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Chapter 148: The Dawn Part 2
With a sharp crack, the ordinary longsword in Brandon’s hand shattered within its scabbard, unable to withstand the force of a Gold-rank power. He paused briefly, lifting the now-empty sheath to glance at it before tossing it aside.
The broken weapon clattered into the ruins.
Turning back, his brown eyes reflected the varied expressions on the mercenaries' faces. Still holding Funiya’s hand, he spoke calmly, "I have brought my promise—"
"But do you remember what you said?" His voice was steady, yet it cut through the air like an unsheathed blade, ringing with clarity as it pierced every heart present.
The mercenaries opened their mouths but found themselves at a loss for words.
"I remember." Only the young man in the gray-green robe pushed through the crowd, stumbling forward until he stood before Brandon. Looking up at this noble young man, disbelief flickered in his eyes.
He had actually come.
"I remember…" The apprentice wizard gasped, repeating softly, “I’m here, my lord…”
Brandon glanced at him, his gaze sweeping past to settle on everyone else.
"And the rest of you?"
Silence reigned.
"You…" The young man in gray-green clenched his fists, glaring around at the others, yearning to strike down these cowards and send them sprawling.
Yet still, there was only silence—deathly, suffocating silence.
Brandon merely smiled, a faint laugh escaping his lips. His warm eyelids seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow. "If I were you, I wouldn’t choose to offend two lords at once—"
From the rubble came the sound of shifting bricks and stones. Black-robed figures rose from the debris, skeletal soldiers standing stiffly and raising their weapons. They charged toward Brandon with mechanical precision.
With a casual wave of his hand, Brandon sent the first skeleton flying backward. It shattered mid-air, raining bone fragments onto the wounded but still-living noble soldiers who scrambled desperately away.
A cascade of brittle cracks echoed like falling rain.
Every noble soldier froze, paralyzed by fear.
The second skeleton lunged at Brandon, but without turning, he grabbed its bony claw just as it swung its sword. With one fluid motion, he twisted its arm, disarmed it, and slammed the creature to the ground with a brutal throw. Its body crumbled into pieces.
Grasping the black-steel sword he had taken, Brandon spun and slashed once more.
A crescent-shaped arc of white light flashed outward.
More than a dozen skeletons collapsed, their forms breaking apart as they fell lifelessly to the ground.
Lowering the sword, Brandon faced the fallen undead with an impassive expression. Gazing at the ruined fortress, he spoke evenly, "Now, I offer you this honor—"
The young knight raised his blade, pointing it down the long street ahead.
"On this road stand crosses bearing the souls of those who’ve passed. They watch your battle in silence. Will you fight alongside them in a different way, joining these former companions in spirit?"
At that moment—
Everyone seemed to hold their breath.
No one spoke, though some looked away, others blinked dry eyes, and many rested trembling hands on their hilts. For mercenaries, nothing stirred their hearts more than the chance to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with trusted companions. This might be their only—and final—opportunity to fight alongside those lost companions.
Forgive me, but can I trust you with my back again?
Companions.
Without another word, the sound of steel sliding from scabbards filled the air. The young apprentice wizard let his arms drop limply, staring in disbelief at the scene unfolding before him. These same mercenaries, silent moments ago, now stood grim-faced, lips pressed tight, drawing their swords with solemn resolve.
A sword was a mercenary's life—
And their vow.
With expressions bordering on reverence, the mercenaries stepped forward. First one, then two, then dozens more followed, their movements quiet but deliberate. Steel scraped against leather and armor, each figure taking their place behind the young knight.
Brandon smiled faintly.
Lowering his sword, he felt a flame ignite within his chest. Yet his face remained cold as he addressed the crowd, "Leaders of the mercenaries, step forward."
Three figures exchanged glances before stepping out of the ranks.
"Tell me your names."
"Clenxia, at your service, my lord. Commander of the Rose and Wine Mercenary Company," replied the silver-haired, handsome middle-aged man with a slight bow.
"Frein, leader of the Firelands Warband," rumbled the dark-skinned giant, arms crossed as he appraised Brandon.
"Yuta, head of the Mountain Swallow Mercenaries. My lord, while I agree to join with my men, I reserve the right to decide how we act independently," declared a fiery-haired woman with emerald-green eyes and a bold demeanor. She met Brandon’s gaze challengingly.
