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Chapter 86: The Dead and the King Part 2
Brandon smiled inwardly. Of course, they wouldn’t understand the value of a ghost knight crystal—an item that had once been hyped to an astronomical price of three hundred million torr in Amber Sword. Even by the mid-Second Era, only a handful of paying players could afford equipment engraved with such a crystal.
But obtaining an imprint crystal? That seemed like wishful thinking. Like clouds on the horizon—they looked beautiful from afar but held no real substance. Brandon himself had never taken the idea seriously.
Imprint crystals were the distilled essence of a monster’s attributes—whether darkness, evil, flight, or levitation. Each type of crystal had an infinitesimally small chance of forming, let alone something as rare as a ghost knight crystal, whose drop rate was somewhere around seven decimal places.
The odds of stumbling upon one were only slightly better than the chances of being transported to another world.
Hefting the heavy crossbow, Brandon asked, “Do you have any enchanted arrows?”
“Yes,” two Elementalists from Rubis’ mercenaries chimed in eagerly. The twin sisters, their ash-brown hair braided into thin plaits framing their long ears, hailed from the mountainous regions of Orlkash. They were wild elves, a people Brandon knew well from his time battling the undead in Orlkash during his past life as part of the Force of Gods.
Wild elves were children of the goddess Gaia, sharing close ties with the dwarves of the Stone-Blooded, and often intermarrying with them. Their customs differed greatly, but what stood out was their martial culture. Hunters, Elementalists, and mounted rangers flourished among them—all professions known for their aggressive prowess. Their fierce temperament became evident when Cruze’s fourth-generation king, Halson the Longblade, invaded the Rubis states. Though he eventually triumphed, the victory came at a steep cost.
To this day, tensions between Cruzeans and wild elves remained high.
It was this very boldness and openness that led many wild elves to venture into human lands, where they often took up equally daring professions—like mercenaries. In this regard, the matriarchal tendencies of the wild elves aligned well with Rubis traditions. Thus, Rubis mercenaries were effectively a coalition of wild elves, mountain dwarves, and humans.
So when Brandon learned there were two wild elven Elementalists among the mercenaries, it didn’t surprise him. What would have surprised him would be the presence of two War Priests. After all, Rubis and Cruze shared a bitter enmity spanning generations.
(War Priests were elite clerics trained by Cruze. The organization traced its roots back to the Imperial Missionary Corps. Its headquarters, the King’s Sanctum, located on a high plateau in the Haruli region, churned out waves of young, talented clerics every year for the empire marked by the emblem of the eagle.)
“My lord, which kind do you need?” the elder sister, her face sharper and complexion paler, asked in a sweet voice.
“Ice and wind. How many can you make?”
“If I don’t hold back my mana, I can craft ten.”
“I can manage six,” the younger sister chimed in crisply.
“That’s enough,” Brandon interrupted. “Give me seven of each, and use the rest to create two guidance arrows.”
The sisters exchanged glances, puzzled. They glanced at their captain before the elder sister cautiously asked, “My lord, ice-splitting arrows and wind-binding arrows we understand, but… guidance arrows are usually not used alone, are they?”
She wasn’t lying. Guidance arrows were typically employed to craft expensive dual or multi-magic projectiles. High-tier magical arrows were costly and non-recoverable, making accuracy paramount—if someone missed with a dragon-slaying arrow, they’d suffer a significant loss.
Thus, dual-enchantment arrows, also called guided enchanted arrows, were born. But using a guidance arrow alone? That was unheard of unless some noble was cheating during a hunt.
Still, Brandon had his reasons. He smiled faintly. “Don’t worry about it. Just do as I say. Don’t hold back your mana. Once you’ve completed my task, you can retreat with Roma and Antietta. Leave the rest of the battle to the others.”
The elder sister nodded, though doubt lingered in her eyes. Knowing how stubborn human lords could be, the more mature elven girl wisely chose silence. Her younger sister, however, frowned and pressed further. “But, my lord…”
“Tia,” the elder sister snapped sternly.
The younger elf shot her sister a startled look, understanding passing between them. She closed her mouth, pouting.
Brandon paused, reminded briefly of Chael. It was hard to believe these beings, summoned from cards, possessed judgment, memory, and emotion indistinguishable from living beings. To outsiders, they’d never guess their origins.
But Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle ruefully. Did he really come across as a cold, unfeeling lord? Sure, he wasn’t particularly jovial around the mercenaries, but that was just his nature—not enough to warrant such a misunderstanding, surely?
Turning back, he caught Antietta stifling laughter while Roma watched him with an amused expression, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Seriously, Brandon thought, suppressing a sigh, am I still your leader? This attitude isn’t exactly respectful.
Forcing a smile, he laughed awkwardly. “Don’t mind me…”
…
Fourteen enchanted arrows were soon handed over. At his peak strength, Brandon estimated half that number would suffice. But those days were long gone—he wasn’t the level 130 warrior he once was. Better to prepare more, just in case.
Besides, the two second-tier (lower-tier iron-rank) Elementalists wouldn’t contribute much to the upcoming fight anyway.
One by one, he slotted the crossbow bolts into the rings of his weapon harness for easy access. Looking up, he saw the mercenaries taking their positions in the forest, which eased his nerves slightly. However, his fleeting relief soured when he met the weathered face of the middle-aged man beside him.
“I told you, it’s fine, Captain Tiger Finch.”
Brandon sighed. No matter how much he explained, Tiger Finch remained unconvinced. Like Chael, the mercenary captain understood the bond between them and refused to let Brandon risk himself unnecessarily.
“It’s alright, my lord. Let me stay. If I fall, I’ll revive tomorrow. Think of me as a meat shield,” Tiger Finch said calmly.
The words sounded familiar. True, revival was possible—but only by morning, and at the cost of additional maintenance fees. Great, Brandon thought wryly.
Suppressing both irritation and amusement, Brandon listened to Tiger Finch’s reasoning. Glancing back to ensure Roma and Antietta had retreated far enough, he finally asked, “They’re gone. Are you telling me you’re the only one among the twelve mercenaries who understands this?”
Tiger Finch nodded without hesitation. “Every summon-type Fate Card has a core—a leader, if you will. Everyone else is considered a token. On this card, I’m the core. The core acts as the Planeswalker’s second-in-command, managing the tokens generated by the card, as well as any other cards or spells attached to it.”
“There’s such a mechanic?” Brandon blinked, recalling something else. “So, does that mean every core possesses unique knowledge?”
“Of course, tied to the card itself,” Tiger Finch replied.
“What do you know, then? Do you know how to retrieve a card from the graveyard?” Brandon teased lightly.
“Black cards are inscrutable, shifting between life and death. To exploit the graveyard, my lord would need a dark-element land card. Such cards tend to form in swamps, graveyards, or areas teeming with undead,” Tiger Finch explained.
Brandon nodded, inhaling deeply as he scanned the horizon. Raising the crossbow, he said, “Fine, stay—but don’t get in my way.” His gaze swept over the desolate temple standing solitary under the moonlight.
For nearly two centuries since the Eruin departed, no sentient being had entered that crumbling temple.
Lost in these thoughts, Brandon began counting down silently. Drawing aggro was an art, especially in games. For low-level AI, it was about understanding hitboxes and mechanics. For higher-tier monsters, it became a psychological duel.
These skills hadn’t faded for Brandon. Though he wasn’t a dedicated hunter-class player, roles often overlapped in teams. As a warrior, luring enemies was part of the job.
Eight, seven…
Brandon muttered softly. Tiger Finch, clearly confused, didn’t grasp what he was calculating. Native combat tactics differed vastly from players’. To players, this world—even at its most immersive—was fundamentally digital. Everything boiled down to data, and Brandon’s mind operated like a machine, tracking every variable with precision.
There was always a pattern.
He timed his move perfectly, then pulled the trigger. The first bolt—a hollow whistle arrow—let out a piercing shriek as it soared through the air. White streams trailed from the carved edges of the arrowhead, arcing gracefully into the shadow of the temple.
Six, five…
The sharp sound drew the attention of the hostile undead. The glowing spectral knight soon emerged from the side of the temple. Here it comes, Tiger Finch thought, hand gripping the handle of his throwing axe, muscles taut.
But Brandon immediately discarded the heavy crossbow, drawing a short bow from his waist. Purchased after his Highland Squire card entered the graveyard, it wasn’t as refined as Chael’s Construct Bow but served its purpose.
Brandon signaled to Tiger Finch.
Retreat. Now.
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