Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C138

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Chapter 138: The Whisper of Hope, Part 1

“Cinnabar?”

The red-haired girl said nothing, merely shaking her head. Then she looked up, and Brandon saw something in those blazing amber eyes. Turning his head, he spotted an unwelcome figure standing on the second-floor balcony—either it had just arrived, or it had been there all along, unnoticed.

A towering skeleton clad in worn brass armor gripped a battle axe. Its jaw creaked open slightly, and a crack running down its skull seemed to mock silently. Kabirus gazed down at him, the flickering yellow flames in its eye sockets identifying the young man who had briefly crossed paths with them during the breakout at Ridenburg.

“Viscount Stingham?”

Kabirus rasped, its voice hollow and wind-torn. “Since our parting at Ridenburg, I trust you’ve been well?”

“Ma—da—ra.” Brandon ground out the words through clenched teeth.

The undead of Madara—what were they doing here? His expression cold, Brandon turned his gaze to Grudin, his mind racing as he asked icily, “When did the nobles of Madara and Eruin become so… intimate?”

“As time passes, all life turns to dust. Only profit remains eternal, my lord viscount.”

Kabirus’s deep, gravelly reply confirmed Brandon’s suspicions: Grudin had indeed colluded with Madara. But to what end? Brandon glanced up and noticed the massive skeleton holding its battle axe angled between him and the despicable baron. If he made a move, Kabirus would undoubtedly intervene.

This general under the “One-Eyed” Targus, a lord of the dark kingdom, was at least a mid-tier Gold Rank warrior. Brandon himself had only just begun brushing against the threshold of Gold Rank. Though the outcome of a fight was uncertain, it wouldn’t be difficult for Kabirus to stop him from killing Grudin right under their noses.

Targus was known for his meticulous and cautious strategies. If Kabirus was here, there were likely reinforcements nearby. Sure enough, Brandon turned to see shadows shifting, and a pale-faced young man in a gray robe stepped forward.

Roscoe. Another familiar face. Brandon remembered encountering him back in Buchi when the necromancer was still a lowly apprentice. Now, two purple flame insignias adorned his collar—marking him as a mid-tier necromancer.

Brandon fell silent, his gaze landing on Grudin, who had regained some composure. The middle-aged baron leaned heavily on a pile of splinters, his face a mask of forced calm, though the throbbing veins beneath his ashen skin betrayed his inner turmoil.

But when Brandon shifted his sword, the faint glow of its silver blade caught Grudin’s eyes, making him flinch ever so slightly. Realizing this was a silent taunt, Grudin’s anger surged, though he kept it hidden behind a facade of restraint.

“I never imagined someone could sell their soul to the devil,” Brandon replied coldly. “Your rotten bones showing up here must mean you’re here to save this wretch’s miserable life.”

Grudin, bolstered by the presence of his allies, bared his teeth like a cornered beast, his eyes glinting with malice. “Young man, prattle all you want,” he growled. “But deep down, you know that even without my Madaran allies, would you dare make an enemy of House Jandel? A petty quarrel will ignite a war between two noble houses. Ultimately—Viscount Stingham, do you think your family would tolerate such reckless behavior?”

Before he could finish, Brandon cut him off with a chilling snort—the temperature in the hall seemed to plummet, frost crystallizing in the air.

Almost everyone present shivered, save for the undead. Grudin stiffened, the rest of his sentence choking in his throat. He would never understand how grossly he had misjudged the situation, for Brandon was nothing but a fraud. In truth, the young man’s resolve to kill had already hardened. With a flick of his wrist, his longsword shot forward like a silver thread, aimed straight for Grudin’s throat.

Grudin froze, utterly unprepared for Brandon to act so decisively. For a moment, the baron stood rooted, unable to dodge—until a heavy axe slammed into the ground between them, its haft intercepting Brandon’s blade mere inches from Grudin’s neck. Had it not been for that intervention, Grudin would have been dead on the spot.

“It seems I mentioned before,” Kabirus said, gripping the axe with its skeletal hands as it loomed over the young man, “that Baron Grudin is an important ally of ours. We cannot simply hand him over to you.”

“I don’t recall you saying that,” Brandon retorted sharply. Both combatants pushed back simultaneously, their strength surging as they each took three steps backward, neither gaining the upper hand.

