Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Chapter 80: The Tale of Turbulence and Fish Part 3
The battle seemed to end almost as soon as it began.
Aiko was certain that those cloaked figures possessed at least upper-tier Silver strength. He had anticipated their actions but not the outcome—
He had been convinced that Cabot and his companions would meet a bloody demise. Just as he felt his blood boiling and reached for his sword to intervene, the white-haired elder who emerged from behind Cabot simply flicked his fingers. A few flashes of grayish rays later, those nightmare-inducing figures dissolved into piles of ash.
Young Aiko stood frozen, mouth agape, unsure if he was dreaming. As the old man cast his spell, the sacred insignia of earth faintly shimmered on his palm—an elemental wizard. Even someone as uninformed as Aiko knew there were no more than ten such individuals in all of Eruin. Among them were either renowned high-ranking wizards, regional lords, or the masters of the Black Tower and the Council of Stars and Moons.
Who was this man?
Then he saw Cabot bow respectfully and address the elder: "Master Liwutz, thank you for your efforts."
Those words struck Aiko like a thunderclap, leaving him rooted to the spot, halfway through emerging from behind a sack. In Eruin, many people bore the name Liwutz, but only one deserved the title of "master."
Liwutz Hartweylla Gormer.
Eruin’s chief court mage and a three-time advisor to King Anson VII.
Aiko's mind reeled. He couldn’t fathom why such an illustrious figure would appear in this remote place—and seemingly to aid them, no less.
"This… this…" the young man stammered, pointing at the elder. "You’re…?"
The old man nodded, confirming Aiko’s suspicions, then replied, "It’s a long story, Lord Aiko. Let Sir Cabot lead us to safety, and I will explain everything in detail."
"Sir Cabot?" Aiko stared at Cabot, feeling as though the world had turned upside down.
---
Brandon’s group ascended the eastern mountain path, their footsteps rustling through dense underbrush like an invisible serpent slithering through pitch-black darkness. Occasionally glancing back, they could see the scattered fires below—the remnants of what had once been a brightly lit camp, now reduced to smoldering embers.
"Our horses are still at the camp, Brandon," Roma reminded him for the third time. She mourned her lost pony, and Brandon couldn’t help but smile.
"They’ll retreat, won’t they, Brandon?" Roma’s eyes reflected the distant flames, shining brightly. Turning her head, she tilted her pale chin upward to ask.
She understood Brandon’s meaning.
But Roma was still a tender-hearted girl. Though she knew neither she nor her aunt were particularly beloved by the villagers, the land where she grew up remained her cherished homeland. That was why she was willing to help Freya rebuild Buchi.
"Perhaps only Lady Marsha knows," Brandon replied. Whether the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company would follow history’s footsteps depended not on him but on whether he could sway the opinion of ‘Maned Wolf’ Macaro.
"But they clearly realized it was a trap—they should have been cautious!" Roma protested. "Brandon, isn’t Macaro supposed to be clever?"
"He’s too clever," Brandon remarked. Before becoming a free mercenary, Macaro, known as the “Maned Fox,” had served as the chief strategist of the royalist reformists. Had it not been for his political downfall eleven years ago, he wouldn’t be here today.
"So they’re scheming against each other," Antietta guessed.
"More or less."
"I don’t understand why they’d do this," the noblewoman pressed. "Is there truly some secret in these woods worth fighting for?"
Brandon smiled. Secrets existed, but none compelling enough to justify the struggle. Both sides cared little for such trivialities; their focus lay elsewhere.
His smile caught Antietta’s attention. "You know something, Sir Brandon?"
Brandon nodded.
"Do you remember the young man we encountered a few days ago? His full name is likely Aiko Lantonilan Ophelia."
"That name sounds familiar."
"Naturally. Then you must have heard of Canon Lantonilan Ophelia."
While others remained unfazed, Antietta choked violently, coughing uncontrollably. After regaining her composure, she asked hoarsely, "The Duke of Lantonilan?"
"Aiko holds a title as well—Earl Mevack, a rank tied to land ownership," Brandon said, narrowing his eyes. "Though I doubt he’s aware of it himself."
"This is…" Antietta hesitated. "Related to the political upheaval eleven years ago? Didn’t the Duke of Lantonilan’s son go missing—?"
She abruptly stopped, fixing Brandon with a strange look.
"Sir Brandon, how do you know all this so clearly?"
"It’s merely an open secret," Brandon replied casually.
"In that case, does this mean…"
"Still an open secret. Eruin is no longer the Eruin of old. Its upper echelons are decrepit beyond repair, perhaps even terminally ill." Brandon watched the noblewoman intently, deliberately voicing these thoughts.
"You’re not alone in noticing this, Lady Antietta. Mark my words—within three months, this nation will fracture into pieces. What you see now is merely its death throes."
Though not outright treasonous, his words carried undeniable ambition.
"Can the Colcova dynasty still be saved?" Antietta asked, clinging to the name that once brought glory to Eruin.
"Perhaps," Brandon thought of the Princess Regent.
"What do we do, Sir Brandon?" Antietta interrupted softly.
