Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C139

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Chapter 139: The Whisper of Hope, Part 2

After leaving Baron Grudin’s castle, Brandon said nothing. He had exited like a king—no one dared to bar his path, and even Grudin’s most loyal knights merely pressed their hands to their swords, trembling as they parted to let him pass. Yet the young man felt no joy. His hand gripped the scabbard tightly, as if the sword were still sheathed within—its frame creaking under the excessive force.

Yes, but he had compromised.

It wasn’t fear of Madara or Grudin’s combined forces that made him retreat—it was Cinnabar’s pleading gaze. He could never become someone like Macaro, someone who acted without regard for others. Sanford and the Gray Wolves Mercenary Company were still waiting in the courtyard, and he couldn’t risk their lives for his anger. He understood—it was her right to care for the only family she had left in this world.

He knew all this, yet the weight of frustration and anger still pressed heavily on his chest.

Especially when Antietta had subtly opposed him as well—

The young man couldn’t help but feel a chill settle in his heart.

He wanted to defy the decaying rules of Eruin, but he realized with a sinking heart that he lacked the power to do so—and worse, the support. He understood what Antietta wanted: for him to integrate into the system. The noblewoman hadn’t said it outright, but neither had she hidden her true thoughts.

Indeed, it would be the safer choice for him.

But was it even possible?

Brandon had never imagined a day when he’d abandon his principles. If he stepped back now, he would lose everything. There was no retreat; even if the path ahead was paved with blades and fire, he had to stand against Grudin.

Thus, despite knowing that Madara’s undead had allied with Earl Jandel, he had no other choice. He had already declared his stance. The rest would have to be left to time to decide.

Lips pressed tightly together, Brandon strode silently across the castle’s drawbridge. But as the afternoon breeze carried a sharp stench of blood to his nose, he heard a startled cry behind him—Antietta’s voice.

Instinctively, Brandon raised his head. In that moment, he froze. The familiar street seemed stretched infinitely before his eyes, the road extending to the horizon. There wasn’t a soul in sight, but along the sides stood rows upon rows of fresh crosses—

Crosses bearing bloody corpses.

Most of the bodies were dressed in adventurer or mercenary garb, while others were unmistakably the poor from the outer city. Men and women alike, now lifeless husks.

Brandon remembered an ancient custom from Vonder’s classical era, where local lords would hang the corpses of bandits on crosses to warn others against following in their footsteps.

But now, who was Grudin trying to warn?

Not just him, but also the restless adventurers and mercenaries within the city. Grudin was using this incident to send a message to these outsiders: he was the master of this land.

A warning written in blood.

“Very well—”

Brandon took a deep breath, nearly turning back on the spot. But gritting his teeth, he restrained himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a fleeting figure darting along the street.

Him?

Brandon’s heart stirred, and he immediately gave chase.

He rounded the corner and entered a narrow alley. A familiar shade of grayish-blue came into view. The young lord hesitated briefly, but the other spoke first:

“Lord Brandon… isn’t it?” The young man in the gray-blue robe looked at him, his face emotionless as he asked.

Brandon recognized him instantly—the string wizard apprentice he had met in the morning. He remembered the encounter vividly and wouldn’t soon forget it.

He nodded.

The young man didn’t speak immediately, and both fell into silence. Though his face was cold, there was an unspoken fury smoldering in his eyes.

After a brief pause, the young man finally spoke again: “I remember, my lord, you once asked me if I wanted revenge. If I told you now that I do—”

He lifted his head, biting his lip. “My lord, can you show me the way?”

Brandon remained silent.

“It’s not just me,” the young man continued, his expression unchanged. “The mercenaries, the adventurers—they’ve all drawn Grudin’s ire. If you’re willing, my lord, we’ll serve you.”

They were barely ten meters apart, but Brandon shook his head. “I’ll ask you again: do you want revenge?”

The young man hesitated, then nodded.

“Then live,” Brandon said, looking at him. “I promise you, but not now.”

“My lord?”

