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Chapter 73: Deceptive Currents
The Force of Nature was a pair of bracers.
Bracers, as a type of weapon in Amber Sword, were considered rather specialized. While warriors, mercenaries, monks, and holy soldiers alike had been known to wield them, they were far less common among the former two groups compared to the latter.
Yet none of that diminished Brandon's interest in the Force of Nature.
When one spoke of Ackerman, the Divine Messenger, the first thing that came to mind for most players was either the Force of Nature—topping the list of coveted drops—or the fully realized drop, the Thundercleaver Sword. Of course, Brandon didn’t dare dream of the Thundercleaver. A level-sixty-seven Divine Messenger like Ackerman was practically a walking embodiment of elemental mastery; wiping out a group like theirs would be as effortless as flicking a finger.
Sure, Buga—the future master swordsman—might have awakened his elemental affinity by now, but humans were inherently inferior to divine-blooded beings by several units of power. Unless one reached the pinnacle of physical perfection and obtained the fabled golden bloodline, humans remained at a natural disadvantage as an inferior race.
But even setting aside the mythical Thundercleaver—a level-sixty-two weapon—the Force of Nature alone was enough to stir ambition in any player’s heart.
As a level-forty-five high-tier fantastical weapon, the exact extent of the Force of Nature’s power eluded Brandon. He’d only caught a fleeting glimpse of it in some video once. But one fact was crystal clear: on the damage amplification scale alone, a level-forty-five fantastical weapon could surpass something like the Lustrous Stinger by seventeen or eighteen times—perhaps even more.
That fact alone was enough to drive any player mad with desire.
Brandon had seen it before—players who stumbled upon mythic or fantastical weapons unsuited to their class opting to delete their characters and start over. After all, while classes could be chosen freely, fantastical-grade weapons were not so easily obtained. It was entirely a matter of luck.
Of course, he couldn’t afford to do that now. Still, he was more than willing to redesign his leveling strategy for the sake of acquiring such a legendary weapon. It was a risk worth taking. Take, for instance, the Lionheart Sword—a fantastical weapon of level seventy. For nearly seven centuries, countless kings of Eruin had sought it, yet its location remained unknown.
Though Brandon now possessed a lead on the Lionheart Sword, his years of gaming experience told him there was a vast chasm between having a clue and actually completing a quest. The path ahead was too uncertain. If he could secure the Force of Nature first, then his class design would prioritize wielding it as his inaugural fantastical weapon.
He gave himself a mental shake, reminding himself that both the Lionheart Sword and the Force of Nature were nothing more than wishful thinking at this stage. The Gray Wolf Mercenary Company hadn’t even encountered the Treeminders yet, let alone their agents, the Cards Mercenary Company. And as for Buga and Macaro defeating a Divine Messenger? That was pure speculation on his part.
Ultimately, safety came first. Only after securing that could he consider seizing an opportunity for profit. Once Brandon slipped into his gaming mindset, he instinctively applied the same principles to his real-world decisions. In this state, figures like the Madara Empire, the lizardfolk, the Divine Messengers, and the Treeminders were mere obstacles beneath his notice.
The Divine Messengers were formidable foes, yes—but only to a point. Brandon himself had faced three of the twelve Patriarchs of the Treeminders, defeating two of them. Though he no longer possessed the strength of his former level-one-thirty self, his experience and insight remained sharp.
The Divine Messengers weren’t invincible.
“The Force of Nature?” Antietta’s obsidian-like eyes flickered with confusion. “What is that?”
“Uh…” Brandon scrambled for a plausible excuse. “It’s just a famous artifact rumored to be hidden in the ruins of the Silver Elves. No one’s ever seen it, though.”
He couldn’t very well tell her the truth—that the Force of Nature was a fantastical weapon marked with a golden-grade label, soon to be carried by a Divine Messenger named Ackerman. Doing so might earn him a reputation as unhinged in Antietta’s eyes.
Even so, his words drew her ire. Antietta shot him a reproachful glance. “Sir Brandon, is this really the time to be thinking about such things?”
“Of course,” Brandon replied with a forced smile and a nod. “I was merely distracted for a moment.”
But Antietta was far too perceptive to be fooled. She eyed him suspiciously. In her estimation, this young knight was neither careless nor prone to distraction over trivial matters. Every action Brandon took seemed meticulously calculated, even if the connections weren’t immediately apparent.
Antietta found herself wondering how anyone could operate with such precision. Such behavior suggested either immense confidence or an uncanny ability to foresee events.
