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Chapter 67: Brandon's Swordsmanship Part 2
The silence in the hall stretched on. Brandon exhaled softly as he observed the white-haired youth, Radi, clutching his wrist in disbelief, and the longsword still trembling faintly where it was embedded in the ceiling above. He wasn’t surprised by the outcome. From that single exchange, Brandon had already gauged Radi’s strength to be around four to five times that of an ordinary person—barely entering the lower tier of Iron Rank. It was a commendable achievement for someone his age, comparable to what Brandon himself had possessed when he was at the Golden Magic Tree Valley.
But such natural talent paled in comparison to Brandon’s accelerated growth. His current abilities were akin to having activated a cheat code within this timeline—a phenomenon unheard of even among the chosen few. Within a week, he had unlocked the First Level Strength; within a month, he reached the middle tiers of Iron Rank; and by the third month, he had entered the initial stages of Silver Rank. Though not on par with Chosen Ones, his progress was unprecedented.
As to whether there would be others like him in the future, Brandon couldn’t say for certain.
Mid-tier Silver Rank typically began at Level 35 according to the calculations from the old game system. Accounting for his militia levels, Brandon estimated he’d need to reach Level 40—equivalent to roughly 600,000 experience points—to achieve this milestone. To accumulate enough experience within seven months, he had no choice but to push forward relentlessly. This was the only way to ensure he wouldn’t miss the final opportunity presented by Eruin’s December chaos.
Lost in thought, Brandon noticed the crowd parting before him.
Antietta let out a soft gasp of surprise.
Brandon blinked, momentarily taken aback, before his gaze settled on two figures emerging from behind the throng. The first was a man clad in chainmail, draped in a blood-red cloak. A tall hat adorned with colorful feathers rested atop his head, giving him the appearance of an explorer straight out of Eruin’s Royal Geographic Society of Lantonilan. However, the insignia pinned to his chest wasn’t the society’s iconic amber flame, but rather a simple wooden medallion engraved with the image of a kingfisher.
Behind him stood an even larger figure, dressed in minimal leather armor that left much of his muscular arms exposed. A massive sword, at least five feet long, rested casually on his shoulder. His broad forehead contrasted sharply with deeply sunken cheeks, and his thin lips conveyed an aura of quiet authority. There was an undeniable presence about him—one that commanded respect without uttering a word.
Brandon froze upon seeing the man.
Wasn’t that…?
A question formed in his mind as the towering figure brought to mind a vivid image: Buga, the “Cross Swordsman” of Anlek, trusted confidant of Duke Rhun and captain of the guard at Lantonilan Keep. One of the three most renowned swordsmen of Anlek, standing alongside Djarl the Eagle and Sylva the Silver Knight.
Brandon recognized him instantly. In the old game, Buga had been a legendary figure—the initiator of Rhun’s main questline, Courage. Brandon had personally undertaken that series of quests, one of the few players to do so, and the memory of the climactic battle remained etched in his mind.
It was the final step of the quest, where players assisted Buga in slaying one of the Twelve Patriarchs of the Treeminders—the Sorrowful Envoy, ‘Furika.’ Furika, a level 97 entity wielding the highest tier of the superior element Darkness and nearly perfected Bronze Body, was practically invincible in an era when player levels were capped at 83. Yet Buga, wielding the legendary greatsword Iwen’s Legend and mastering the level seventeen techniques of the Sean School Chivalric Swordsmanship (with players limited to thirteen levels), defeated her in just four strikes after charging alone into the Treeminders' headquarters in the Duchy of Rhun—the Forbidden Forest.
Throughout the mission, players merely served as support, holding off minor enemies while Buga handled the true challenge. That encounter had cemented Brandon’s resolve to pursue the warrior’s path to its zenith. Starting at Level 72, he eventually became one of the rare pure warriors in Vonder to attain the Silver Body.
Now, standing before a younger, prime-aged Buga, Brandon felt a wave of nostalgia. He hadn’t expected to meet the legendary swordsman here, in this remote corner of the world.
This was Buga, the future master swordsman.
