Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C143

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Chapter 143: The Whisper of Hope, Part 6

The bodies of the dead were laid out in the central square of the village, before the statue of Nyia, the goddess of the forest. Covered with leaves, they rested silently as the elders conducted the rites for their souls. Men and women stood in solemn silence, watching the somber scene unfold.

For centuries, suffering had become an inseparable part of the Senians' lives. Unable to resist the oppression they faced, this vulnerable people retreated deeper into the forests. Yet life in the Black Forest was far from sweet—cold, hunger, and attacks by fiends all cast shadows of death over their existence.

All eyes were on their eldest, their elder—a figure synonymous with wisdom and experience, and thus a natural leader. In times of hardship, these elders had always guided their people through adversity. But this time, even this wise old man lowered his brows, his expression one of helplessness.

The elder gripped his staff, each wrinkle on his face seeming to bear the weight of countless sorrows. He sighed deeply, and at his side, a middle-aged man with dark, weathered skin and a short beard clenched his teeth and turned to leave.

"Uncle Bolton, where are you going?" a tall young man standing beside the elder called out sharply.

The man stopped but did not turn around. "I'm going to bring Funiya back," he replied grimly.

"Calm down," the younger man urged. "What can you do alone, Uncle Bolton? Are you planning to throw your life away?"

"I promised Sally…" Bolton’s voice was stubborn. "Even if it means death, I will go."

But deep down, he knew it was an empty vow. Turning away, he clenched his fists tightly, every muscle in his body taut with frustration.

"Bolton, calm yourself," the elder finally spoke, his voice weary. "Sally was my daughter. Funiya is my granddaughter… After winter passes, we will return to the forest."

Bolton turned back, his red-rimmed eyes scanning the faces of everyone present. "And what about Funiya? What about the vengeance we owe for the others? Are we just going to let it go?"

Silence fell over the crowd. Heads bowed low, unable to meet his gaze.

Bolton let out a cold snort and stormed off. The elder watched his retreating figure, sighing once more. He knew Bolton wouldn’t actually seek out the noble knights—that wasn’t the way of their people. Every man in the tribe bore the responsibility of protecting the whole.

Such was their duty.

Still, Bolton’s departure left an uneasy stillness among the villagers. What could they do? Their strongest warrior, the martial arts instructor with Silver Rank strength, stood no chance against the terrifying baron and his forces.

But the silence didn’t last long. The ritual had to continue. Just then, everyone saw a familiar figure stumble into the village from beyond its borders—

It was Yorl, stationed outside as a sentry.

Recognizing him, the villagers instinctively tensed. Had those ruthless noble knights returned?

But hadn’t they already taken Funiya?

"Yorl, what is the matter?" the elder asked, startled but quickly composing himself. Though he maintained a deliberate calm, his grip on the wooden staff tightened nervously.

"F-Funiya… she…" Yorl gasped for breath, having run hard to reach them. His words came out disjointed, as though he’d seen a ghost.

"Funiya?" The elder froze, his expression shifting instantly. "What about Funiya?"

"Funiya… she’s been brought back…"

"What?"

---

The news of the little girl’s rescue spread quickly through the remote forest village.

But Brandon found himself increasingly uncomfortable with the reception they were receiving. He hadn’t expected such a cold response. Though he never sought gratitude for anything, surely their act of returning Funiya to her village warranted something more than suspicion and fear-filled stares.

Everywhere they rode through the village, they felt those same wary glances.

Yorl was the first to greet them, leading them to the largest house in the village and informing them that the elder would arrive shortly. With a final glance filled with apprehension and complexity, he closed the door behind him and left.

As soon as the door shut, the Gray Wolves mercenaries couldn’t hold back their frustration.

"Tch, what kind of attitude is that—"

"Yeah, we shouldn’t have come here in the first place," another muttered.

But they all knew it was just talk. Their young lord had made it clear: this was their destination. Still, they couldn’t help but direct puzzled looks toward Brandon, wondering why they had come to such a desolate place.

Brandon could only offer a wry smile.

Antietta’s gaze, too, lingered on him, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

"A little less prejudice might make things easier for all of us," he said finally.

"But they did flee during that war, my lord," the younger sister of the wild elves chimed in, her voice crisp and curious. She had taken to following Brandon lately, finding him capable of answering her endless questions—something even her older sister couldn’t do.

"Tia!" the elder wild elf scolded under her breath, exasperated by her sibling’s constant troublemaking. She glanced cautiously at Brandon, relieved that he didn’t seem offended.

Antietta shook her head. "That’s not what concerns me, Sir Brandon. It’s…"

"Yes, I know—reputation," Brandon nodded.

"Sir Brandon, since you’re aware…"

But Brandon shook his head again. "You also know I don’t care about that."

"Sir Brandon."

He shook his head once more.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Everyone froze. A mercenary instinctively reached for his weapon and cautiously approached to open it—

The door swung open, but no one was there.

"My lord?"

The mercenary blinked in confusion.

"What is it?"

The mercenary stepped aside, revealing a basket of freshly picked berries outside. They were clearly harvested from the forest in the morning, still glistening with dew and clinging leaves.

Everyone stared, silent and uncertain.

Brandon sighed inwardly. Though suspicion remained, there was gratitude too—but the mistrust between Eruinians and Senians ran deep, entrenched over generations.

"What should we do, my lord?" the mercenary asked.

"Bring it in," Brandon replied.

Even as he spoke, his gaze wandered past the doorway to the square beyond. The Green Village of today was vastly different from the one in his memories. The overgrown, crumbling ruins of his recollection now bore the scars of a recent brutal attack—traces of combat and bloodstains everywhere.

Yet it still carried the essence of human life.

His eyes settled on the towering wooden statue of Nyia at the village center. The Senians’ goddess of the forest was carved with lifelike detail—a majestic huntress clad in fur robes, bow slung across her back, arms raised high holding a basket brimming with game and fruits. In mountain culture, she symbolized bountiful hunts and harvests.

Glancing further, he noted that the Senians still lived in conical huts made of stone and wood—not the tent-dwelling barbarians of legend. Much of their culture had been lost to the depths of the forest; the famed "Night Walkers" of Senian lore were now mere myths.

Yet their bond with the druids remained as strong as it had been centuries ago.

As this thought crossed his mind, the mercenary closed the door once more. The earlier complaints had quieted, even among the Jandel mountaineers of the Gray Wolves who had always looked down on the Senians. Now, they reflected in silence on the relationship between the two peoples.

But the silence didn’t last long. Another knock sounded at the door.

This time, instead of fresh fruit, the person Brandon had been waiting for entered—

An elder clutching a wooden staff, accompanied by a dark-skinned middle-aged man and little Funiya nestled close to his side—undoubtedly the girl’s father.

"Foreign guests, our deepest thanks."

Before Brandon could respond, the elder bowed deeply.

The young man frowned slightly. "There’s no need for such formality—it was merely a small favor." Pausing, he got straight to the point. "However, I do have a request for your assistance…"

The elder and the middle-aged man exchanged glances, then nodded. "We’ve heard your request from Yorl. It won’t be much trouble for us."

Hearing this, Brandon looked up at him. He knew the elder was lying. Entering the Black Forest was perilous for anyone, even for their group. For ordinary villagers like these, venturing deep into the forest was practically a death sentence.

Yet the Senian elder had spoken a blatant falsehood.

"Who do you plan to send?" Brandon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I’ll go," the middle-aged man declared firmly, glancing at his daughter and then at them.

"Pizos?" (Elvish: Father?)

The little girl immediately looked up, her face astonished.

---

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