Unfazed, Brandon chuckled softly.
"I don’t know the makeup of your forces," he said, meeting her gaze. "But your tasks are simple. You and Commander Frein will each assemble a group. One will remain here, the other will secure and control the western gate. My requirement is straightforward—three hours. Before dawn breaks, I want your banners flying above the gates."
His gaze shifted to Clenxia, the elegant silver-haired commander. "As for you, Commander Clenxia, your task is to lead your company and any remaining independent mercenaries alongside me—to assault Cold Fir City Fortress."
"It would be my pleasure to hear more details," Clenxia responded with a graceful bow.
"Wait," Yuta interrupted, frowning. "The western gate? Why there? Isn’t our objective to take Cold Fir Fortress and eliminate that despicable wretch?"
Brandon’s expression remained calm. "That is one goal, yes. But let me be clear—you will face not living foes, but undead. Madara’s undead."
"What?"
Undead?
All three commanders stared in shock.
"Grudin has allied with Madara, but the undead army cannot hide within the city. Perhaps a small contingent resides inside, but the main force must be nearby—likely concealed in the southwestern forest. Your mission is to prevent them from entering the city until we complete ours," Brandon explained coolly.
Yuta and Clenxia exchanged uncertain glances.
Only Frein grunted, "If you already know of Grudin’s alliance with Madara, then surely he’s surrounded by capable warriors. Attacking Cold Fir Fortress will undoubtedly be the hardest task. So why not choose us, the Firelands Warband? Do you doubt our strength?"
Clenxia frowned uneasily at this remark.
But Brandon shook his head. "As I said, I don’t know your full capabilities. However, since I’ve chosen this arrangement—"
He turned sharply. "You will follow my orders."
Looking toward the distant street, he added, "Time is short. Use it wisely. Remember my words—one path leads to glory, the other to ruin. I’ve given you a choice. When you look back on this moment, may you do so without regret."
"And not find yourselves without even the chance to look back—"
"So now, those who seek this glory, follow me." With that, Brandon took Funiya’s hand and strode forward, his boots crunching over the broken stone.
The three commanders felt the icy threat beneath Brandon’s words and shivered inwardly. Meanwhile, the little girl gazed up at him, blinking slowly. "Big brother… Brandon…actually… you… don’t need to fight… for Funiya…"
"I… heard… Grandpa say… if Funiya… reaches… there, everything… will be… alright."
Hearing this, Brandon merely smiled.
"Funiya, you don’t understand. This isn’t just about you," he murmured gently, his gaze drifting to the neat rows of crosses lining the darkened street. "It’s about me choosing a path of iron and blood, of swords and fire. That’s all."
Indeed, when Brandon chose to return here, confronting his own fears and insecurities, the road ahead became steep and treacherous, winding toward a blazing inferno lined with thorns and stained with blood.
Yet he returned.
If his rage earlier had been a fleeting impulse, Funiya and Senian’s plight provided his ultimate revelation—a timeless truth. To always flee was to remain forever a failure.
Victory over others brings strength; victory over oneself brings greatness.
True, he had considered simpler paths. Ignoring his convictions, he could have claimed the coveted territory, hidden his wings, and grown powerful in the shadows, eventually dominating all.
But was that truly what he wanted?
To gain power while losing everything?
Was that really his desire?
Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly, realizing he had prepared the most complex plan imaginable. He had avoided this outcome countless times, refusing to gamble everything like a desperate gambler placing himself at fate’s mercy.
Yet step by step, he returned to the same point, clutching this very plan.
Smiling faintly, he thought of Antietta’s proposal—so safe, so logical, so fitting for a noble maiden.
"But..."
"Brandon, in the end, you are still Brandon..."
He shook his head, mocking himself.
But his gaze hardened. If this was the path, then he would walk it—even if only one chance remained. Just as before, when he was Su Fei, the Level 130 warrior facing Madara’s armies.
Step by step, toward triumph—
Or death.
Turning back, Brandon saw the young apprentice wizard hurrying after him, his composure regained, his expression once more cold.
"My lord?"
"Do you hear it?" Brandon asked, ignoring the question.
"What sound?"
"The sound of war—" Brandon pulled a silver card from his pocket, speaking evenly.
In that instant, the earth trembled as noble cavalry surged from around the corner of the street—
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