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Chapter 84: The Tale of Turbulence and Fish, Part 7
Brandon’s gaze settled silently on the quiet valley below, unwavering and calculating.
When the Treeminders inevitably turned their attention to Brandon’s group, he too sought a way to break the deadlock. ‘Mane Wolf’ Macaro had cleverly misled not only him, but also the Treeminders—and even players from past runs of this scenario—successfully spiriting away Rhun’s sole heir to safety.
The sly fox had outmaneuvered them all, but armed with sufficient intelligence now, the young man was no fool either. He paused, tapping his knuckles against his chin thoughtfully. His confidence stemmed from the collective wisdom inherited from generations of players; after all, the combined insight of many often surpassed that of one.
The waters had been muddied, but the fish wouldn’t necessarily follow the current—
Macaro likely never imagined that hidden beneath the tranquil northern forest lay an Order Altar abandoned for two centuries.
As Brandon had told Antietta earlier, this altar wasn’t his discovery alone.
Long before the First Era, prior to the Year of Division (100), monks from Eruin’s Temple of Flames had uncovered this site. Yet within a century, it vanished mysteriously from all records, as though erased entirely from existence.
But players were players. Those who once unraveled this scenario pieced together fragments of clues, ultimately unearthing the entire "story" buried in forgotten history. Perhaps they hadn’t foreseen that their casual investigations would later benefit Brandon.
Perhaps sensing Sir Brandon’s distraction, Antietta followed his gaze toward the dense canopy of trees below. She squinted for a while, yet saw nothing unusual. Turning back to Brandon, she noted the seriousness etched onto his face and wisely refrained from speaking further.
She deduced that if Macaro could sacrifice his own men, there was no reason he wouldn’t drag them into peril as well. Inwardly scoffing, she mentally relegated Rhun’s faction of nobles to her list of unwelcome allies.
The group gradually descended into the valley.
Two Rubis mercenaries led the way, hacking at overhanging branches with their curved blades. Each strike sent rustling sounds through the air, and occasionally, the steel caught starlight, flashing brightly enough to momentarily blind everyone.
Brandon paid two points of wealth from his resource pool to maintain the card representing the Rubis Mercenaries. Then he reviewed his available resources: ten water-element units saved over recent weeks, along with nearly 150 wealth points. It was enough. He raised his head, narrowing his eyes slightly.
Ahead, his “summoned creatures” had stopped moving.
The two mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, unable to believe what they saw. They halted, turning back to Brandon. “My lord, ahead there is…”
“What is it?”
Tiger Finch snapped sharply, his tone stern. These two soldiers were among the newest recruits in his company, and he’d intended to give them some field experience. Their apparent shock embarrassed him. Striding forward, he pushed aside the underbrush to compensate for their hesitation.
But the moment he cleared the foliage, he froze.
Behind the thick woods stretched an expansive meadow, easily three football fields wide. At its center stood a shrine, its surface entwined with creeping vines.
Tiger Finch drew a breath, instinctively raising his eyes. Even now, glimpses of its former glory shone faintly through the dense foliage.
The structure was simple—a cylindrical temple rising abruptly from the ground, crowned by an arched dome that gleamed marble-white under moonlight. Its sheer height and scale compensated for its simplicity. Nearly sixty feet tall, it loomed like a giant's shadow amidst the clearing.
Brandon paused, studying the exterior decorations. Its style unmistakably belonged to the elven goddess Shayae. Alas, this epoch had long since ascended beyond earthly concerns, leaving behind only their wills and laws etched upon the world.
Deities rarely meddled in mortal affairs, which made these noble beings objects of reverence.
Yet without divine protection, the shrine inevitably lost its luster. Brandon noticed the collapsed southern section, overtaken by time and neglect.
“Ah,” Roma murmured softly behind him, marveling quietly.
“This is…” Antietta echoed, stunned.
“It’s the Silver Elves’ sanctuary,” Brandon explained matter-of-factly. Having seen countless grand structures in past games built by elves, dwarves, and winged races—the natural architects—he quickly recovered from his initial surprise. “This was originally the royal burial grounds of the Silver Elves, untouched even by humans afterward.”
