Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C132

Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.

Thank you.

Everyone from Otaku Translation

Chapter 132: Roma’s Second Plan (Part I)

In the vast highlands of northern Eruin, a well-known legend circulated among the clans of the Gurche people. It spoke of soldiers left alone on the battlefield—those marked by the cold gaze of Death.

Van Nosda had heard this tale before. A knight recruited from Baltar in the kingdom's north, he hailed from a family of local gentry and had made a name for himself as a beast trainer before enlisting. Naturally, he became one of the wyvern knights, serving under the wyvern cavalry company of the Thirty-Fourth Regiment—a unit that once belonged to the southern legions of the kingdom. But those legions had long since been shattered by Madara’s undead hordes, their commander, Earl Binag, dead. Van Nosda’s company waited in vain for any sign of peace, only to face increasingly relentless waves of attacks from Madara’s undead forces. Meanwhile, their noble overlords claimed negotiations were over, the war concluded, and refused them further support.

Messengers sent to contact the White Mane Legion and Anlek’s forces disappeared without a trace. The situation worsened day by day, as Baron Coren, the highest-ranking officer of the remnants of the Thirty-Fourth Regiment stationed along Jandel’s southern border, wrote in his diary:

"The situation in the south grows grimmer with each passing day. We have no idea where other surviving units might be, while Madara’s undead assail us from all directions. Communication has been severed; retreat is impossible. The nobles act independently, and this territory has slipped beyond the kingdom’s control. May Marsha grant me the strength to see the end of this nightmare within my lifetime."

But none of this mattered anymore to Van Nosda. While patrolling a human village destroyed by the undead near the southern frontier, both he and his wyvern were shot down. He now embodied the figure from the Gurche legend—the soldier chosen by Death. Bloodied and trapped beneath the corpse of his wyvern, he raised his head in despair to see rows upon rows of skeletal warriors emerging from the ruins around him. Unable to move, his only defense was a light crossbow clutched in his hand. Summoning what little strength remained, he fired an arrow at one of the bone-clad figures.

The bolt, blessed with holy water, erupted in a blinding flash, reducing the skeleton to ash. Yet wave after wave of undead surged forward, overwhelming his vision. A suffocating sense of hopelessness enveloped the young man. Was it just months ago? He thought absently. When news of Madara’s three-pronged invasion reached them, soldiers and nobles alike had watched with casual indifference, expecting these dark lords from a backward, barbaric land to collapse into infighting and disarray—as they always had in history’s annals.

But the outcome defied everyone’s expectations. Madara’s advance was decisive, calm, and effective. By contrast, the Kingdom of Eruin seemed like an aging giant, staggering under blows it could not parry, its former glory fading into memory. The nation once called “the blade of flames, the exemplar of ancient honor” by the seventeenth High Priest of the Temple of Flames existed now only in dusty tomes.

Firing his last arrow, Van Nosda calmly discarded his crossbow. With one hand gripping the necklace bearing his wife’s name, he looked up as a towering skeleton blocked out the sun above him. Its soulfire burned crimson in its empty eye sockets.

“Farewell, Father, Mother, and dear Vanessa,” he whispered. “I pray you remember your son and husband who fought here alongside many others to protect Eruin…”

“But this kingdom… it holds no hope.”

---

By October, autumn’s chill began to deepen, painting the plains along the shores of Tonygel in shades of pale yellow. Riding through the countryside, Brandon and his companions could already feel the unmistakable tension of impending war.

After Aloz tore apart his leather armor, Brandon decided to commission a tailor in a nearby town to craft a black duster coat paired with riding trousers. Now sitting tall in the saddle, wearing striking white gloves and carrying a silver-hilted longsword at his hip, he cut quite the figure of youthful nobility.

This wasn’t because he wanted to indulge in aristocratic pretensions but rather to avoid unnecessary trouble. Since leaving the rolling hills of Chablis, their journey had grown monotonous. Though lawlessness reigned, most bandits near towns were desperate farmers driven to thievery by poverty. Facing a group of twenty or so well-armed guards accompanying Brandon, these poor souls wisely chose not to provoke them.