"For now, let’s find the Philosopher’s Tablet." Brandon gazed at the distant mountains, their overlapping silhouettes forming jagged shadows against the night sky. Yet his gaze pierced through these obstacles, as if he already saw the goal ahead.
Reaching the summit, the wind rushed toward them, growing fiercer as though sweeping through the southern pass. Brandon sniffed the air, studying the dark, silent valley on the opposite slope. Surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by understanding.
"As expected. It seems they weren’t lying about the crucial details—"
The others turned to him upon hearing his exclamation.
"Do you see the valley below?"
"What’s wrong with it?" Roma asked curiously.
Brandon extended a finger beneath his cloak, pointing toward the valley. To the untrained eye, it appeared as nothing more than a forest carpeted in shadow along the slopes. But turning back, his eyes gleamed with insight. "Have you heard of an altar?"
"An altar?"
"If memory serves," Roma responded earnestly, "when I was younger, Aunt and I visited the Temple of Flames. Is it like the altar there?"
"Not quite."
"Then surely you’ve heard of a Lair?"
Silence fell. Everyone knew of Lairs.
"There’s a Lair in that valley."
"What?!"
The mercenary captain behind him gasped. Everyone understood the significance of a Lair—a repository of a nation’s war potential. Few grasped that wild Lairs, spanning hundreds of miles, were perilous zones. Humanity often paid dearly to purify a single Lair.
"What level is it?" the captain immediately inquired.
"Calm down," Brandon gestured for silence. Surveying the valley, he paused. "It’s an Order Altar—if I’m correct, it belongs to the Temple of Truth."
"Order Altar?"
"Have you heard of Heaven’s Gate?"
The mercenaries sucked in a breath. Hailing from the knightly nation of Grace, they understood the implications. Noticing the confusion on Antietta and Roma’s faces, Tiger Finch clarified, “Throne Angels.”
Antietta gasped, staring at Brandon incredulously. Grace, despite being smaller than Eruin, boasted unparalleled military might due to two elite legions: the Zealous Heart Knights and the Throne’s Radiance Legion. During the last Holy War, Eruin, as a subordinate force of the Temple of Flames, suffered greatly at their hands.
Tiger Finch gawked at Brandon, stammering, "Sir Brandon, are you saying there’s a Heaven’s Gate in the valley?"
Brandon shook his head. "Don’t be absurd. If there were a Heaven’s Gate here, I wouldn’t be the one discovering it. Known as the Stairway of Angels, it spawns Throne Angels, the most formidable constructs of the light faction. Moreover, any area within a hundred miles of a Heaven’s Gate exhibits celestial anomalies. Unless the local Temple of Flames is utterly incompetent, I wouldn’t stand a chance."
"Then what lies below?"
"Something akin to a Heaven’s Gate—an Order Altar."
"Akin?" The captain frowned. Though legendary, he wasn’t a scholar. Most people only heard rumors of Lairs; few had the means or opportunity to learn more.
"You mean it’s a Lair protected by Lady Marsha?" Antietta interjected astutely.
Brandon blinked, surprised. Though he’d intended to phrase it differently, gaming terminology slipped out unintentionally. Su Fei’s personality always took the reins during quests. Smiling wryly, he nodded.
"That’s quite the discovery," Tiger Finch remarked. Wild Lairs were notoriously difficult to purify. Transforming a magic-infused Lair often took decades. However, Marsha-protected Lairs were divine gifts, birthing order-aligned creatures who allied naturally with sentient beings. Maintainers needed only minimal resources to summon powerful armies.
In any kingdom, registering an Order Altar with the Temple of Flames granted immediate access to fertile lands equivalent to three or four knightly domains—hereditary holdings, no less.
Realizing this, even the usually composed Antietta’s eyes sparkled.
But Brandon waved dismissively. "You’re overthinking. It’s merely an abandoned altar."
"Abandoned?" Antietta paused, then pressed, "How do you know, Sir Brandon?"
Brandon didn’t answer. He’d long known of an Order Altar in this direction, though its exact location eluded him. At this distance, failing to identify it would render his experience meaningless. Having played as part of Grace’s forces, he was intimately familiar with the sacred, serene aura surrounding such altars.
Besides, a prompt had appeared earlier, notifying him of entering the ‘Sanctuary’ zone.
And why did he know it was abandoned? The guide explicitly stated so.
---
Descending into the valley, the slope they slid down seemed to muffle all sound from the other side. The valley was eerily silent, devoid even of summer’s ubiquitous insect chirps.
Under starlight, they navigated the dark forest. No clear paths marked the wooded terrain; moss-covered roots and uneven ground slowed their progress. Occasionally, faint glimmers broke the darkness—fireflies or perhaps animal eyes.
Antietta and Roma, accustomed to nighttime travel, remained tense but unafraid. Rubis’ Mercenaries moved calmly, undeterred by the gloom. Legendary mercenaries fearing the dark would indeed be laughable.
Still, the environment felt unsettling.
"This altar wasn’t my discovery," Brandon suddenly remarked, spotting fragments of carved stone amid the mossy forest floor.
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