Unlike forest elves, humanity always regarded the Silver Elves as steadfast allies, a bond enduring from the defeat of the Dragon of Darkness during the Holy War to the present day. Such loyalty remained precious among common folk.
“A royal tomb?” Antietta turned to him. “How did a tomb become an altar?”
“Because the ancient kings of the Silver Elves vowed eternal life to safeguard their homeland. After communicating with Lady Marsha, Shayae allowed their spirits to remain here forever.”
“Spirits as Lair creatures?” the noblewoman asked.
Brandon nodded.
“How could such a place fall into disuse?”
“Officially, due to war. In truth, the elven ancestors refused involvement in human conflicts. Eruin nearly angered Marsha herself, prompting the concealment of this truth. You won’t find any mention of it in the kingdom’s archives.”
Both girls nodded simultaneously. They didn’t ask how Brandon knew—it was obvious: wizards recorded truths about history.
“This altar might still be reactivated,” Brandon declared, dropping another bombshell.
“What?”
“Calm yourselves—it’s merely a possibility.” Only Brandon knew the truth: if the guide didn’t lie, the chance of activation was one hundred percent. However, due to quest restrictions, the summoned creatures would persist for only thirty days—ample time for their mission.
Still, Antietta and Tiger Finch couldn’t help but feel excitement. A Spirit Lair! Even the mere possibility of activation promised immense rewards.
It was like a glittering treasure chest before them, potentially brimming with gold or utterly empty. Yet few could remain calm in its presence.
Tiger Finch licked his lips nervously. “What do we do, my lord?”
Brandon glanced at them, pointing to the two mercenaries. “You two are Elementalists, correct?”
“Yes, my lord” They nodded in unison.
“And archers?”
“Yes.” Tiger Finch immediately selected four individuals from the group. “Enough?”
“Plenty.” As he spoke, Brandon retrieved a coil of rope from his pack. “Four of you come with me—I’ll arrange our strategy.”
Antietta frowned. “Will there be combat?”
“Don’t worry—it’s just a minor ghost knight.” Before the words left his mouth, Brandon noticed Tiger Finch pale visibly. Confused, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“My lord… you said ‘a minor ghost knight’?” Tiger Finch’s expression twisted awkwardly.
Brandon coughed, suddenly remembering that while ghost knights seemed trivial to him, they were formidable level-35 elite undead foes. Guides repeatedly warned that at least twenty well-coordinated level-20 players were needed to defeat this mini-boss of the scenario.
However, those guides dated back to ancient gaming eras. By Brandon’s era, player strategies had evolved significantly. He had nearly a dozen methods to handle ghost knights.
Realizing this, he reassured them, “Don’t fret too much. Ghost knights have a fatal weakness. Follow my instructions, and dealing with it won’t be difficult.”
Tiger Finch eyed his lord skeptically. Most ordinary mercenaries would have fled already. Ghost knights were legendary horrors—silent phantoms racing through forests under moonlight, claiming lives effortlessly. Below gold-rank swordsmen stood no chance against them.
Twelve mid-tier iron-rank mercenaries? Likely slaughtered despite doubling their numbers.
But unlike players, NPCs lacked the luxury of resurrection. Death meant permanent loss, making trial-and-error tactics far riskier.
Still, bound by Brandon’s summons, Tiger Finch nodded reluctantly.
Antietta observed this interaction, reinforcing her suspicions about Brandon’s role as a noble and those mercenaries were his retainers. Choosing not to comment, she instead asked, “Isn’t this the Elven King’s tomb, protected by Lady Marsha? How can evil spirits arise here?”
Brandon snorted. “Monks from the Temple of Flames once tried to preserve this Lair, forcibly altering the vows of the spirits. Chaos seeped in, corrupting the Order Altar and spawning malevolent entities. It’s said Lady Marsha’s wrath indirectly triggered the fall of the Sifah dynasty.”
The noble girl nodded, surprised by the tale.
“My lord, is that—” One of the mercenaries monitoring the shrine suddenly interrupted, pointing anxiously toward the structure.
Brandon reflexively turned his head.
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