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Chapter 75: The Night Raid Part 2
Radi and his companion moved closer, their lithe forms weaving through the forest like phantoms in the gloom. Everyone halted, instinctively turning toward the source of the disturbance. Antietta lowered her gaze, calculating something silently. Her expression shifted sharply as she looked up at Brandon, her obsidian eyes brimming with anxiety.
Their camp lay in a clearing among the trees, but Rubis’ Mercenaries had already dismantled their tents. Even if the intruders only passed by the edge of the woods, they would surely notice something amiss.
"Stay calm," Brandon said simply, his voice steady as he stared into the darkness.
Though many present might not have fully understood what "stay calm" meant, an unspoken stillness fell over the group. Brandon raised a hand, his face serene and composed, offering a clear signal to those around him—no rash actions were needed.
Antietta’s lips parted slightly, though no words escaped.
As summoned beings bound to Brandon's will as a Planeswalker, Rubis’ Mercenaries lived to obey his commands without question. If Brandon ordered them to march off a cliff, they would do so without hesitation, let alone comply with such a minor directive. Yet to Antietta, the daughter of nobility, it was astonishing to see these battle-hardened veterans fall silent and obedient at the slightest gesture from Brandon. Their discipline drew her attention, even as she struggled to comprehend it.
No one spoke.
She held her breath unconsciously, afraid to make even the faintest sound.
The wind howled above the valley, rushing down from the southern mountain pass like an invisible hand threading through the branches. The uppermost leaves of the canopy rustled softly, and the swaying limbs caused the dim starlight to flicker and dance. Shifting shadows played across Radi’s pale face, lending him an air of brooding intensity.
He and his companion pushed through a thicket of shrubs, showing none of the caution Brandon expected. They paid little heed to the sharp snaps of dry twigs beneath their feet. A thought suddenly struck Brandon: Macaro likely hadn’t informed many people that their camp was in this direction. This meant Radi probably didn’t realize he was approaching Brandon’s group.
"Does the 'Maned Wolf' wish to avoid trouble?" Brandon mused silently.
Less than a hundred paces now separated them.
Brandon was certain that once Radi reached the forest's edge, he’d spot the anomaly. At that point, all it would take was for Radi to claim suspicion about their presence, and Brandon’s party would find themselves cornered. Though the two figures appeared suspicious, Macaro would likely trust his own men more than outsiders.
Tension coiled within Brandon, though his exterior remained impassive. He glanced sideways at the mercenary known as ‘Tiger Finch,’ whose gaze met his own—a silent inquiry. As the leader of the mercenaries, Tiger Finch embodied the archetype of seasoned commanders: wise, experienced, and pragmatic. His meaning was clear: should they strike first and eliminate the threat?
But eliminate? Easier said than done.
For mercenaries, such decisions were routine.
Yet Brandon hesitated. Though he had killed before, this felt different. In Usson Castle, survival had been a matter of life or death, leaving no room for moral qualms. But deep down, half of his soul still clung to the remnants of a civilized world. To kill based solely on suspicion ran counter to his instincts. Still, he knew well that indecision was a fatal flaw in his position.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Was he to surrender to the will of this world, severing all ties to his past? Or hold fast to the last vestiges of his principles? He was Brandon, yet Su Fei’s essence lingered within him. To deny that part of himself was to reject everything he had once been.
Perhaps reality itself was but an illusion—like flowers reflected in a mirror or dreams dissolving upon waking. How else could he explain finding himself here, caught between worlds? Was he dreaming of this world, or was this world dreaming of him? Who could say? Yet the memories of his old world burned vividly in his mind, each joy and sorrow etched into the fabric of yesterday. Denying them felt impossible.
If he severed those memories, what purpose did his struggles serve? Without a soul, could one truly call oneself human? And if so, would he still be the same person?
A torrent of conflicting thoughts swirled in his mind, only to be cut cleanly by a single decisive stroke, like a blade slicing through tangled ropes. Like the Macedonian king who faced his destiny, Brandon opened his eyes, clarity shining within them. He had found his answer.
