Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Chapter 41: An Unexpected Turn
“I shall take my leave, then,” Brandon said as he tucked the scroll away. Yet, glancing at Antietta’s current state, her evident distress stirred a pang of sympathy within him. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, “…Is there anything I can assist you with?”
Antietta shook her head. “No need, thank you,” she murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you for bringing me news of my father, sir.” She coughed softly.
Brandon couldn’t help but think how proud and stubborn this girl was. He considered his own circumstances—his resources were far from abundant. Any attempt to aid her would likely have to wait until after the auction the cripple had promised to arrange for him. With that thought, Brandon turned to depart, but just then, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed up the staircase nearby.
The group froze, turning their heads toward the commotion. “There are many of them,” Barthom muttered, his hand slipping beneath his cloak. “Seven… no, eight.”
“No need for alarm. This is Braggs,” Brandon interjected, placing himself between Barthom and the stairwell. But before his words had fully left his lips, a string of curses rose from below.
“Damn it all, I hate coming to this wretched place. That girl’s too stubborn for her own good. We’re wasting our time again.”
“Hush. These noblewomen always act so high and mighty on the surface. Scare them a little, and they’ll crumble like frightened mice. Whatever we demand, they’ll hand over without question.”
“If you ask me, Lord Teste already gave us permission to do what needs doing. What’s one down-on-her-luck noblewoman going to do about it? If we don’t teach that brat a lesson, she’ll never learn who we are.”
“What do you know? A noble’s promises are worth less than the dirt beneath your feet—they’re slicker than snakes—”
The group appeared around the corner, their argument trailing off as they came face-to-face with Brandon, Barthom, and the others—exactly eight men, each clad in pristine gray uniforms of the Peacekeeping Cavalry. They clearly hadn’t expected anyone to be upstairs; surprise flickered across nearly every face.
Their eyes darted first to Antietta behind the group, then to Brandon and Barthom, and finally settled on the cripple partially obscured at the back.
“You—cripple. What are you lot doing here?” the leader asked, his brow furrowing.
Brandon stepped forward, blocking the cripple’s path. Turning slightly, he asked, “Who are these people?”
“Thugs from Hood District,” the cripple replied, his gaze sharp as he took in their Peacekeeping Cavalry attire. “Looks like they’ve cleaned themselves up since I last saw them. Even managed to scrape together some fancy uniforms.” His tone made it clear he held no love for them.
“Filthy cur,” one of the newcomers spat under his breath.
But the leader silenced his companion with a raised hand. Brandon’s demeanor had already marked him as the leader of their small party. The man hesitated, unsure of what to make of the situation. The cripple—known throughout their circles as an elusive loner—was now traveling with two strangers, one of whom stood protectively near Antietta, the daughter of a fallen noble family. This development complicated matters significantly.
“And who might you two be?” the leader ventured cautiously.
Brandon spared him only a glance, ignoring the question entirely.
Instead, he turned back to Antietta. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the doorframe, her head bowed. Though she remained silent, the subtle tension in her posture spoke volumes of her fear. After a moment, Brandon asked gently, “Are they here to cause trouble for you?”
She nodded.
“What’s going on?”
“They say my father owes their master money.”
“Your father isn’t a gambler, is he? Everyone seems to owe someone something these days,” the cripple muttered from behind. But his words earned him a fiery glare from Antietta, causing him to flinch and hastily swallow the rest of his sentence.
“Does your father truly owe them anything?” Brandon pressed.
Antietta’s brows knit together as she shook her head firmly. “My father would never associate with such people.”
Brandon considered this before addressing the intruders once more. “And who exactly are you?”
His voice carried authority, and the leader, already unnerved by Brandon’s composed demeanor, faltered further. Unable to discern the young man’s features beneath the shadow of his hood, the leader could only gauge his age by his tone. Hesitating, he chose his words carefully. “We are members of the Peacekeeping Cavalry under Hadler’s command. I am Jon ‘the Owl,’ and these are my brothers. We’ve been sent by Viscount Teste to collect a debt.”
