Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C131

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Chapter 131: Late Summer

Brandon had barely managed to steady his thoughts when he looked up again, only to be momentarily taken aback. Standing before him was Earl Baeli.

What does this man want now?

"Sir Brandon, right?" Earl Baeli’s expression turned serious as he set aside his usual smile.

"What of it?" Brandon replied curtly, his mood sour.

"Though our opinions differ, our goals seem aligned. At the very least, I can tell you’re not one of them, are you?" Before Brandon could respond, the Earl continued, "We may differ in methods, but there’s no need for animosity. I’ll admit, Macaro’s approach is… extreme. But he is only human, after all."

"What are you getting at?"

"Would you consider joining us? Instead of complaining, why not take action yourself? I’d like to see someone of your caliber among our ranks." Baeli spoke with genuine sincerity, as if the earlier tension between them had never existed.

Typical of him, Brandon thought. He shook his head, inwardly scoffing. As if he needed an invitation. With the ginkgo leaf in his possession and Aloz’s aid, dismantling this army would be child’s play. But Brandon wasn’t reckless. He had already taught Macaro and Liwutz a lesson for what they did to Cinnabar and Sanford. Pushing further would only lead to outright conflict. And Brandon wasn’t a hotheaded youth blind to the bigger picture. If he neutralized Duke Rhun’s forces here, the princess’s forces might be overwhelmed by Anlek’s advancing army. One misstep, even Freya could find herself in grave danger, and everything could crumble.

Since the other side had wisely dropped the matter of the golden apple, he saw no reason to bring it up again. But joining them?

What a joke.

Brandon met the Earl’s gaze, shaking his head once more. His refusal was firm, but the words that followed caught Baeli off guard. "No," he said sharply. "But you’ll see me soon enough—believe me. Just not here, and certainly not in the way you imagine."

Baeli’s expression grew complex as he absorbed the statement. He studied Brandon intently, then gave a slow nod.

"We shall see," he replied cryptically.

---

The true battle had already ended by the time the younger knights in training arrived, led by officers from the preparatory year. Freya and her fellow first-years were left with only the grim task of clearing the battlefield. Like the others, she had seen the carriage long before reaching the forest’s central road—a spiky, fortified contraption surrounded by knights clad in gleaming silver armor. Around them lay the bodies of their fallen comrades, yet they refused to let anyone near the carriage, insisting on tending to their own dead and wounded.

Thus, the battlefield was divided into two distinct colors: silver and violet, each keeping to its own sphere. Corpses littered the avenue and the woods alike, and distant cries of agony or terrified screams from noble-born youths echoed sporadically. The upperclassmen hadn’t killed everyone; some had been left alive, though grievously injured. Those who remained were destined to become cold, lifeless bodies—a task left for the freshmen to complete.

Many hesitated, trembling at the sight before them, while others gagged and retched. Freya, however, fared better than most. Having risen through the ranks of the guard unit and militia, she simply guessed at the identity of the person inside the carriage and got to work. Behind her trailed Earl Beckberg’s second son, his face ashen. He had already emptied his stomach earlier and now could only manage feeble dry heaves.

Leaning against a fir tree, he watched Freya’s efficient movements with admiration. She really is something else, he thought.

"...Do you know who that is?" he asked, catching his breath.

"Hmm?" Freya paused, turning to look at him.

"The carriage."

Freya glanced at the ornate vehicle, her bright eyes openly displaying her confusion. She shook her head.

"The emblem on the carriage is a scarab beetle. In the kingdom, it belongs to only one person."

"Eh?"

The young man stared at Freya in disbelief. How could she not know this? How had she even gotten into the Royal Academy? But upon closer inspection, he realized her ignorance wasn’t feigned. Sighing, he answered, "Master Liwutz, Eruin’s Chief Court Mage."

"Ah." Freya’s eyes widened in surprise.

Beckberg’s son shook his head again. "But if Master Liwutz were truly inside, we wouldn’t need to lift a finger. So whoever’s in there must be someone close to him. Very few people have access to his carriage—aside from the king himself, only his students do."

"The princess?" Freya blurted out, her eyes widening further. Though she hailed from the countryside, even she knew this much.

The young man nodded.