"Sir Brandon?"
Antietta, perceptive as ever, saw through Brandon’s hesitation. She blinked in surprise, having assumed such a decision would come naturally to someone like Brandon—a young noble renowned for decisiveness.
This was simply the way of the nobility—
At her query, Brandon turned to look at her. Antietta froze again, startled by the expression in his eyes—self-deprecating, relaxed, yet tinged with regret. Where did this compassion come from? When had the cold-blooded aristocrats of Eruin ever shown such mercy?
Perhaps it was crocodile tears, but there seemed no reason for pretense. Or could it be that the Highland Knight of Karasu still adhered to ancient oaths?
Brandon’s hand felt impossibly heavy as he raised it, yet it fell with ease. “Prepare yourselves,” he murmured softly. “But if possible, aim to incapacitate rather than kill. I don’t wish to provoke an irreparable rift with the Maned Wolf.” He didn’t know whether others would see him as a fool for this choice, but he knew refusing to act thusly would make him one.
Rubis’ Mercenaries nodded in unison. Summoned creatures, they had no right to question their lord’s orders. Still, a hint of regret lingered in Tiger Finch’s eyes. A permanent solution, after all, required more decisive action. Beside him, Antietta exhaled softly.
The young woman’s lashes fluttered as she regarded Brandon with newfound curiosity. For the first time, she sensed qualities in this youthful lord—nearly her peer—that she hadn’t noticed before. Whether these traits were virtues or flaws, she couldn’t say. Yet somehow, this aspect of him, so out of place in this ancient world, felt… natural. For the first time since joining his retinue, Antietta felt a sense of peace.
Seventy paces.
“Brandon,” Roma whispered nervously from the side.
Brandon paused, then replied softly, “Don’t speak.”
Roma considered this, then nodded.
Meanwhile, Rubis’ Mercenaries took their positions, waiting for Radi and his companion to approach the edge of the clearing. Twelve soldiers of mid-tier iron rank, seasoned and disciplined, were confident they could subdue the intruders before they could react. Still, Brandon felt a primal unease. Hostile forces might lurk beyond the forest, and he couldn’t afford to waste a moment here.
To his astonishment, just as Radi and his companion emerged from the bushes, they slowed to a halt.
Had they noticed something?
Brandon’s eyelid twitched, and he nearly gave the order to advance. But he stifled the impulse; attacking at this range risked ruining the entire plan. Too far, with a patch of brush still separating them. Slowly, he calmed himself. Radi didn’t seem to have detected their presence.
Glancing back, Brandon saw that Rubis’ Mercenaries remained as composed as ever. Only Roma, oblivious as always, darted glances around, while Antietta stood pale and trembling, as if her heart might stop altogether.
Turning forward again, Brandon froze. Radi had not only stopped but turned to converse with his companion. Though they stood at least twenty meters from the tree line and nearly a hundred meters away, Brandon occasionally caught fragments of their conversation thanks to his heightened perception.
Radi spoke quietly, glancing intermittently toward the camp. Whatever he discussed seemed important.
Soon, however, their exchange grew heated, escalating into a full-blown argument. Though most of Brandon’s group couldn’t hear the specifics, the animated gestures told them neither side could persuade the other. Realizing they weren’t heading this way, Brandon felt a pang of frustration. Were they truly out here arguing in the dead of night?
Could they not pick another location?
Alas, Radi couldn’t hear Brandon’s inner plea. Instead, their voices rose slightly. Fragments reached Brandon’s ears—words like “Aiko,” “Chablis,” and “necklace.” He raised an eyebrow. So Aiko remained in Chablis? It seemed Radi knew, which meant Macaro must too. Troubling indeed, he thought, considering the fractures within the mercenary band.
Still, why would this white-haired youth venture out in the middle of the night to debate matters unrelated to their current mission?
Brandon tilted his head upward, gazing through gaps in the foliage. Bloodstar hung directly overhead—the most reliable marker of time during Eruin’s summer nights. Midnight approached.
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