Still, Brandon couldn’t help but sigh when passing abandoned farms. Before parting ways back in Chablis, the dragonkin girl Aloz had warned him about a Madaran undead army lingering in southern Tonygel. This aligned perfectly with what Brandon knew of history. After the ceasefire agreement, Enstallone, the Stygian Lord, lingered stubbornly in Jandel—not out of loyalty, but greed. And in this crumbling kingdom, few cared enough to challenge him.

As October waned, the upper echelons of this ancient realm simmered with unrest. Prince Hamel, eldest son of the king and backed by Queen Anna’s faction, represented the resurgence of the Sifah dynasty. Anna, sister to Duke Sifah, symbolized the restoration of her family’s legacy—a development met with resistance from pro-Colcova royalists. Her ambiguous alliance with Marquis Kluge culminated in their joint imprisonment of the king, sowing seeds of discord.

Historically, early November saw Prince Hamel suddenly announce his coronation, sparking the internal fracture of the royalist faction. Princess Grifine, regent and known for her fierce will, immediately denounced Hamel’s claim, rallying noble supporters dissatisfied with the queen and bolstered by elven allies. Mid-November brought Duke Anlek’s declaration of support for Hamel, triggering a cascade of regional defections and declarations of independence. Thus began Eruin’s civil war—a conflict that would shake the kingdom’s foundations over the next two years. Though a brief revival followed, the kingdom lacked the vitality to endure.

Eruin’s decline accelerated from this point onward.

Amidst this turmoil, few paid heed to Enstallone’s machinations in the south. Yet his presence wrought devastation nonetheless. Entire villages fled, leaving behind desolate landscapes. As they passed through ghostly settlements devoid of life, the air carried a palpable sense of desolation.

Yet as they ventured further south toward the heart of Tonygel—Cold Fir City—the bleakness began to shift. Life slowly returned to the roads ahead.

Ruling Tonygel was Baron Grudin, the third son of Earl Jandel. Brandon recognized the name but felt neither familiarity nor warmth. Most nobles were detached and self-important, yet lords often added layers of cruelty and exploitation to their subjects’ suffering. Entering Cold Fir City confirmed this reality, dashing whatever faint hopes they’d harbored.

First came the sight of residents living outside the city walls—only the poorest and lowest-born dwelled unprotected beyond the gates. Along the streets stood dilapidated, filthy huts. Men and women wore tattered clothes, their faces gaunt, eyes hollow, devoid of hope. Dust filled the air, mingling with the stench of livestock dung. Compared to even the bureaucratic excesses of Braggas’ nobility, these conditions felt unbearable. At least there, citizens survived, however downtrodden.

Brandon understood the disparity stemmed not from governance style but resource scarcity. Tonygel’s lands were barren, rendering its people less resilient to oppression. Antietta, once a noblewoman, covered her mouth in disbelief at the sight.

“Sir Brandon,” she asked hesitantly, disappointment evident, “is this truly the land you intend to inherit?”

She had imagined Tonygel’s eastern coast as prosperous, assuming proximity to trade meant wealth akin to Ampersal—or at least comparable to Braggs. Instead, she found herself staring at misery incarnate.

Brandon, too, paused. Having concealed Rubis’ mercenaries’ true nature as his summoned beings, he bore the brunt of Antietta’s misplaced guilt and anger. For a month after Chablis, she addressed him formally, her previous warmth replaced by icy disdain and frequent eye rolls.

Though Antietta styled herself his advisor, Brandon noted this behavior hardly befitted a vassal addressing their liege. Still, modern sensibilities kept him from pressing the issue—it would shame him to assert dominance over such a fragile woman.

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.

For more updates and to stay connected, feel free to join the Discord on the otaku translation blog.

Please vote for this novel at

https://www.novelupdates.com/series/the-amber-sword/

If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.