Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C135

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Chapter 135: The Dispute

A silence as deep as death.

“Dad—”

The shrill, frightened cry pierced the stillness like a blade through armor. A young boy’s voice, trembling with fear and confusion. His mother clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with panic, lifting her face to meet the approaching noble cavalry. The mounted man on horseback feigned surprise, though the disdain flickering in his shadowed gaze betrayed him.

"Do you know this man?" he asked, licking his lips as he jabbed his spear toward the bloodied corpse lying on the ground.

His fellow riders closed in around him, circling like jackals scenting blood.

The woman clutched her child tightly, tears streaking down her cheeks as she shook her head helplessly.

"Let the brat speak," the knight said, nudging her hair aside with the tip of his spear. "Step aside and let the boy answer."

But she only held the boy closer, as if he were the last treasure in the world. Around them, others looked away or took a step back, their faces stricken but silent.

"You didn’t hear me?" the knight growled.

"Please, my lord," the mother sobbed, "he is just a child—spare him!"

The nobleman sneered. “Street trash.”

He raised his spear—but before he could strike again, a woman stepped forward, arms spread wide in defiance. She wore a longbow across her back, her stance unyielding.

The knight blinked, surprised.

Brandon, watching from the edge of the crowd, eased his grip on his sword hilt. He recognized the woman. She was from the group that had been handing out food earlier.

"What kind of coward picks on women and children?" she shouted, her voice sharp with fury. "I am the daughter of a knight—you will stop now, by decree of nobility."

“Oh?” The knight smirked. He turned to his companions. “Did you hear that? This little dove claims to be noble-born. What do we do now?”

The riders chuckled darkly.

"And who might your father be?" he asked, lifting his chin in mock interest.

At that moment, one of the woman's comrades realized what was coming. “Faya, watch out!” he cried. A heavily armored swordsman, bearing a greatsword, pushed forward from the crowd—but too late.

The lead knight drove his spear into the woman’s abdomen.

She gasped, staggering as blood burst forth like a spring. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into a spreading pool of crimson. Life drained from her eyes even as pain consumed her.

The knight withdrew his weapon without expression, as though he’d swatted a fly, and signaled. In an instant, the noble riders drew their bows, loosing arrows into the crowd. Screams erupted as adventurers and civilians alike fell lifeless to the ground.

They did not care for collateral damage. Their task was to clear the area, swiftly and ruthlessly.

"Faya!" the swordsman roared. He batted away an arrow aimed at him, but his shout ended in anguish as another companion behind him crumpled, struck down.

"Damn you all!"

Pulling free of the stunned crowd, he charged forward, bringing his blade down in a furious arc. The rider blocked the strike with his spear, metal ringing against metal.

"Anyone who resists," he snarled, "is an enemy of Lord Grudin himself!"

At that, the crowd stilled.

But the swordsman pressed on, slashing low at the rider’s mount. The knight merely shifted, driving his spear downward and knocking the greatsword aside with brutal ease. With a sweep, he sent the blade flying, then struck the swordsman in the chest with the haft of his weapon. As the man staggered backward, the knight leveled his spear and thrust it toward his throat—

The difference between a high-tier Iron Rank fighter and a lower one was stark.

Yet just as the point reached its mark, a sudden jolt ran up the knight’s arm—a force so strong he nearly lost his grip. With a clang of steel meeting steel, the spear veered off course, missing the swordsman's neck entirely.

"Who—!" the knight snarled, twisting to see the source.

Across the street, a man in a pitch-black coat stood tall, adjusting his cravat beneath a white collar. White gloves gripped a drawn bow. He lifted his head, fixing the knight with a cold stare from atop his horse.

Everything fell still.

Antietta, Sanford, Tiger Finch, and Cinnabar all turned, astonished expressions crossing their faces as they beheld their liege. To them, Brandon was not a man prone to picking fights.

But he knew the truth: he did not turn a blind eye—he simply waited until the threshold of his tolerance was crossed.

Nearby, Roma watched with gleaming eyes, fascinated by the man who had taken her from Buchi. She felt, somehow, that this was the real Brandon—the bold, the leader, the warrior with fire in his veins, and yes, even the one who sometimes scolded her harshly.

Each version of him, she loved.

All eyes turned to the black-cloaked figure on horseback. For a heartbeat, time stretched, and the entire street seemed to revolve around him.

