"It's unusually quiet here," Gail said. The afternoon sun shone on the withered leaves, and the light in the forest was constantly changing. "My lord."
"There's a legend among the mountain people. The reason why the forest is so quiet is because the Goddess of the Lake is watching over it. In such a place, do not turn around," Tyrese said. The viscount's pale hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he looked into the forest. There was a path of wild beasts.
"My lord, you must be joking," Gail felt a chill run down his spine as he looked around. It was as if there really was a pair of eyes hidden in the shadows. "Chaos above, the gods are nothing but illusions."
"No, Gail," Tyrese replied, "I believe that the gods are real."
Gail looked at the young viscount, as if he was trying to see the source of this heresy from his kind eyes. Tirste was the son of All for One, and those who were chosen for this position had to be carefully selected by the higher-ups. Whether it was wisdom, talent, or loyalty to the teachings, he was one in a million. Even though his personality was fickle, it was still hard to believe that he would say such a thing.
"If there are gods," Gail replied, "then what we're doing, is it not blasphemy?"
Tyrese looked at him, as if he was mocking the young Knight's weakness. "If there are gods," he said, "are they necessarily correct? I don't think so."
Gail was speechless, and only then did he realize the difference between him and Tyrese.
The young viscount turned around and saw that at the edge of the forest, the Knight had finally pulled the boat ashore. "Let's be on our way," he snapped his fingers. "In such a place, we might run into something like a ghost at night. Even though it's not much of a threat, it's still troublesome. "He held the hilt of his sword with one hand and swept the corner of his grey robe on the ground.
Gail followed closely behind him.
Not long after, a Knight caught up with them. "My lord, the third, fourth, fifth, and seventh squads have all arrived," he reported in a low voice. "We received a signal from the north, and other than us, the others have already reached the shore. As for the other teams, they didn't seem to be able to pass through the fog outside. "
Tirste looked at the scenery of the forest with great interest, as if the light from the forest had melted into his narrow eyes, causing them to soften. "So," he said, "there are thirty-seven of us, are there not?"
The Knight nodded.
"Thirty-seven Silver-tiers, including me," he pointed at himself, "should be enough to deal with a Knight of the Lake. If the information is correct —"
Gail didn't answer.
Tirste turned around when he heard the rustling of footsteps in the forest. Gail's hand was still tightly gripping the hilt of his longsword, his nose hissing. "How big is this island, my lord?" He asked.
"Are you scared?" Tirste asked, "Gail, the fisherman said that the Knight of the Lake will not appear outside White Mountain."
Gail took a deep breath and released his hand stiffly. "I'm sorry, my lord."
Tirste smiled good-naturedly.
The group passed through the forest and met up with their companions in the north. They arrived at the holy white rock before the sun set in the afternoon. The afterglow fell on the white stone walls, dazzling them. The young viscount placed his hand on the boulder in front of everyone. His slender fingers traced the uneven surface of the boulder, and the rough texture gave him a sense of history.
It was as if he had gone back in time, thousands of years ago, to the time when a king came here with his sword and slumbered in this forest.
"There is a king here," he said, "Do you know who it is?"
"King Erik?" Gail asked.
"No," Tirste shook his head, "it's not him." He lowered his hand and walked along the boulder. It didn't take long for them to find a cave that led to the interior of the boulder. Behind the cave was an emerald forest, which the natives called the 'Forest of Dreams'. The young viscount stopped and asked, "Is this the place?"
"Yes, my lord," the Knight behind him replied, "the information said that the Knight of the Lake is in the forest behind us."
"Then, are you all prepared with your weapons?"
Everyone patted the swords at their waist.
Tirste nodded with satisfaction: "If that's the case, then follow me."
"Chaos above!" The Knight replied.
… …
Brando sat in front of his walnut desk and suddenly felt the Philosopher's Slate tremble slightly. [Again?] He was slightly surprised. After a moment of confusion, he put down the quill in his hand and took out the Philosopher's Slate and placed it on the desk beside the letter. The Sage Slate trembled slightly, as if it had suddenly come to life on the wooden table.
But after a while, it calmed down.
It did not move.
"What's wrong, my lord?" Amandina asked and blinked her eyes. She sat quietly on a high back chair beside Brando, and the sunlight shone in from the window. Her posture was elegant, and her neck was as slender as a swan's. Brendel turned back to look at her, lost in thought for a moment.