“When did the Peacekeeping Cavalry start moonlighting as debt collectors?” Barthom sneered, crossing his arms.
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Only weeks ago, they’d been nothing more than street thugs, unused to facing individuals as enigmatic as Brandon and his companions. Now, caught between indignation and intimidation, they found themselves at a loss.
Their leader cursed inwardly, regretting opening his mouth only to reveal another weakness. Fortunately—or unfortunately—one of his men blurted out, “Debts must be repaid. It’s only fair.”
Brandon regarded them coolly. “Whom do you intend to collect from?”
The so-called Peacekeepers fell silent once more. Finally, their leader stammered, “The young lady behind you. Her name is Antietta. Her father owes Viscount Teste a substantial sum.”
Brandon scratched his ear. The name Teste rang a faint bell, though he couldn’t quite place it. He suspected the man was a minor figure in Amber Sword politics, either inconsequential like Lord Ceberus or deliberately kept out of the spotlight.
Turning back to Antietta, he asked, “Who is Viscount Teste?”
“A young man much like yourself,” the cripple whispered urgently. “He serves as second-in-command to Maguske, commander of the Silver Wing Cavalry. Rumor has it he’s Duke Goran-Elsun’s illegitimate son.” Lowering his voice further, he added, “Brandon, we shouldn’t provoke these people. You don’t want to cross someone connected to Teste.”
The old man wiped an invisible bead of sweat from his brow, relieved he hadn’t offended anyone earlier. Still, his cunning mind began plotting an escape from this predicament.
But Brandon caught the subtext in the cripple’s warning and smiled faintly. “Lorne,” he said, using the cripple’s name, “you seem awfully eager for me to pick a fight with this unseen Viscount Teste.”
“Not at all! Perish the thought!” Lorne laughed nervously, caught off guard that Brandon had seen through his ruse. Little did he know, Brandon had long understood the workings of his crafty mind.
Glancing at Antietta again, Brandon noticed her pale complexion. She had overheard Lorne’s explanation and realized the gravity of her situation. Against figures like Maguske or the Duke, her plight seemed insurmountable. If these men sought to harm her, resistance might prove futile.
Yet Brandon’s thoughts wandered elsewhere. Maguske, for all his outward appearance of nobility and military discipline, was secretly a pawn of the Ouroboros Society. As for Teste, his role in Amber Sword remained obscure, save for whispers of his illegitimacy. No wonder the name felt so unfamiliar.
What puzzled Brandon, however, was the lack of precedent. Among Vonder nobility, outright destruction of rivals was rare—even royal power struggles unfolded discreetly. Why, then, was Teste pressing Antietta so aggressively? A vendetta? Unlikely.
Could it be romantic interest? It wouldn’t be the first time a noble pursued such schemes. Yet that presented its own complications. Regardless of Antietta’s feelings, Brandon had no intention of letting her slip away. The value of the magic energy conduit device’s designer was incalculable—a fact Brandon understood all too well. Initially, he’d planned to bide his time, lulling her into trust while negotiating terms. But now…
Plans changed.
Turning back to Antietta, he asked, “Did your father know Viscount Teste?”
She shook her head quickly, her sharp mind racing alongside his. She’d never met Teste, but his methods repulsed her instinctively. Desperate, she glanced at Brandon, seeking reassurance.
He didn’t disappoint.
Without another word, Brandon drew his sword. Its gleaming elven blade sent a chill through the assembled men. Drawing steel signaled the end of diplomacy. Their leader tried to salvage the situation, clearing his throat to appeal to Teste’s influence—but Brandon was faster. With a single swing, a ripple of energy surged past them, invisible yet palpable, sending hair whipping backward. In an instant, a five-meter crack split the ceiling above.
Silence blanketed the dim corridor.
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
