Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C125

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Chapter 125: Power and Responsibility, Part 1

After uttering those words, Brandon leaned back with an air of casual indifference, his gaze sweeping over the group before him.

The forest fell silent—

"Sir Brandon, are you unharmed?" Macaro, ever the seasoned fox, masked his astonishment with a practiced smile. After a moment to compose himself, he inquired, "We were separated during the attack and never expected to find you here."

Brandon inwardly scoffed. You sly old bastard, still trying to pin all the blame on Conrad’s side? Do you take me for some naive fool? Outwardly, however, he merely chuckled and gave the lifeless head of the Divine Messenger a light pat. "Of course. Such trifles could hardly pose a threat to me. It’s a shame you fled so quickly that night; I would’ve gladly lent aid to our allies. My apologies for being unable to fulfill that duty."

Both sides ground their teeth. Each was adept at spinning falsehoods, but Brandon's composure unsettled Macaro. Was this young man truly aware of everything—or merely irritated by their earlier deceit? At such a tender age, few possessed such cunning. For a fleeting moment, Macaro felt a flicker of unease.

Even the barbed tone in Brandon’s words slipped past him unnoticed.

But Macaro hadn’t come here to trade jabs with this upstart. Frowning, he glanced toward the woods behind Brandon and hesitated before asking, "Sir Brandon, have you seen anyone pass through here?"

"You mean a young man?" Brandon smirked inwardly.

"Precisely."

As soon as Macaro spoke, Brandon noticed the subtle shift in tension among the people behind him. Their impatience was palpable.

"If I’m not mistaken, you’re referring to Aiko?" Brandon asked.

At once, Macaro, Buga, and the elder between them stiffened. "You’ve seen him?" Macaro blurted, stepping forward impulsively. Realizing his slip, he coughed awkwardly and retreated. He glanced at Buga, whose hand never strayed far from his sword hilt, his expression dark and vigilant. The elder, meanwhile, studied Brandon thoughtfully.

Macaro quickly realized Brandon might suspect something. Still, he doubted the young man knew their true identities—after all, they had concealed this matter even from within the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company, including Aiko himself.

"Have you seen him, Sir Brandon?" Macaro cleared his throat and tried again. "Aiko is the descendant of an important friend. I promised to look after him, but we were unfortunately separated."

Brandon smiled faintly. Not just Aiko, but your entire mercenary company, eh? And yet, you don’t seem too concerned about them. Aloud, however, he countered, "An old friend, you say? So this is how the sly fox Macaro—or should I say Baron Roschel—refers to Duke Rhun? I doubt His Grace would approve."

No sooner had the words left his lips than the sound of steel scraping against scabbards filled the air. Brandon raised his head calmly, watching as Macaro’s retinue drew their weapons.

"Young man, who exactly are you?" Macaro’s face darkened, his tone sharp and menacing. Could Brandon be aligned with their enemies? But glancing at the blood-soaked corpse of the Divine Messenger—it didn’t seem likely. A third party, then? Perhaps foreign intervention? Madara? Cruze?

Unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts racing through Macaro’s mind, Brandon remained silent. He was waiting for someone else to speak—the elder standing between Macaro and Buga. Whoever stood at the forefront of these two men clearly held significant authority. But who was this mysterious old man? Surely not Duke Rhun; Brandon would never mistake someone of such stature. Disguise? No, disguise magic always left traces, and as a veteran player, Brandon was well-versed in spotting its flaws.

Sure enough, after a pause, the elder finally turned his gaze to Brandon. Yet his first question caught everyone off guard.

"Young man, is that the Fairy’s Apple at your feet?" the elder asked, having scrutinized it for several moments.

Damn. Brandon cursed inwardly, realizing he’d forgotten to stow the apple away. Normally, he wouldn’t make such a rookie mistake, but Aloz’s earlier comments had dulled his caution. Moreover, with a powerful ally lurking nearby, he hadn’t thought much of it. And truthfully, he hadn’t anticipated encountering this group first.