“Young man, it’s time to retreat,” Kabirus said, steadying itself with the axe. It looked up, adding, “Madara and Eruin are at peace. Why provoke war between yourself and the baron? Surely you’ve noticed the commotion in this hall. Are you not concerned about your servants waiting outside?”

Brandon’s expression darkened, and he prepared to strike again.

“Lord Brandon,” Cinnabar grabbed his sleeve, gritting her teeth. Sanford and the rest of the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company were still outside.

“Lady Antietta, do you believe I should spare this filth?” Brandon asked coldly.

The noblewoman hesitated, snapping out of her daze. Her face pale, she stared at Grudin sprawled on the floor. She wanted nothing more than to crush his grotesque face beneath her heel, to distance herself from the likes of him. Yet she swallowed her disgust and replied, “My lord, this man is still a lord in the kingdom.”

Her words carried a hidden meaning, reminding Brandon of Grudin’s status. In these turbulent times, feuds among nobles were not uncommon, and the crown often turned a blind eye—as long as the conflict didn’t threaten the realm’s foundation. But Antietta was warning Brandon of the power backing Grudin.

Earl Jandel, the highest authority in the borderlands of Eruin, wielded influence akin to that of a marquess. For generations, the family had maintained private armies to fend off barbarian invasions, and by now, their forces were practically the only legally sanctioned private military in the region. Though the royal court cared little for these “savages,” the Earl’s strength was undeniable.

If Brandon killed Grudin’s heir here, it would amount to a declaration of war. Though he called himself Viscount Stingham, the lie wouldn’t hold up under scrutiny—especially since he sought to claim his own territory. People could flee, but a fledgling domain would crumble under the Earl’s wrath, leaving nothing but ruin.

Antietta didn’t want to see Brandon’s efforts go to waste, so she urged him to reconsider. At the same time, she refused to show even a hint of weakness before the despicable baron, hence her cryptic phrasing.

Still, she trusted that Brandon would grasp every nuance of her words.

Brandon let out a cold hum.

“Consider the consequences, and think twice before acting,” Kabirus’s cracked, wind-worn jaw seemed to form a silent smile.

Brandon’s sword pointed downward, his gaze piercing past the towering skeleton to fix on Grudin, cold and disdainful, as if looking down at a dead dog—

Feeling the unbridled killing intent emanating from Brandon, Grudin somehow found his courage—or perhaps it was the protection of Kabirus behind him. He sneered, “If you don’t kill me today, Lord Viscount, rest assured I’ll repay you tenfold—”

Baron Grudin of Tonygel spat the words through gritted teeth. Never in his life had he suffered such humiliation. What was meant to be a spectacle—Brandon’s public downfall, witnessed by the gathered nobility—had backfired spectacularly. The sting of disgrace ignited a fury deep within him.

He was about to say something further to provoke Brandon, hoping to drive the young man into a reckless duel with Kabirus. But before he could speak, Brandon raised his hand—

A streak of silver light zipped past Grudin’s cheek.

The baron froze, half his hair falling away, his face stinging with heat. To onlookers, a glaring gash appeared on his cheek. Dazed, he touched it, then stared at the blood staining his palm. The once-mighty ruler of Eruin shrieked like a slaughtered pig.

Kabirus remained unmoved. Without turning, the towering skeleton knew exactly what Brandon’s strike had achieved. It wasn’t Grudin’s guardian and saw no reason to intervene over a minor flesh wound. Besides, a little lesson might teach the arrogant noble his place.

It turned its gaze back to Brandon, who lowered his hand and said coldly, “I’ll leave your head intact—for now. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

With that, he swept his gaze across the hall, his icy aura forcing everyone to retreat a step. Then, without another word, he glanced at Antietta and Cinnabar before striding out of the hall.

As he exited, the guards who had rushed to the scene parted hastily. Most had witnessed Brandon’s earlier display, where he effortlessly dispatched over twenty knights. Even those who hadn’t seen it firsthand understood the young man’s lethality. As long as he left their lord unharmed, they were more than willing to let him pass.

Inside the hall, Grudin continued to wail, his face burning with both pain and fury. He considered ordering his men to detain Brandon but hesitated, recalling the icy precision of that earlier strike.

Baron Grudin opened his mouth, then closed it again, his words stuck in his throat.

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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