She never entertained the notion that someone could predict the future. Even the royal court astrologers relied on the twin threads of fate to forecast major events. No one could foresee every detail of what was to come. In her view, only the gods possessed such omniscience—and even they had long since departed this age.
It never occurred to her that Brandon wasn’t of this world.
“A momentary distraction?” Antietta’s brow furrowed slightly. “If there are things you’d rather not share, Sir Brandon, I won’t pry.”
Brandon felt a pang of frustration. By Marsha’s grace, wasn’t this unfair! He did have secrets he couldn’t divulge, but that was out of necessity. Could he really explain everything to her? Would she even believe him if he tried? Likely not—he’d only end up labeled a lunatic.
“I assure you, Lady Antietta,” he began patiently, “it’s not like that.”
Before he could finish, Roma reappeared from whatever reverie she’d been lost in, her face alight with enthusiasm. “If Brandon has secrets, I won’t ask about them. I promise!”
Brandon shot her a glare. If there was anyone in the world who excelled at sowing chaos without lifting a finger, it was undoubtedly this woman.
Still, he sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Enough. Let’s get to the point. Tonight, pitch your tents closer to mine. Don’t remove your outer armor, and don’t sleep too deeply. Understood?”
Antietta’s eyes darted around cautiously. “Why?”
“I’ll explain later.”
As he turned, he caught sight of Roma nodding vigorously beside him, though her expression clearly said, I’m not paying attention at all. Brandon’s eyes narrowed. He knew this young lady’s tendencies all too well. “Especially you, Lady Roma. Stay awake. Don’t think I don’t know you sleep like a log. Not even Lady Marsha herself could wake you.”
“But Auntie says women age faster if they don’t get enough sleep.”
“You’ve gone days without sleep in Buchi and didn’t keel over.”
“That was different! Falling asleep back then meant getting caught by Madara.”
“It’s the same now,” Brandon snapped.
…
Aiko’s hands were saturated with the scent of spices.
From the pungent aroma, he identified cumin and cinnamon imported from the Silver Sand Coast and Goran-Elsun, respectively. His training in toxicology had honed his sense of smell to distinguish such nuances. Yet the overpowering fragrance still stung his nostrils, making him want to sneeze violently. But at this moment, Aiko wished his heart would stop beating altogether. Alas, it continued to pound relentlessly in his chest.
He clenched his jaw tightly, forcing himself to remain silent. Even as his lungs screamed for air and dizziness overwhelmed him, he endured, letting beads of sweat trickle down his forehead onto the pristine sack below, staining it with dark spots.
“Who are you?”
“What are you doing here?”
Though he couldn’t see them, Aiko recognized the voices instantly. Cabot, captain of the second squad, and his familiar companions. Don’t come closer, he pleaded silently. Turn back, everyone. Don’t let them suspect anything. His eyes locked onto the shadows moving across the opposite wall, unwilling to miss a single detail.
Occasionally, he closed his eyes, praying fervently to Lady Marsha that Cabot and the others would leave.
But he knew better.
Unless a miracle occurred—
So he prayed for a miracle.
Aiko had always known that his adoptive father, Macaro, had left people in town to keep an eye on him. Ostensibly to monitor him, but in truth, to protect him. Cabot, aside from Buga and Macaro, had been one of the kindest figures in the mercenary band, serving as his first swordsmanship instructor. And Macaro, the man known as the Mane Wolf, was well aware that Aiko had been hiding in town, even sneaking back to the inn undetected.
They all knew—it was simply unspoken.
They treated him like a child, as though Aiko would forever be the little boy who needed constant care.
But this time was different. Those men outside—they weren’t from the Cards Mercenary Company. The Cards? Ha! Did they truly think he, Aiko, feared those blustering cowards who barked louder than they bit? Why hadn’t Macaro considered this? Frustrated, Aiko rubbed his temples, only to freeze mid-motion as cold dread washed over him.
“They can’t find out.”
“But Cabot and the others are still out there. They’re no match for those men.”
“Those men are ruthless killers.”
Aiko wrestled with his conscience. Several times, he nearly bolted out to warn Cabot, shouting for them to flee. He knew it wouldn’t change anything, but the bond he shared with Cabot—as both mentor and friend—compelled him to act. It was his duty. Yet he understood he bore a greater responsibility.
He couldn’t let those men succeed.
“What about the young man you’re chasing?” Cabot asked.
Aiko’s heart skipped a beat.
“Hand over Aiko. We saw everything,” another voice chimed in, younger and more agitated.
You impulsive fool, Chris! Aiko cursed inwardly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. His entire body trembled. Then he heard it—the chilling laughter that sent icy needles pricking down his spine.
“Heh heh heh… So you really are with him.”
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