Brandon said no more. He turned and walked out of the alley, only to see Tiger Finch, Sanford, and the others catching up behind him. But faced with the young man’s dark expression and the oppressive fury emanating from him, the group exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what had transpired.

The young man passed them by.

“Brandon.” Only Roma called out to him.

Roma stood there, clutching her little bag, her deep brown eyes questioning as she tilted her eyebrows slightly. “Are you angry?”

Brandon paused. He didn’t want to say anything, but seeing Roma’s face, he found it impossible to stay mad. With a sigh, he gently patted her cheek.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Huh?” Roma blinked, pushing his hand away with a frown. “But I haven’t said anything yet—”

“Didn’t Antietta send you?”

“How did you know?”

Brandon sighed again, shaking his head. Turning, he saw the noblewoman hurrying after them, her skirts swishing.

“Are you angry with me, Sir Brandon?” Antietta asked softly, looking up at him.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Antietta,” Brandon replied firmly.

“But you’re still angry.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Antietta, you know the world isn’t as simple as black and white.”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “Earl Jandel is the supreme authority in southern Eruin’s borderlands, wielding power akin to a marquess. His private army makes all who oppose him tremble. Even the truly powerful dare only curse him in secret. Let alone us—mere ants in comparison.”

Brandon shook his head, looking at her. “You could say that a single sneeze from that man could make our path ahead fraught with danger and thorns. One misstep, and we’ll be obliterated.”

“But?”

Antietta asked earnestly.

“But—” Brandon nodded. “That doesn’t mean I’ll bow my head. If accepting Grudin’s gift with a false smile is considered cunning, then I’d rather choose the path of iron and blood, fire and steel.”

“Do you understand?”

Brandon tapped the empty space where his sword would have been, his fingers flicking slightly. “You once asked me why, Antietta. The answer is simple—there is no reason. Because I am Brandon.”

He glanced at Roma. “Brandon from Buchi.”

Roma immediately winked playfully at him, as if they shared an unspoken understanding.

Antietta faltered, stunned for a moment before recovering. “But perhaps we could find a wiser approach. I understand your thoughts, Sir Brandon, but among nobles, there’s a saying: the dead have no right to oppose.”

“We’re facing not only Baron Grudin but also House Jandel and Madara’s undead army, Sir Brandon. You—” She bit her lip, feeling something ignite fiercely in her chest from Brandon’s words, yet her dark eyes were still clouded with worry.

“That’s my concern, Antietta,” Brandon replied calmly. “Whether it’s Grudin, Earl Jandel, or Madara’s undead legions.”

He glanced at Grudin’s towering castle.

“If we must face them eventually, then I’m ready.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

From afar, the red-haired girl with the long ponytail watched the scene, her eyes flickering. She tightened her grip on her halberd as she gazed at Brandon’s retreating figure.

The noblewoman also watched him, a hint of admiration flashing in her eyes. But precisely because of that, she worried even more about this exceptional young man acting impulsively. Their current strength was far from sufficient to oppose such formidable foes. Confidence alone couldn’t solve everything.

…

Crash!

A porcelain figurine from the Anson era shattered into pieces.

Not long after Brandon and his companions had left, Baron Grudin stormed into his study, venting his rage by smashing things. Only three people remained in the room now—Kabirus and Roscoe had already departed. As undead, they couldn’t linger in the castle for long. Secretly allying with Madara was no small matter, though its exposure might not greatly affect Earl Jandel.

Still, the reputation of consorting with the undead wasn’t exactly flattering.

Now, only Grudin’s two male concubines remained. Thus, he could unleash his fury without restraint. “Viscount Stingham, Viscount Stingham—these northern barbarians are too insolent!” The baron was nearly hysterical, having never endured such humiliation in his life.

If not for the overwhelming strength of his opponent, he would have left their heads behind. Even starting a war with another noble house would have been worth it. Though explaining to his father, Earl Jandel, might prove difficult, Grudin’s rage left no room for such considerations.

As he caught his breath, one of the concubines cautiously approached, whispering, “My lord, they’ve already left the castle. Why don’t we simply—”

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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