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Chapter 101: Luring the Snake Out Part 1
To achieve one hundred percent quest completion, it seemed necessary to uproot every enemy standing in the way. The difficulty of this mission far exceeded Brandon’s expectations. He had initially thought that merely preserving the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company would suffice, but now he realized how naive that assumption had been.
The Amber Sword’s quest system was indeed no pushover, maintaining its infamous rigor even in this world. Though Brandon mentally cursed the Torrential Rain developers a hundred times over, he couldn’t deny their craftsmanship.
He ticked off the enemies he would have to face on his fingers. There were over a hundred lizardfolk brigands mentioned in Chablis’s report to the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company, though the strategy guide clarified the actual number was over a thousand—perhaps even more.
Then there were the Blackfire cultists, numbering no fewer than two hundred, with an average strength of iron rank or higher—a significant challenge.
Finally, Conrad commanded seventy-odd dark mercenaries, whose abilities were comparable to those of the Blackfire cultists. The Card Mercenary Company’s report was the only one with an accurate headcount, which, ironically, was good news.
Hjúkigr, the lizardfolk commander, possessed peak silver-rank strength, while Conrad was undoubtedly gold-rank. As for the Divine Messenger of Earth accompanying the Blackfire cultists, Brandon didn’t even want to think about it—the mere mention made his head ache.
And unbeknownst to Brandon, there was also a junior Dark Priest among the enemy ranks. If he’d known, he might have unleashed a string of curses.
After some deliberation, Brandon turned to see the Silver Elves finishing off the arrogant white-haired fool. The Gray Wolves were tending to their wounds with the help of Rubis mercenaries, their shared mercenary background fostering an unexpected camaraderie.
“What do you plan to do?” a voice beside him asked.
Brandon glanced at the Silver Elf commander wearing a golden helmet and blinked.
“If that human wasn’t lying, the Blackfire cultists and the lizardfolk are converging. Their speed should be roughly the same as ours. By the time we arrive, we may not just be facing a disorganized mob of lizardfolk.”
The Silver Elf commander spoke as if recounting something entirely unrelated to himself.
“Essentially correct,” Brandon replied without hesitation. “But I suspect Conrad has already met with the lizardfolk commander Hjúkigr by now, as he must anticipate us slipping away from the north.”
The Silver Elf commander stared at him silently. Though he and his subordinates were still formidable, capable of overwhelming the lizardfolk with ease, Brandon knew appearances could be deceiving.
He had never heard of an SSS-completion quest being achievable through sheer brute force.
“They’ve likely sent out scouts already.”
“He thinks we’ll run?” Brandon smirked. “Good. Let them make a mistake.”
Brandon’s intuition was spot-on. That evening, lizardfolk dragon-hunting cavalry dispersed from their lairs in Balrogan.
---
The next morning—
A rustling sound emanated from the dry shrubs on the hillside. A human hand and an elegant, slender elven hand parted the bushes to either side. Behind the foliage, Brandon and the Silver Elf commander calmly observed the movements in the valley below. After studying the scene for a moment, the young man spoke.
“Dragon-hunting cavalry.”
“This is the third patrol since yesterday,” the elven commander’s silver eyes reflected the lush valley below, his expression unchanged. Dragon-hunters were faster and more agile than any cavalry mount of this era, but they paled in comparison to Minarian shadow knights. Even as the hunters leapt through the forest, their swift forms occasionally flashing between gaps in the canopy, their movements appeared painfully slow to the masterful Silver Elf warrior.
“At this distance, their patrols have already doubled the usual range for bandit lairs. Even under Treeminders’ command, this is abnormal…” Brandon muttered to himself. “It seems we’ve truly entered plot mode.”
“What?” The Silver Elf commander turned to him.
“Nothing,” Brandon quickly corrected himself. “Just estimating the distance.”
“Unnecessary,” the commander remarked, glancing at him. This wasn’t the first time they’d done this since last night.
Brandon hastily nodded. “Indeed, nothing worth noting. Let’s proceed as planned.” He turned and called out, “Sanford!”
A young man, formerly of the Gray Wolves but now under Brandon’s command, scrambled up the slope, panting. He looked up at the two figures above. “Yes, my lord? What is it?”
Though newly allied, Brandon had already instructed Antietta to clarify his ‘true identity’ to them. While it wasn’t unusual for travelers, adventurers, or merchants to use aliases, the mercenaries were pleased by Brandon’s trust. Moreover, compared to the transient life of a merchant, the prospect of serving a future lord held greater allure for these soldiers.