Before they could say more, a black warhorse galloped past them, its rider moving swiftly through the forest. The knight seemed to hesitate, then wheeled the horse around and returned to where they stood. Freya instinctively looked up along with the young man beside her, only to meet the gaze of a strikingly beautiful yet icy face.

Her head, poised atop a slender white neck, resembled a finely crafted sculpture. Even in the northern reaches of Colcova, such perfection was rare. Her sharp jawline traced an elegant curve, as though she had stepped straight out of a painting. It was no wonder bards often sang of the fair maidens of the north—perhaps their inspiration stemmed from someone like her.

Her eyes were cold, crystalline amethysts—a trait uncommon even among northerners. Though traces of Minarian blood ran through many veins, few possessed such purity. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and beneath her bangs, two delicate sword-like brows arched slightly before knitting together in disapproval. Her straight, refined nose spoke of a steely resolve. Yet all she offered now was a soft, disdainful hum.

She looked down at them, her gaze sweeping over Freya before settling on Beckberg’s son.

"You’re Freya?" she asked, her low, husky voice cutting through the air.

Her piercing stare locked onto Beckberg’s son, making him feel like a snake cornered by a hawk. But her question was directed at Freya.

"Yes... yes, I am," Freya stammered.

"Your riding and swordsmanship scores are impressive," the girl said, her voice magnetic despite its chill. "I’ve heard about you. But if you wish to achieve your goals, stay away from scum like this—" she gestured dismissively at the young man, her tone unflinching.

Both of them froze.

Beckberg’s son frowned, instinctively objecting, "Nimuesis, why are you saying—"

Before he could finish, a metallic ring sliced through the air. A flash of cold steel grazed his throat, and in the blink of an eye, Nimuesis had dismounted, her sword drawn and resting against his neck. The movement was fluid, seamless—even as his hands rose in a futile gesture of protest, they froze mid-air.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" Nimuesis asked, her voice glacial.

Cold sweat trickled down the young man’s spine. For a moment, he couldn’t utter a single word.

"What’s your name?" she demanded.

"S-Sangenis..."

"Rank?"

"N-Nimuesis, I—"

The tip of her blade pressed closer, silencing him. "Captain Nimuesis!"

Swallowing hard, Beckberg’s son stammered, "Captain Nimuesis. I’m a second-year knight in training. I haven’t earned a rank yet." Every syllable cost him effort, his voice strained and trembling.

With a swift motion, Nimuesis sheathed her sword, the action too fast for the eye to follow. She turned back to the young man, who clutched his neck, silently cursing her in his mind. Her violet eyes held nothing but contempt, but her command was absolute. "Then, soldier, I order you to shut up."

Turning to Freya, she gently adjusted the girl’s slightly askew collar, smoothing it out. Then, with a light pat on her shoulder, she murmured, "Remember my words—they’ll serve you well."

Freya stood still, unsure how to respond. Should she thank her? Or simply marvel at the sheer authority Nimuesis exuded? Would she ever become someone like her someday? The thought lingered in her mind.

---

"Who was that?"

The half-elf princess turned to the young man beside her, her voice a whisper. Through the carriage window, her gaze remained fixed on the forest, where the confrontation between Beckberg’s son and Nimuesis had unfolded. She pushed the curtain aside, lost in thought as she watched the two girls in the distance, a flicker of familiarity stirring within her.

"The daughter of Lady Miller, related to Duke Rhun. Talented, loyal to the crown—trustworthy," Sir Beninger replied after a brief glance.

The princess couldn’t help but smile at his obliviousness. "I know who Nimuesis is. She’s my close friend, Beninger. Are you tired?"

"My apologies."

Beninger shifted uncomfortably.

"I meant the other one. Do you recognize her?" the princess pressed. "She seems familiar somehow..."

"That would be Everton’s daughter—"

A gentle voice interrupted from outside the carriage.

Grifine started, then a flicker of joy lit up her silvery eyes. Turning, she whispered, "Lord Orville?"

There was a pause.

Then came a soft laugh. "Indeed, Your Highness. It seems I’ve arrived a bit late."

Project Update: Volume 2 is now fully translated! However, as I'm currently focusing on stacking chapters for Volume 3, the release of the remaining chapters in Volume 2 will slow down a bit.

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