Of course, Brandon couldn’t yet confirm if Buga had reached the terrifying heights of power he would later possess. But based on his memories, Buga had apprenticed under the master of the Sean School Chivalric Swordsmanship at the age of seventeen and soon after befriended Duke Rhun. How did he end up in this backwater?
Why was he here? Brandon wondered, just as Buga’s piercing gaze locked onto him.
“You use military swordsmanship?”
Buga’s pale gray-blue eyes flickered with a faint glimmer. His sparse eyebrows and dull eyes gave him an unremarkable appearance, far from the imposing figure one might expect of a future master swordsman. Yet the sheer aura emanating from him spoke volumes—he was no ordinary man, but a beast cloaked in human form.
The more perceptive one was, the clearer this became.
Brandon stood motionless, his perception heightened to 3.7 units—a sensitivity that allowed him to hear whispers through walls or detect the subtlest shifts in air currents. Yet Buga’s presence overwhelmed him. It was as though a towering mountain loomed before him, its stillness halting even the wind. Though Buga appeared as just another man, the sensation was akin to facing an impenetrable fortress.
Swallowing hard, Brandon realized that such an oppressive aura typically required a level surpassing 30 in the old game. Did that mean Buga had already awakened the elemental affinity? At this young age? Not even Chosen Ones achieved such feats so early. Truly, monsters were monsters.
“Are you from the army, or perhaps a guard unit somewhere?” Buga raised an eyebrow, his tone measured. “There shouldn’t be anyone in the militia capable of your level of skill.”
Brandon’s reaction didn’t surprise him. So far, only Aiko among the mercenaries could withstand his overwhelming aura.
That young man truly was a prodigy.
Thinking of Aiko, Buga allowed himself a fleeting smile, which vanished almost immediately as he continued to scrutinize Brandon. Across Eruin, those who practiced military swordsmanship fell into three categories: soldiers, militiamen, or guards. Knights and nobles often trained in their family’s traditional styles, while adventurers and mercenaries developed personalized techniques honed through combat.
Yet this young man’s rigid adherence to form betrayed his origins—a product of formal training camps.
Buga, with his unique position, understood these distinctions intimately.
To his surprise, Brandon shook his head. “No, my ancestor was once a Highland Knight. I’m currently traveling alone on personal business without retainers. As you can see, I wish to temporarily join your group. It benefits both parties.” He paused, deciding against revealing Buga’s identity to avoid suspicion.
The man beside Buga, wearing the explorer’s hat, offered a warm smile. “We’re happy to consider your proposal, but our mercenary company doesn’t carry burdens. You understand?”
Brandon glanced at Buga and grasped the situation. “I understand. So, who will I face? I’ve already defeated one opponent. According to the Codex, such tests shouldn’t exceed three trials.” As a seasoned traveler, Brandon’s familiarity with the Mercenary Codex rivaled that of any scholar.
Macaro and Buga exchanged a glance.
The towering man removed his greatsword, replying calmly, “Then allow me to test you, young man.”
As expected. Brandon took a deep breath, excitement coursing through him. Facing Buga now wasn’t daunting—it was exhilarating. Testing his current strength against a future master swordsman was an opportunity too good to pass up.
He raised his sword, every cell in his body alight with anticipation.
In the days when he had reached Level 130 as a warrior, Buga had long since passed away. One of Brandon’s greatest regrets was never dueling the legendary swordsman during his own rise to power. Though he had eventually attained the Silver Body, he missed his chance to cross blades with Buga.
Yet here, time had rewound, granting him another opportunity.
Though he wasn’t yet a master swordsman, Brandon’s understanding of martial combat rivaled that of any veteran warrior. In this moment, he felt reborn—as the seasoned Level 130 warrior he once was. His eyes burned brightly as he raised his sword.
The aura of ten-level military swordsmanship radiated outward, transcending mere technique. It commanded attention, freezing the mercenaries in place. While not as suffocating as the presence Brandon remembered from his grandfather, it was enough to leave a lasting impression.
“A masterful grasp of the art,” Buga remarked, his eyes gleaming. “Military swordsmanship, indeed. You have earned the right to face me.”
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