The brutish knight narrowed his eyes. He noted the well-armed guards flanking the young man, unease creeping into his gut. These weren’t common hired hands—they bore the look of elite soldiers, perhaps even veterans of the Eruin army.

This wasn’t some naïve noble girl with dreams of justice and no power to enforce them. No, this young man carried himself differently.

Not just any noble's son.

The knight hastily lowered his spear. "And you are?"

Even as he spoke, his men fanned out, bows drawn, keeping the crowd at bay.

Brandon didn’t even glance at them. With Cinnabar and Tiger Finch at his side, getting hit by such amateurs would be an embarrassment.

Moreover, his own strength was nothing to scoff at. Ever since parting ways with the Knights of the Sacred Hymn from the Silver Elves, he had finally received the reward for completing a Perfect Storyline Event—over two hundred thousand experience points rained down upon him like a blessed storm. It was this windfall that propelled his Mercenary class all the way to Level 25.

Now, at Character Level 32, his Strength and Constitution had both surpassed the threshold of 70, while his Agility had climbed past 40. His overall power now firmly resided within the upper echelons of the Silver Rank.

Yet ascending to the Gold Rank required more than just raw physical prowess—it demanded an understanding of fundamental elements, a heightened perception beyond mere attributes. Brandon did a quick mental calculation and estimated that he wouldn’t be ready to break through from the peak of Silver to the Gold rank until his overall level reached around 40.

But even so, reaching the upper Silver Rank meant he was already leagues beyond these noble cavalrymen. He could cut through them ten times over without breaking a sweat, and none among them could stand against him.

That was precisely why he had no patience for idle banter. If it weren’t for the looming presence of Baron Grudin behind them, he would have cleaved these inhuman noblemen clean off their saddles and sent them flying a hundred meters away with a single strike.

"I said," Brandon replied coldly, "let them go."

"We don’t take orders lightly, Sir," the knight said, attempting diplomacy. "These people may be spies, or accomplices to bandits. If we release them, how can we explain it to Lord Grudin?"

"But I'm giving you an order," Brandon cut in. "You think I’m here to play games with you?"

He gripped his sword hilt, half-drawing the blade. Cold light glinted along the edge, sharp enough to chill the soul.

"I can kill you like a dog and merely apologize to Grudin afterward. Choosing not to kill you is me showing courtesy. Do not mistake restraint for weakness."

The knight swallowed hard.

The world was cruel, and lives were measured not in worth, but in strength. Before, those young adventurers had no way to fight back. Now, the balance had shifted.

After a tense pause, the knights reluctantly lowered their weapons. One of them gave a short nod, and the knight behind the swordsman finally withdrew his spear from the man’s throat.

The swordsman still bristled with anger, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap—but before he could act, someone rushed from the crowd and seized him in a firm grip. It was another one of his companions. Brandon watched as the person whispered something urgently into his ear. The swordsman’s fury wavered… then slowly ebbed away.

Brandon caught the movement of his lips clearly: "Don’t cause more trouble for others."

A quiet sigh stirred within Brandon’s chest. Fools, he thought—not out of disdain, but something closer to sorrow. They were naïve, all of them. But in a world like this, such foolishness was rare… and precious.

He watched as they gathered their fallen companion’s body in silence, heads bowed, and made their way through the parted crowd toward him.

"Thank you, sir."

The speaker was a thin young man with pale skin and silver-gray hair tied back. He wore round spectacles and a long gray robe embroidered with arcane symbols. An apprentice mage.

Ah, a String Wizard, Brandon mused. That branch of magic was rare indeed.

The youth was polite, almost aloof, but beneath his calm exterior, Brandon caught a glimpse of restrained fury. Others in the group—another swordsman and a female elementalist—stood nearby, barely concealing their grief.

Interesting.

"Do you want revenge?" Brandon asked quietly.

The young mage blinked, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. Then, after a pause, he gave a polite head shake and led his group away.

Brandon watched them go, knowing full well they weren't done yet. Just cautious.

“Sir,” the lead knight interrupted, forcing a smile. “We’ve done as you asked. Now, might we have a word with you?”

Brandon scoffed.

“Sir Brandon?” Antietta murmured.

He nodded. Since he’d stepped in, there was no avoiding a visit to Lord Grudin. Better to go willingly than be dragged there by force.

…

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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