Unlike many nobles who disregarded their subordinates' lives, Brandon appeared different—a lesson they had learned from Macaro, the ‘Mane Wolf.’ But in this chaotic world, what choice did small-time mercenaries have? They could only work harder to earn his favor.
“Pass the order down. Prepare to move.” Brandon replied, gazing at the valley below.
“No problem, I’ll get right on it.” But halfway down, the young man hesitated and turned back. “My lord, there’s something I don’t quite understand…”
“Hmm?”
Sanford hesitated but eventually mustered the courage to ask, “With your current strength, why go through all this trouble? If we simply charged forward, I believe those lizardfolk wouldn’t stand a chance, even if they’re allied with the Blackfire cultists. From what I know, even Eruin’s royal family…”
He trailed off, the unspoken implication clear: Even Eruin’s royal family likely couldn’t muster over twenty Temple Knights. While Eruin might have more than twenty Temple Knights in total, not all served nobles, and those who did weren’t necessarily loyal to a single faction.
However, Sanford’s underlying skepticism about Brandon’s status made him abruptly stop.
But Brandon understood his meaning and smiled. “You might find this disappointing, but these elven allies aren’t my subordinates. They fight alongside us because we share a common goal. Additionally, they can’t stray too far from their territory, or their power will wane.”
The young man was momentarily confused by the mention of waning power but quickly responded, “No, my lord. You misunderstand. We’re not disappointed. Yesterday, when we swore allegiance to you, it wasn’t because of your overwhelming strength. It was to repay your kindness. Whether as former Gray Wolves or otherwise, we won’t break our promises.”
He then hesitated again before asking, “But these elven allies—they’re Temple Knights, aren’t they? Even with diminished power, wouldn’t they still be overwhelmingly strong?”
Brandon saw the misunderstanding etched on Sanford’s face. To the average person, halving a Temple Knight’s power would still leave them at peak gold rank.
Twenty such warriors would indeed sweep the region clean.
Unfortunately, reality wasn’t so kind. In this world, there was a thing called the level system. Halving their strength meant dropping one rank, but halving their levels had a far greater impact. And, unfortunately, the accursed altar system deducted power precisely this way. At full strength, Elven Royal Guards were level sixty units; halved, they became level thirty—barely maintaining upper-tier silver rank, let alone gold.
While twenty upper-silver units could handle the lizardfolk, adding the Divine Messenger of Earth and Conrad into the mix complicated matters significantly.
Thus, Brandon sought a clever solution rather than brute force.
Explaining all this would be tedious, so he simply waved his hand. “Don’t worry. Go pass the orders along. Trust me, I’ll bring you victory.”
The young man paused, then nodded firmly.
The Silver Elf commander watched Sanford disappear into the woods, then turned to Brandon with silvery-gray eyes. “I see. For a human, you’re quite arrogant.”
“It’s confidence,” Brandon corrected earnestly. “Remember, this isn’t the battlefield of the Holy War, nor the era of shining stars where brilliant commanders rendered conventional tactics obsolete. Perhaps this continent will see that age again someday, but not now.”
He looked toward the northern forest, enunciating each word. “Here and now, I believe no one can take victory from me. As a seasoned commander, I say this to you. Record it if you wish.”
The Silver Elf studied him, then removed his winged golden helmet, revealing a breathtakingly beautiful yet cold face. “To be honest, I don’t understand.”
“You said, ‘Perhaps this continent will see that age again,’” the elf tilted his head, his icy profile striking enough to make women envious. “Do you mean the Dragon of Darkness will return to this land?”
“No, that’s another matter entirely.”
“You’re certain, human? Can you see the future?” Another icy question.
Brandon faltered. Damn, this guy’s sharp, he thought. The game developers should hire him for bug testing. But after a pause, he replied, “Not foresight, just a premonition. If you don’t believe me, when the time comes, I’ll return here and tell you what happens in the outside world. How’s that?”
He wasn’t sure why he’d said it, perhaps because some secrets had festered too long within him.
This guy’s just a ghost bound to this place, he reasoned.
The Silver Elf paused, then gave a cold smile. “Very well, Minnis.”
“Brandon.”
“Brandon. Then I’ll wait to see your so-called victory.”
The bastard still didn’t believe him.
“As you wish,” Brandon growled.
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