.
“In that case, I’ll stay behind as well,” Antietta suddenly spoke up from the side. “After all, this is my duty.”
But Brandon stopped, glancing at her before replying, “You can’t stay.” By Marsha’s grace, his most valuable assets now were Antietta and the future alchemy master, Tama. He couldn’t risk leaving either of them in the unstable city of Braggs. For safety, he had to take them with him.
Tama, burdened by his cumbersome alchemical tools, would travel with Retto and the others. Following the principle of not putting all eggs in one basket, Brandon decided Antietta would accompany him.
Besides, with Roma joining him, having another woman around would make it easier to care for Antietta.
“Teste is still here, and you know who he is. The Ouroboros Society isn’t to be trifled with. It’s too dangerous for you to stay. Come with me, and I’ll have Roma look after you,” he said after a moment’s thought.
“But how can I?” Antietta was taken aback. She harbored a faint longing for the adventurous life, but she knew she might not adapt to it. For someone like her, adventure was merely a dream—a beautiful illusion.
Some people followed their impulses blindly, but Antietta was not one of them. Yet, just as she began to hesitate, Roma’s next words shattered her restraint: “Of course you can, Antietta. Adventure is fun!”
Antietta couldn’t help but glance at Brandon.
Brandon nodded. “Enough talk. Everyone, prepare yourselves. We’ll enter the city separately. I’ll go alone—I don’t want Teste causing trouble again. Meet at the east gate before the last star vanishes at dawn.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
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