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Chapter 99: The Fall Part 5
I’m Aiko?
Brandon’s mind reeled in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding me. He immediately unleashed a torrent of curses in his head. But as the initial shock subsided, clarity dawned, and with it came rage. Macaro had used him—again. Brandon clenched his fists, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t the time to dwell on Macaro’s treachery; he’d settle that score later. For now, dealing with this arrogant fool took precedence.
The mere thought of exchanging another word with Radi made Brandon feel like he was aging prematurely.
Before he could respond, Sanford interjected, his voice calm but cutting. “So, Radi, you really did join Conrad?” Brandon turned, surprised to see the young man standing tall, his gaze piercing and unflinching as he locked eyes with the self-absorbed youth. There was no trace of anger on Sanford’s face—only quiet disappointment. Brandon blinked, momentarily taken aback by this unexpected side of the seemingly affable mercenary.
Radi hesitated, glancing at the group before him—his former comrades—and then at Sanford’s unwavering stare. He instinctively flinched but quickly straightened, meeting the accusing gazes of those around him. Each pair of eyes burned with fury.
But instead of cowering, Radi’s defiance surged. “It’s simple,” he spat. “Macaro abandoned us. Can’t you see that? That old man treated you all as expendable pawns. Why should I die for him? If I have the chance to survive, why shouldn’t I take it?”
“So you came to hunt us down and prove your loyalty to your new master?” Sanford’s voice was icy, cutting through Radi’s bravado. “I was your best friend, Radi. These people were your companions. Yes, Macaro betrayed you. But did we?”
Radi faltered, his jaw tightening as he struggled to respond. After a pause, he muttered, “I never wanted to kill you. If you’d joined me, I would’ve still considered you friends.” His voice wavered, betraying his unease.
“I don’t need your charity,” Sanford retorted, spitting in disgust. “To think I once called you my best friend—I must’ve been blind.”
“Nor do we,” the ragged remnants of the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company chimed in, their voices laced with collective outrage.
Brandon had been watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement, observing Radi’s isolation. But to his surprise, Sanford turned to him, bowing deeply. “Sir Brandon, Radi is right about one thing: Macaro did abandon us. Yet for ten years, he treated us like family. Any resentment we harbored has faded. From this moment on, we are nothing more than a band of outcasts. If you’re willing, Sir Brandon, we humbly ask to join your ranks. We seek nothing but survival—that’s all.”
Brandon raised an eyebrow, glancing at the others. It seemed most of the Gray Wolves had accepted Sanford’s proposal. Clearly, the young man held significant sway among them. Still, Brandon lowered his gaze, smirking faintly as he glanced at Radi. “Even so, you seem to have forgotten something. This fellow claims I have ties to your esteemed leader, Macaro. Are you truly comfortable with that?”
“That fool’s hatred has clouded his judgment—he’s no better than a madman. Who cares what nonsense he spouts?” one of the mercenaries growled dismissively.
Brandon looked back at Sanford, who nodded firmly.
He couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. Well, well, not everything the white-haired brat does is useless. He’s just handed me a group of seasoned mercenaries. Outwardly, however, Brandon remained composed. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, it seems I still have some unfinished business with Radi. Let me handle this first.”
With that, Brandon lifted his head—but the moment he did, his temper flared. Radi stood there, laughing mockingly. “Ha—ha—ha!” The white-haired youth sneered, his arrogance palpable. “You handle me? Oh, Brandon—or should I say, Aiko? You clearly don’t understand the situation. My elite Blackfire cultists are among the finest in the sect, each wielding peak silver-rank strength. And as for Cinnabar here—she’s now under my command. Surely you recognize her gold-rank prowess. And yet you dare suggest handling me with thirty lower-tier guards? Truly, this isn’t amusing.”
As he spoke, Radi moved behind Cinnabar, attempting to pat her cheek in a show of dominance. But she swatted his hand away without hesitation, turning to glare at him coldly.
