The early morning in July in Chablis is a song composed by the chirping of mountain sparrows. When the dawn blankets the entire mountain forest, this small town between the mountains becomes lively.
The scent of small mint leaves fills the rooms arranged by the mountain people. Brand woke up early—as if coming to this world, the habits of a swordsman had overridden those of a gaming nerd. Sleeping in seemed like something from the last century.
Brand looked through the stone hole window on one side of the room at the undulating mountains of Chablis outside while pressing down on a paper card with two fingers, then flipping it open with his thumb. The Wind Element Crystal placed beside him immediately vaporized into a green smoke that merged into the card surface. A small whirlwind arose in the confined space, dimensional fissures opened and closed, and more than twenty Wind Spirit Spiders shot out from within.
Brand immediately issued a command. These little things from the Wind Domain instantly became hazy and indistinct amid a cacophony of squeaks, quickly transforming into a mist that drifted out of the room. Seeing this, the young man smiled and opened a bottle of Mana Potion.
"Seems like a plot task." He frowned, thinking. This idea had kept him from sleeping well for two consecutive days.
Surrounding an instance or dungeon, a story would be triggered after a period of varying duration. These storylines were evolved by the system, so they didn't appear abrupt. In fact, instant task systems themselves were one of the selling points of 'Amber Sword.'
In this world, it seemed these storylines from past games were being vividly re-enacted.
Understanding this, Brand recalled carefully and finally remembered something. It was an incident vaguely mentioned in a strategy guide about the 'Balrog Ruins' on the forum some years ago, describing the experience of the first team to enter this instance.
It seemed vaguely familiar.
But he lifted his head, interrupting his train of thought. "Knock, knock, knock." The sound of knocking on the door came. It wasn't Romantic, for this lady would never knock and didn't care if anyone thought she was uneducated—she had nothing to do with that word, after all. Nor was it Antitina, because the noble daughter was always so polite and wouldn't knock so urgently.
Brand guessed in the blink of an eye that the person outside the door was likely from Macaro's side.
The door opened, revealing two young men. One was the effeminate white-haired youth from the afternoon before last, now scowling at him. The other Brand hadn't seen before but seemed about the same age, with a neat short haircut and looked a bit petite, watching the room with curiosity.
"Mr. Brand, we're about to leave. You are...?" The short young man looked at him, with curiosity, suspicion, and awe in his eyes, clearly impressed by Brand's performance in the fight the previous afternoon.
A young man around twenty, able to hold his ground equally with the Deputy Commander—that's what these young people mostly thought. Within the Gray Wolf Mercenary Group, Bujia's strength was acknowledged to be far superior to Macaro's, which was also a widely accepted fact.
This meant that this young man's strength at their age was simply unimaginable.
He had heard of the legend of the Chosen One, but no one knew exactly how strong a Chosen One was. He couldn't help but glance at Brand, wondering if he was the legendary Chosen One. Yet, Brand obviously didn't know what this young man was thinking; if he did, he would surely chuckle.
In fact, given his current strength, never mind a Chosen One, he was still far from being a Revealer.
"Alright, thank you." He nodded to the young man, unaware: "We'll be there immediately."
However, the white-haired youth immediately snorted coldly from behind.
Brand couldn't help but glance at the guy. From their interactions yesterday, it was clear this guy was a noble's descendant traveling outside, which explained his arrogant temper. Why he joined this mercenary group was another story.
Anyway, he wasn't interested in knowing.
Although he didn't mind, it didn't mean the other party wouldn't. The white-haired young man, feeling ignored, grew more furious, snorted again, and said, "Listen up, though I'm not your match, I'll keep a close watch on you, don't even think of playing any tricks—"