"It's nothing." He used his hand to push the Philosopher's Slate lightly, but there was still no reaction. "It's probably a low frequency resonance," Brando thought for a moment: "It's a common occurrence recently." He opened the drawer and placed the Philosopher's Slate inside. He then took out the quill from the ink bottle, but his train of thought was interrupted and he did not know where to start.
Brando rubbed his temples as he felt a headache coming on.
"Are you writing a letter to Miss Freya?" Amandina glanced at the letter on the desk.
"Yes, my head hurts." Brando replied: "Even though we killed Graudin, the real trouble has only just begun." He raised his head again: "Tell me, Amandina, how should we deal with Count Randner?"
Amandina raised her head and looked at him with a hint of annoyance. "I thought my lord had a plan," she replied: "Why didn't you ask for my opinion when you insisted on doing things your own way?"
"If I gave up," Brando smiled: "Would you be at ease?"
Amandina turned her head away and did not say anything.
"Tsundere." Brando thought to himself. He poked the quill on the paper and asked: "By the way, what did you mean when you said those words to the mercenary leader?"
"What I meant on the surface."
"I don't think so," Brando shook his head: "I understand that you have complaints in your heart, but you and I both know that you're not someone who speaks without thinking, and you shouldn't say so much in front of an outsider." He took the parchment, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it out of the window: "Aren't you smart, Amandina? I'm lucky to have a subordinate like you —"
Amandina looked back at him with a hint of admiration in her eyes.
"It was because my lord wanted to subdue the mercenaries," she replied: "That's why I acted on my own accord."
"So you don't blame me?" Brando breathed a sigh of relief: "Thank the heavens."
"I've never blamed you," Amandina smiled faintly: "I'm just a little angry that you left me behind." She furrowed her brows: "I'm more worried that I won't be able to keep up with my lord's pace. I don't know, maybe there's something deeply rooted in my heart that will lead me further and further away."
Brando smiled. [I won't go too far if I have the heart.] But he did not say it out loud and took out another piece of parchment. "So you have an idea, Amandina?" He asked.
Amandina nodded. "More or less." Amandina said: "My lord is taking risks, and I'm afraid we won't be able to resolve the danger we're about to face. But when it comes to conflicts between nobles, it's best to use a small force to gain a large one. First of all, we need to see if we can find a backer, but I'm afraid we can't rely on traditional means. Our foundation is still shallow, and no one will take the risk of offending Count Randner. We can consider his enemies, but our strength is too small, and our actions have already challenged the rules of the game — "Amandina thought for a moment before continuing:" The remaining options are those that don't make sense. For example, the Southern Legion. Madara isn't out of the question — "
Brando waved his hand. "Forget about Madara," he replied. "Tell me about the Southern Legion."
"Count Randner and Madara must have a few reasons for forming an alliance," Amandina replied: "The first reason is to use Madara's hand to weaken the Southern Legion. The second reason is to allow them to suppress the strength of the Highlanders within Randner's borders. Have you noticed, my lord? Madara's undead army has not taken a single step into the Lightning Pool of the Goddess' Lake. From the information we received from the outside, they are most active in the autonomous regions of the Highlanders. " Amandina continued: "If that's the case, the Southern Legion will be isolated and without reinforcements. I'm afraid that they will hate Count Randner for not caring about them. However, the Southern Legion's garrisons are mostly barren lands or forests. The biggest problem they face is a lack of supplies. If we can form an alliance with them, we can at least guarantee that we won't have to worry about Count Randner's safety. "
"You mean Madara?"
Amandina nodded.
"It's a good idea," Brando used his quill to scribble on the parchment. His gaze was focused on a point outside the window as if he was thinking about something: "But the Southern Legion is currently in deep trouble. After the battle with Madara, they have already cut off all contact with the outside world. Whether or not this organization still exists is a problem. Even if it does, how to contact them is another problem. " He stopped writing and took a deep breath: "We can't rely on luck, so this idea can only be used as a backup plan. I can send people to Mount Gralas, but before we receive any concrete information, this is only a safety measure. "
"Is there anything else to consider?"
"What about the Silver Elves that my lord met? Can they be of help?" Amandina asked: "If we're talking about borrowing strength, they're the biggest help —"
… …
(PS. I'm designing the later parts of the story.)
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