Radi coughed awkwardly, though his former comrades paid no heed to his discomfort. Shock rippled through the Gray Wolves as they processed his words. They knew he had no reason to lie, but the notion that he’d turn against someone he once cared for chilled them to the bone. Of course, they misjudged him slightly—Cinnabar’s transformation had been orchestrated by a Dark Priest, far beyond Radi’s capabilities.
What unnerved them most, however, was the realization that the surrounding Blackfire cultists were all upper-tier silver-rank warriors, with a gold-rank powerhouse looming nearby. Though Cinnabar had once been their companion, the red-haired girl now showed no sign of recognition.
The Gray Wolves instinctively took a step back. Was this truly the end? Their eyes darted to their potential savior, only to freeze in disbelief. The young “merchant” was currently consoling his female companion.
“It’s fine. Don’t mind that pompous fool,” Brandon said casually, reaching out to pat Roma’s cheek reassuringly.
“I—I’m not worried at all!” Roma stammered, blushing furiously as she batted his hand away. “And stop touching me!”
Rubis’ mercenaries exchanged knowing glances, unfazed by Brandon’s antics. They’d long since grown accustomed to his antics—and shared his disdain for Radi. Glancing at the stoic Elven Royal Guards standing motionless behind them, they understood the inevitable outcome. Their lord might appear virtuous on the surface, but beneath lay a cunning strategist who rarely suffered fools gladly.
The Gray Wolves, however, were utterly stunned. Doesn’t he realize the stakes? Opposing them are upper-tier silver-rank warriors and a gold-rank powerhouse!
Yet Brandon’s nonchalance achieved its desired effect.
Radi trembled with rage. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t behave so arrogantly, but the humiliation inflicted upon him by Brandon and Conrad the previous night had festered into a volatile mix of anger and pride. Like a rabid dog, he snarled, “Attack! Kill them all—but leave that young man alive. I want him to suffer for crossing me. And capture the women alive.”
As the order left his lips, a cruel grin spread across his face, and he licked his lips in anticipation.
But Brandon simply raised a hand.
Wait?
Radi froze. Hadn’t he already given the command? Was it too late to back down now? He watched as the Blackfire cultists charged forward with fanatical zeal, as if driven by bloodlust rather than strategy. Shrugging inwardly, Radi thought, Let them fight. Then we’ll see if they know fear.
Go ahead and boast, he seethed silently.
The Gray Wolves paled, their hands trembling as they gripped their weapons. Even so, they prepared for one final stand. Death was preferable to dishonor. They were Gray Wolves, and even if only in name, they refused to tarnish their legacy.
Radi’s eyes gleamed with malicious glee, eager to witness the downfall of his enemies. But then he saw Brandon raise his hand and mouth a single phrase—not a plea, but a statement. It took Radi a moment to comprehend its meaning:
“Unfortunately, you’ve arrived too early.”
Too early?
Radi’s mind blanked. What did that mean? Had Brandon lost his mind? But before he could dwell on it, Brandon lowered his hand in a swift motion. At that signal, the twenty-odd heavily armored elven soldiers sprang into action. And in that instant, Radi’s confidence shattered.
He had indeed come too soon. Had he delayed by a day or two, while he still wouldn’t have stood a chance against Brandon, at least he wouldn’t have walked straight into his doom.
Alas, there was no undoing fate.
As Radi’s expression darkened, so too did the faces of the Gray Wolves, Rubis’ mercenaries, and even Antietta. For everyone present saw the vibrant hues that now enveloped the advancing Elven Royal Guards. Some colors shimmered brilliantly, others dimly, forming a kaleidoscope of light that danced across their armor and weapons—a clear indication of elemental power.
They were the mightiest heavy infantry on the continent, each warrior wielding power akin to that of a Temple Knight.
Radi’s earlier assertion that elves were only suited to be rangers, archers, or hunters now felt like a slap to his own face. Before the high-ranking Blackfire cultists could recover from their frenzy, they were engulfed in a cascade of radiant colors. Blades flashed, heads rolled—both human and demonic.
Twenty rainbows surged forward, unstoppable—
…
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