At the same time, recognition dawned. This elder was none other than Liwutz Hartweylla Gormer, chief court mage of Eruin and advisor to three generations of kings under Anson VII. The tutor of the current princess and young prince, no less. So he was involved as well. No wonder Macaro had been so confident leaving Aiko in Chablis, seemingly abandoning him to fate—even Brandon had almost fallen for it. But now, the pieces clicked together. Everything that had befallen the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company likely stemmed from this cunning schemer’s plans.

Was it all for the sake of efficiency?

Brandon gripped the hilt of his shortsword tightly. While he understood the pragmatic values of nobility, manipulating the lives and emotions of those who trusted them irked him. People like Sanford and Cinnabar—they lived and died for causes they believed in, while figures like Macaro and Liwutz treated them as disposable pawns. When their usefulness ended, their dreams shattered like fragile bubbles, leaving no room for resistance. Poor Cinnabar and the others—they probably never realized their insignificance in the grand scheme.

Taking a deep breath, Brandon resolved to teach these men a lesson—not out of righteous indignation, but because he was furious. And when Brandon grew angry, consequences followed.

"Master Liwutz, is it?"

He picked up the Golden Apple, holding it aloft for all to see.

The sight sent shockwaves through Macaro and Buga. They finally understood what Liwutz meant by “Fairy’s Apple.” The fruit of the Golden Tree—a relic capable of altering destinies. With this, they could change everything: the frailty of the aging king, the weak-willed prince’s fate—all could be rewritten.

Could this be Eruin’s divine opportunity?

For a moment, the thought crossed everyone’s minds.

Even the wily Macaro struggled to mask his agitation, his breathing growing labored. Even Liwutz, weathered by countless storms, couldn’t resist speaking. "Young man, what you hold is of utmost importance to us. Might we inquire if you’d consider selling it? Name your price—wealth, power, anything."

Two delicate hands rested on Brandon’s shoulders. A small voice chirped playfully, "Will you sell it to them, Sir Brandon? I’ll allow it."

But Brandon merely smiled coldly, raising the Golden Apple. "You want this?"

"Precisely," Macaro interjected. "Sir Brandon, what you possess holds the power to change countless fates. Believe me, our intentions are noble. We offer fair trade—whatever you desire, be it riches, women, or power, shall be yours."

Brandon sneered, his lip curling in disdain. "Bold words. What guarantees do you offer? Why should I trust you, Macaro? The might of Eruin’s royal family? You ask what I want? Very well, I have two questions."

Two questions?

Macaro, Buga, and Liwutz exchanged uneasy glances. What kind of demand was this? Still, seizing the chance, Macaro nodded. "Go ahead."

"My first question stems from curiosity. I fail to understand your strategy. With Master Liwutz present, why did you and Buga risk yourselves directly? Why let the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company—ten years of effort—crumble to dust? Explain that."

Caught off guard, Macaro and Buga hesitated. It was Liwutz who coughed softly and replied, "Young man, the struggle runs deeper than surface appearances. I won’t pretend you know all the intricacies, but we cannot afford outsiders learning the royal family’s involvement."

He disliked explaining himself to strangers, but given Brandon’s recognition of him—and the importance of the object in question—he had little choice.

"I see." Brandon nodded.

"And your second question?"

Brandon smirked. "You’re out here now, presumably to regroup the scattered remnants of the Gray Wolves, yes? As it happens, I’ve recruited some of your former members…"

Macaro and Liwutz exchanged glances before shaking their heads. "No, Sir Brandon, you misunderstand. We’re merely pursuing Aiko. He insisted on finding his companions and fiancée." Mention of the latter brought a hint of embarrassment; losing the Duke’s son’s betrothed wasn’t exactly a proud moment.

"Regardless," Macaro continued, "the Gray Wolves are finished. They no longer exist. Those you’ve taken in—we thank you on their behalf."

As I expected.

Brandon clenched his jaw—

Then came the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Everyone turned to see a red-haired girl standing there, one hand pressed to a wound on her chest, her halberd lying forgotten at her feet. Blood soaked her garments, and her wide-eyed stare betrayed her shock.

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