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Chapter 98: The Fall Part 4
Judging by the increasing frequency of the card’s resonance, it was clear these Blackfire cultists had come specifically for him. Brandon couldn’t help but shake his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. I was just thinking about hunting you down, and here you are delivering yourselves to me. Their dedication to traveling such great distances solely to gift him equipment and experience points was truly commendable.
But now he understood.
Though the forest remained eerily silent, Brandon could already sense the presence lurking on the other side. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in mild exasperation.
“Come out,” Brandon called, gesturing toward the dense foliage.
The woodland stayed still, as if holding its breath.
The mercenaries exchanged puzzled glances, unsure what to make of their leader’s command—or the stoic elven commander standing behind him. Even the young man beside Brandon raised an eyebrow. “Not coming?” he sneered, curling a finger forward. “Oss.”
Brandon had never been known for his patience. If the intruder insisted on playing hide-and-seek, he saw no harm in using more forceful methods to flush them out.
In an instant, the air around him churned violently, as though countless vectors converged upon a single point. The atmosphere compressed, then erupted outward with explosive force. A massive surge of energy radiated from Brandon, felling trees in rapid succession—snap, snap, snap. When the dust settled, a wide swath of forest lay flattened, revealing a lone figure standing amidst the destruction.
The wind had torn away the cloak draped over her shoulders, exposing armor that alternated between crimson and black. The girl wore a battle skirt with segmented plates ending just above her knees, paired with steel greaves encasing her legs in sleek, elongated curves—a striking contrast against the chaos surrounding her. She held a halberd firmly before her, the weapon seemingly halting the Wind Blast’s advance. Behind her, twin trails of displaced air extended over ten meters before fading into nothingness.
Strong.
That was all anyone could think.
A Wind Sovereign’s Ring unleashed peak iron-rank destructive power, its shockwave capable of overwhelming most adversaries. To block it outright required strength equivalent to lower-tier silver rank. But to emerge unscathed, without so much as flinching…
Gold rank.
The mercenaries groaned inwardly, awestruck. Tiger Finch massaged his temples, muttering under his breath, What is going on? Have we stumbled into some chaotic age? In the span of mere days, gold-rank powers had surfaced repeatedly—and among the young, no less. Such phenomena might be expected near the capital or bustling metropolitan areas, but here? In Eruin’s remote Jandel region, deep in the southern mountains? Something was amiss.
After a moment of stunned silence, the red-haired girl flicked her ponytail, raising her head to meet Brandon’s gaze. Her golden-red eyes burned like molten flames, brimming with combat resolve. With a fluid motion, she swung her halberd backward, unleashing a crackling arc of lightning that cleaved through nearby trees, sending them crashing to the ground. She grinned, revealing sharp white canines. “Is that all you’ve got?”
So it was her.
Brandon sighed, chiding himself for forgetting the existence of this particular powerhouse. The Divine Messenger of Thunder, the scarlet ghost knight—Milphit. As he watched the girl grip her uniquely shaped halberd, its tip resting lightly on the ground, there was no mistaking her identity. He felt a pang of frustration. How could he have overlooked this detail? The legendary Halberd of Thunder, once coveted by countless mercenaries, stood testament to her prowess. Perhaps he hadn’t anticipated encountering her so early—or finding her entrenched as a ruler within these woods.
Truthfully, Brandon had suspected as much earlier, but until the revelation unfolded, certainty had eluded him.
The rules of Eternal Song were tied to immortality. Those who sought light often fell into shadow, their lamentations weaving haunting melodies. Two ghost knights born in the same region resonating from the start—it made sense, yet Brandon couldn’t suppress his irritation. Flipping open the card in his hand, he muttered silently, oh, Lady Marsha, I invoked Eternal Song hoping for invincibility akin to the Silver Elves’ Eternal Legion—not this.
Still, his sharp gaze noted something peculiar: the red-haired girl wasn’t yet a ghost.
Yet everything about her screamed Milphit—the mannerisms, the appearance, even the aura. History described Milphit as an incomplete Divine Messenger, bound to ghostly form. Yet this girl bore none of those traits. Instead, her presence pulsed with the full essence of divine blood—a stark contradiction.
“Cinnabar. Radi.”
A voice broke the tension. Turning, Brandon spotted Sanford, one of the Gray Wolves mercenaries dragged back by Rubis’ men. Following Sanford’s shocked stare, Brandon noticed a familiar white-haired youth crouched nervously behind a bush near the red-haired girl. None other than Radi—the arrogant brat who’d irritated him endlessly.
“Damn it,” Brandon cursed inwardly. After last night’s lesson, he’d assumed Radi would learn humility. Clearly, he’d underestimated the boy’s audacity. But wait—what was Radi doing with the Blackfire cultists? Narrowing his eyes, Brandon spotted a Lesser Fiend lurking beside the youth.
Ah, so that was it.
He smirked derisively. “You’ve only just pledged allegiance to your new master and already you’re eager to exterminate your former comrades? Quite diligent of you.”
Everyone froze.
“Radi… you betrayed us?” Sanford and the others from the Gray Wolves struggled to process the revelation. They stared at Radi, disbelief etched on their faces. But they weren’t fools; connecting the dots, the truth became painfully clear. Some reacted with fury, shouting accusations: “You traitor! We trusted you!” Others voiced disappointment: “Radi, how could you do this?”
Sanford, however, simply asked, “Radi, explain yourself.”
If looks could kill, Radi would have obliterated Brandon multiple times over. At that moment, Radi harbored murderous intent strong enough to devour the man whole. His original plan had been simple: let the Blackfire cultists eliminate his former associates, absolving him of guilt—or so he told himself. He didn’t dwell on whether he still possessed a conscience.
But Brandon’s Wind Blast shattered that plan before it could unfold. Radi seethed internally, cursing both Brandon and the pointed-eared elf accompanying him. Wait—pointed ears? Glancing again, Radi realized the twenty-odd heavily armored elves trailing Brandon. Where had they come from? Had the cunning “Mane Wolf” set up reinforcements? Radi scanned the area cautiously, wary of traps. But then he relaxed. With Cinnabar present—no, the Thunder Divine Messenger Milphit, wielding gold-rank strength—even thirty silver-rank guards posed little threat.
Straightening, Radi cast a disdainful glance at the elven warriors. Elven heavy infantry? What a joke. Don’t they know elves excel as rangers, archers, or hunters? Smirking inwardly, he caught the accusing stares of his former companions. Realizing the need to justify himself, he adjusted his ring and adopted a falsely benevolent tone.
“No, no, everyone,” he began smoothly. “I haven’t joined Conrad’s ranks. I merely struck a deal with him, leveraging his forces to deal with this troublemaker—”
He pointed directly at Brandon. “Him. The root of all our problems.”
“Me?” Brandon echoed, pointing to himself, stifling laughter.
“Yes, you.” Radi’s voice trembled with barely contained rage, his eyes reddening. “If not for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess. That old bastard Macaro sent us off as cannon fodder to distract the Blackfire cultists while ensuring your safe escape. People sure value others differently, don’t they? I doubt he foresaw things turning out this way.”
Radi’s lips curled into a malicious grin. “Twelve silver-rank guards, huh? Impressive. It almost scared me. What will you do now? Where’s the bravado you flaunted last night when you humiliated me?”
Brandon refrained from throttling the self-righteous brat. Just as he opened his mouth to retort, Radi cut him off with a dismissive wave.
“No excuses. Conrad told me everything. Why else would they assign me so many elite troops just to chase you? I’m no fool. You’re the real Aiko, aren’t you?”
What?
Brandon nearly turned to stone.
Are you kidding me?
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