Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C147

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Chapter 147: The Dawn Part 1

The young man exhaled heavily after speaking, his breath ragged. He coughed twice, unable to suppress it, and his complexion turned ashen.

"Anger won’t fill your belly, lad," an older mercenary replied with a tinge of pity in his voice. "You speak of laws, but they answer with fists. Their fists are bigger—what can you do? We’re all here now, yet they remain indifferent. Why? Because they don’t fear us."

"Even if we could storm the city, would we stand a chance?" another chimed in. "Don’t be foolish. That bastard has an army at his disposal too."

The young man in the gray-green robe clenched his teeth but found no words to counter.

It was then that a murmur rippled through the crowd. Everyone froze. The mercenary captains spun around, barking, "What is this? What’s going on? Cease this commotion!"

"Captain, there’s movement on the walls above! Reinforcements!" a mercenary near the gate shouted loudly.

At this report, brows furrowed across the group.

Reinforcements?

No wonder they were so brazen.

---

In truth, when Roscoe led his men onto the battlements, he saw nothing but a sea of people swarming just beyond the gates. Peering down from the fortress, the entire plain outside the city was dotted with flickering campfires. Shadows of figures moved among them, countless mercenaries and adventurers gathered below.

The pale-faced young man couldn’t help but emit a cold snort.

He glanced back at the rows of soldiers behind him, their forms shrouded in black cloth. Beneath those coverings lay something far more sinister—skeletal frames, the most basic components of Madara's merciless killing machines. His gaze returned to the plain, irritation creeping into his tone as he addressed the human officer beside him.

"Deliver the message. Give them half an hour to leave or face annihilation."

His words cut like steel.

After all, this necromancer had little interest in commanding battles here; he’d rather retreat to his basement chambers to pore over the stolen texts from human libraries.

The noble officer cast him a cautious glance before bowing deeply. Though curious about the origins of these unfamiliar allies, he dared not question whether they served under the cold-hearted baron. Yet, despite their mysterious presence, he never once suspected these warriors standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them were part of Madara’s undead legions.

Such a notion seemed utterly absurd.

He returned to the edge of the wall, clearing his throat as a smug satisfaction brewed within him. Being surrounded by these lowly mercenaries had filled him with resentment. After all, his men were accustomed to strutting with pride, looking down on common rabble. Who could have foreseen the day when they themselves would be encircled?

Even if the enemy only surrounded them without attacking, it was insult enough to wound their dignity. Without delay, he snapped his fingers and summoned the nearby apprentice wizard, issuing a commanding order with an air of superiority:

"The crystal."

The apprentice hastened to comply, activating the amplification enchantment within the crystal.

The noble officer nodded with satisfaction, as if he were now a grand general of Eruin commanding legions of soldiers. Clearing his throat, he bellowed toward the crowd below:

"Listen well, you wretched rabble—"

---

"Listen well, you wretched rabble—"

The shout from Grudin’s officer sent shockwaves through the mercenaries below. All activity ceased as heads turned toward Cold Fir City, awaiting the rest of the proclamation.

But there was no continuation.

For the moment the officer opened his mouth, he froze. The amplifying crystal slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. No sound escaped his lips.

He looked up, watching as the throng of mercenaries stirred, then parted silently like water before an unseen beast. From the rear of the crowd emerged a shadowy figure advancing steadily toward the gates.

What was that?

Not only the officer but Roscoe too squinted, transfixed by the sight unfolding before them.

---

"Everyone!"

Amidst the fires, the young man in the gray-green robe gazed at the assembled faces with disappointment. "Can we not fight with passion, even once? Yes, we are mercenaries, adventurers, but we have our honor—a warrior’s pride born on the battlefield, protecting our companions."

He scanned the others, asking, "Have we abandoned this pride? Without relying on each other, what kind of mercenaries are we?"

Silence fell, mirroring the hush brought by the distant call from the walls.

The mercenary leaders exchanged glances, still hesitating. They wished to give their followers some resolution, but such matters were never simple.

No one wanted to appear weak, yet this was a direct challenge against a lord of the realm—a baron, no less, and the son of Jandel Earl.

If they chose to fight, they might find themselves without refuge in this kingdom ever again.

This dilemma left them paralyzed.

The young man sighed deeply. "Forgive me for pushing too hard…" He rose, saying, "Very well. But the spirits crucified on those crosses deserve an answer. I understand your predicament—and since you cannot provide one, I will."

"If blood must be spilled, let mine and my companions’ be the sacrifice. Just remember this day forever. That ruthless baron tramples not only your companions’ lives but also your dignity."

With that, he turned to leave.

But before he took two steps, a voice called out: "Young man."

The young apprentice wizard stopped.

"Where there's life there's hope. Have you forgotten the message entrusted to you by that lord? Perhaps he means to bring justice someday—"

"Do you believe that?" the young man snapped, interrupting. Turning back, he sneered, "Do you trust such hollow promises from so-called lofty lords? Not one of them is—"

His words stopped abruptly.

The young man’s pupils widened in disbelief as the crowd behind him stirred, parting layer by layer like receding waves—or as though an invisible colossus forced its way through. The flames dimmed slightly, and frost spread visibly across the ground.

Taking a shallow breath, the young apprentice wizard glimpsed the figure emerging from the parted masses.

A young man and a girl, hand in hand, wielding a single sword.

Alone, yet undaunted, Brandon walked forward, gripping Funiya’s small hand. His presence radiated the aura of a Gold-rank warrior, slicing through the crowd like an invisible blade. Those who lingered too long felt the oppressive chill pressing down upon them, gasping for air.

No one dared obstruct him. A wide path opened between him and the southern gate of Cold Fir City.

Nor did anyone dare make a sound. Every mercenary and adventurer watched in stunned silence as Brandon passed through their ranks, followed at a respectful distance by his companions. It was as though knights trailed their king.

They saw him stop beneath the gates, silent, still holding Funiya’s hand. She gazed up at him with emerald eyes full of trust, her tiny palm resting securely in his warm grasp. Together, they had traversed dark forests and desolate plains under starless skies. To her, he was both warmth and safety.

Brandon raised his head, meeting the pallid face of the noble officer atop the walls.

"What would you have me hear?" His voice carried clearly through the silent camp. "Soldier?"

The officer faltered.

His mouth opened and closed, though Brandon hadn’t moved closer. The weight of the young man’s gaze struck him like a blade piercing his chest. Instinctively, he turned to seek Roscoe’s aid—but the necromancer was nowhere to be seen.

Cursing inwardly, the officer stammered under Brandon’s imposing aura, "I—I mean… disperse… or else… death awaits."

The crowd stirred uneasily. They knew the cruel baron wouldn’t jest. At his command, many began to waver.

But Brandon merely nodded.

"Is that all?"

"Y-yes… yes," the officer stuttered, sweat pouring from his hands. Despite the distance, he felt as though a sword hung poised above his head.

Brandon nodded again.

"Then it is my turn to speak—"

Stepping forward, he pressed the scabbard downward with his left hand while grasping the hilt with his right. As the blade slid free, it gleamed like silver light. Yet what everyone witnessed wasn’t merely a streak—it was the arc of the sword itself.

From below, upward.

A ripple surged forth, preceding the wind pressure. Before the gust reached them, the massive gates groaned inward, collapsing into dust. The ripple continued, cleaving the fortress cleanly in half along the trajectory of the slash. Walls crumbled like sandcastles caught in a gale, ten meters of fortification reduced to powder in an instant.

Brandon swung the blade in a graceful arc overhead, then stepped back, sheathing it with a soft click.

And with that, the weapon shattered into four pieces.

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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