The Amber Sword

Brando turned around and looked at the kid who hit him, and he was already sitting on a thick, soft carpet in the lobby, seven or eight years old, with dark hair, a little sword brow under his dark eyes, hiding an unusual fortitude. The little boy looked at him with some uncertainty, wearing the silk obedience often worn by children in aristocratic families, white tight pants and a pair of pointed boots with jewellery and gold foil, with silver plates scattered next to him and dishes of various colours spilled over the floor, with the sauce seeping slowly into the carpet.

The time seems to be set for a moment.

It must take a lot of money to replace that expensive camel carpet, because these handmade carpets come only from the silver bay, and the merchants cross the desert in slave beasts filled with this kind of fine plush fabric, traveling 10,000 miles to Eruin to make that huge profit over gold. Brando flashed this strange thought in his head, and the little boy looked familiar in his eyes, and he squinted his eyes and remembered seeing each other there, when a gentle voice plugged in: "Sir, I'm sorry. ”

Brando seemed like every pore was tightened, his muscles tightened with his skin, and he raised his head rigidly in the direction of the sound, and then nailed the whole person there.

A couple of aristocrats, dressed in clothing that fits this era, that is, Eruin imitated the simplistic but refined style of the Haibero dynasty in the upper echelons of the Pokémon in the late Renaissance. They lifted the little boy up and smiled with apologies to Brando: "Sophie, apologize. Look, you're soiling the gentleman's clothes. ”

Brando watched this scene implicitly, although two memorable words swept through his heart, as if he were going to speak at any moment, but he couldn't say anything. He never dreamed of seeing his dreamy parents at this time, in this environment.

The aristocratic couple who appeared before him looked exactly like the two faces he remembered, or even younger, or as little different from his childhood memories. Yes, he was only seven or eight years old, often in an amusement park near his parents' house, and he took a look at the little boy.

“Excuse me, sir.” Young Sophie photographed the dirt on his body and apologized to him with a low head.

Brando quietly clasped his lips.

He understands that this is the self in his heart and the parents in his heart, because this is his confusion in this dream, and there is mist in every human heart, which is present in the dreams of the unknown, and when it will cover you.

And now he's walking into the mist he's been reluctant to face. Mortal enemies are mostly themselves, because only they understand what they are most afraid of, and this nightmare strikes the most fragile part of his mind at once, as the description suggests.

Brando pulled a smile from his stiff face: "It's okay.” He tried to keep himself under control so that he could not be so disoriented, but he immediately tried to find an excuse to escape. He sees his parents looking at their young self, an eye with shelter and wings, and Brando understands exactly what that eye means.

“Sir, do you seem to have a problem?” Her mother looked at him and asked.

“No, no...” Brando barely calmed down and shook his head quickly.

“It's normal for a young man to have something on his mind that you may not believe, and my husband and I feel a little kind when we see you. So give us a chance to apologize. Can we invite you, sir, over there for a moment?” The face of the woman familiar with his memory looked at him somewhat kindly, rather than the one with tolerance and goodwill, making him almost collapse.

Brando took a deep breath and let the cold air penetrate into his lungs to calm himself down: “Sure, I'd love to, but I still have some things to take care of. I'm so sorry, I just have to say goodbye.” Having said that, he gave the couple a deep gift and then turned around and ran away, as if he were afraid to stay a moment longer and would be torn apart.

If so, he doesn't even know what he should face them with.

He pursued that glittering trajectory in that world, changing the fate of this ancient kingdom. But does it really make sense? For a moment he was even confused, and he could really answer them without remorse —— does that all make sense? Or maybe he was wrong in the first place, but did everything he was after really exist?

Brando wasn't so sure for the first time.

He didn't even dare look back, stick his head in the crowd, sweat, even after the Ambessel war, he'd never been so anxious at such a moment. He looked at the face belonging to the nobles, some distortion magnified, as if it were the image of a demon, and there was a voice in the underworld calling to him to drag him to hell.

“Teacher!” The voice suddenly became clear, like having the power to grab his arm bent. As a strong man who had catalyzed the elements, Brando was almost pulled to the ground, and he turned his head in a sweat, first to see a slender arm with silver long gloves, and he raised his head, then to see the clear eyes of His Highness the Prince.

“Teacher?” Haruze looked at him with some apprehension.

“Haruze?” Brando was slightly awake at last. He looked up and didn't see Princess Griffin, so he asked, "Where's your sister? Are you done with her? ”

“Almost, but I don't get it ——” the little prince frowned, revealing a deep sense of concern. He looked really like his sister with his eyebrows, especially his long silver curly hair with his neck slightly curled down, just like Princess Griffin, who saw Brando as a fool.

It also cleared up some of his confusion and calmed him down a bit. At that moment he thought of a Griffin princess, of Freya, of the mountains of Roman and Butch, and all of these things actually existed, and Brando was a little at ease, but he understood that the prick buried at the bottom of his heart was nothing but a hidden uprising.

“I understand what you want to know…” replied Brando lightly.

“What exactly is this place, teacher? Why is this happening? Didn't we beat Lord Sifah in Ambethel? Grand Duke Alec has also become a wanted man in the Temple, so long as we wait for the South to reunite with the North, Eruin can restore the glory of the past, can't he?” The little prince grabbed his hand tightly as if she were really a helpless young girl.

“But why is it like this...”

“I asked my sister... no Mr. Brando, no Battle of Ambethel, sister she married the Grand Duke of Anrek, the old nobles crowded with those who bestowed their best interests, even the royal party stood opposite the kingdom. And Madara... how did the sequence of the dead become so powerful? Sister Freya... Sister Freya is dead too... How could this happen? We know... that we have..."

Haruze had some water in his eyes. He bit his lip and didn't cry until he put up with it. “Sister, she said she would die here. Teacher, please help her...”

Brando sighed in his heart. He could understand the despair in the heart of the little prince, because they had personally experienced such despair, striving as if they had been denied by an invisible hand, hope turned into nothingness, ideals and beliefs destroyed little by little, and the road ahead seemed to remain endless darkness.

But if it wasn't for such hopelessness, how could he have come to this point today?

He touched the little prince's head and replied, "Haruze, it's just a dream. Forget what I told you, the unsung distorts your dreams, just wants you to get caught up in them, and all the absurd scenes you see here are his means of seducing you. ”

Haruze looked up at him red-headed and said, "Teacher, I know you're lying to me, right? These things have happened, although I don't know where they are, maybe in the future, maybe in the past, but I do know that they are not all false. ”

Brando had a shock in his heart, and he looked at the little prince and said, "Haruze, why do you say that? ”

“I don't know… I just have a hunch, I'm a little scared, teacher. ”

It's the Apocalypse, and it's not as bad as Roman's sixth sense. Brando shook his head gently: "In the eyes of the ancient Cruz, history overlaps because different branches of history extend different outcomes. Whenever history turns to a fork, two results emerge at the same point in time, and the witches believe that each branch will create a new world that overlaps each other, and we are just passengers in it. ”

Brando suddenly thought it might be possible, otherwise it would not explain his experience. But unfortunately, after all, it is only a legend, and no one can prove its authenticity: “Perhaps this has happened in different histories, but it is, after all, a dream, and we have changed our own destiny - as Nimaisis said, we should have a sword to change our destiny. ”

“Really? ”

“Perhaps, after all, no one has seen it.” Brando answered somewhat vainly.

His state of mind became more stable when he regained his calm. But it was at this point that he felt the smell of blood and scorch in the air become stronger, and he turned around and everyone in the hall talked about it, but nobody seemed to notice it.

It was just then that the lobby suddenly quieted down.

Then the door in the middle of the corridor on the second floor suddenly opened and a platoon of knights walked out the back. Then Brando saw Sister and Tea, followed by many of his familiar faces, all from a team of crimson travelers. Finally, behind everyone, a noble and elegant figure slowly emerged.

Raven silent in the lobby.

Everyone focuses their eyes in that direction.

Brando frowned slightly, and this scene he remembered was like engraved in his heart, never forgetting. He subconsciously turned away in one direction, and if he remembered correctly, the assassin would open the door in that direction and mix it in the lobby at a time when no one was paying attention.

But what surprised him was.

The door was closed and motionless.

“What's going on? Has history changed?” Brando flashed slightly.

……

(PS: Just to let you know, because Calvin is going out tomorrow to find inspiration, he's going somewhere to travel with Blackie. I will keep the update, but the time for the update may be uncertain. I will send it in a book at the hotel. It may be too early or too late. I hope you will forgive me...) (to be continued. If you like this work, you are welcome to vote on recommendations, monthly tickets (qidian.com), and your support is my biggest motivation.)