Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C150

Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.

Thank you.

Everyone from Otaku Translation

Chapter 150: The Dawn Part 4

Grudin stood rigid on the balcony, watching the flickering torchlights converge like fireflies in the dark. Ever since hearing that cursed Viscount Stingham had returned, he was filled with both regret and fear. Regret for not heeding his advisors’ counsel to detain the man earlier that afternoon, instead hesitating and losing the opportunity.

But more than regret, it was fear that gripped him. Though he knew Madara’s generals were within the city—and that those skeletal forces would never allow him to perish here—he still felt an icy dread clutching at his heart.

It was as if a blade hung over his head, its cold breath brushing against his skin.

Unconsciously, he touched the wound on his cheek. Despite maintaining a façade of calm, his insides churned with frosty unease. He couldn’t shake the memory of Brandon’s frigid gaze and the chilling words he’d left behind:

"I spare your wretched head—for now. But I’ll claim it another day."

Little did he expect that "another day" would come so soon—just one day later.

Baron Grudin turned his head.

Behind him stood an unfamiliar figure, clad in black chainmail and shrouded in a long, wing-like cloak. A metallic mask concealed their face, save for a pair of gleaming golden eyes beneath. Sharp metal gauntlets gripped a massive scythe, resting casually on their shoulder as they observed the distant chaos with unsettling calm.

Had Brandon been present, he would have recognized the silver scales emblazoned on this individual—a symbol belonging to only one person among Madara’s generals.

The Black Knight, Judge White Tiamas Jyomir.

One of Madara’s Four Knights of Revelation. Unlike White Knight Eberton or Red Knight Ladios, White Tiamas Jyomir had held high rank even before the First Black Rose War, serving as Targus’s second-in-command. Legends about him abounded, though players most often speculated about his true identity. It was said no living soul had ever seen the face hidden beneath the mask—not even Madara’s undead legions or any player who crossed paths with him.

Meeting Grudin’s wavering gaze, the Black Knight offered a faint smile. “Lord Grudin, there is no need for concern. Our reinforcements will arrive shortly.”

His voice carried a chilling edge, yet possessed a neutral charm.

“Though I hear that viscount came alone, bold but lacking wisdom. His strength barely exceeds gold-rank; Kabirus alone could easily subdue him. By then, whether you wish to kill or torture him, the choice is yours.”

As he spoke, a thought crossed his mind: So this is the young man who humbled ‘Corpse Grub’ Magus? Curious.

Grudin snorted coldly, well aware that Madara preferred to avoid entanglement in Eruin’s noble disputes. Still, he found no fault with the proposal. Thinking of the trouble Brandon had caused, he clenched his teeth, already plotting a fitting “feast” for the viscount. Death wouldn’t come so easily.

---

The battle within the city reached a fever pitch. Mercenaries formed a spearhead, advancing steadily down the streets.

Metissa led the charge, her horned steed cutting through enemies like wind through grass. Behind her, Brandon walked hand-in-hand with Funiya. The young man guided the little girl step by step through the chaos of war. Occasionally, a noble soldier broke through the lines, approaching the seemingly unguarded commander. They often paused, bewildered by the lack of defenses, only to find their answer swiftly delivered.

With a single swipe, Brandon sent swords flying—or shattered them into countless shards—and then drove his blade into their chests before they could react. Each strike took less than a second.

Hearts still thudded, but frost already coated the wounds. Swords seemed to materialize out of thin air, piercing chests. Most foes collapsed backward, disbelief etched onto their faces.

Brandon withdrew his sword, pushing aside the lifeless bodies as he moved forward. Beside him, Funiya’s face paled, yet she clung tightly to his hand. In her young mind, simple logic took root.

Brandon saved her from those cavalrymen. And Antietta and the others—they were all good people because bad people hurt everyone. Therefore, anyone opposing Brandon must be evil.

Wiping a few droplets of blood from her forehead, Brandon glanced up. Cold Fir City’s fortress loomed near, but thirty minutes had passed—time remained tight. Yet the enemy clearly intended to let them advance unchecked.

Madara’s undead should appear soon.

The young lord scanned the battlefield, quickly spotting what he sought amidst Grudin’s private army. Not skeletons or Pale Knights, but Soul Puppets. Seven of them lurked among the troops, stealthily closing in. Their movements were subtle enough to escape notice—even Metissa failed to detect the lurking danger, as the Silver Elf princess was more accustomed to fighting bone constructs.

Unfortunately for them, Brandon saw through their ruse as clearly as if they paraded brazenly down an empty street. He knew these creatures all too well.

Less than ten meters away, the Soul Puppets’ eyes glowed green, poised to strike.

In an instant, Brandon handed Funiya to Clenxia, startling the middle-aged mercenary captain. Before anyone realized, Brandon surged ahead.

A charging skill activated.

All anyone saw was a blur sweeping past, followed by seven swift strikes that fell like snowflakes. Only after hearing seven sharp cracks—like leather tearing—did reality catch up. Time seemed to stretch as the illusion resolved: seven mutilated Soul Puppets lay scattered like refuse, limbs flying back whence they came.

Seven heavy thuds echoed as noble soldiers collapsed en masse.

Brandon halted his advance, flicking his sword behind him as he stood at the forefront of the mercenaries. Everyone froze momentarily. Though they knew he wielded gold-rank strength, witnessing him unleash his full power left them awestruck.

It was as if his mere presence halted the momentum of thousands.

At that moment, a towering Crusader Executioner erupted from the ranks. With a low growl, it swung its double-bladed axe, shattering cobblestones and sending debris flying. The monstrous creature shoved aside a dozen noble soldiers, aiming a devastating blow at Brandon.

Brandon watched calmly. Months ago, such a beast had chased him relentlessly through Braggs’ auction hall. Now, its movements appeared sluggish, almost comical.

He believed a single sword strike would suffice to rend it apart.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, a silver spear shot past his shoulder, deflecting the massive axe with a resounding clang. Not just deflected—the weapon snapped clean off, the blade spinning far into the crowd, eliciting screams.

Mercenaries paused, staring up at the towering Executioner, each exhaling sharply. Though they’d known Madara’s undead lurked within the city, seeing such legendary monsters firsthand stirred primal fear.

Even the hulking Executioner faltered, gazing dumbly at its broken weapon, then at the diminutive Silver Elf maiden blocking its path. Soulfire flickered dimly in its hollow eye sockets.

“My lord,” Metissa frowned. As an undead herself, she recognized the aura, but the pure malice emanating from the creature unsettled her.

Brandon ignored her, turning toward another part of the battlefield. Spotting a shadow shift, he sneered, flinging his black steel sword like a streak of lightning.

Clang!

The sword struck an invisible barrier, sparks scattering as it spiraled backward, skidding across the ground three times before finally halting far away.

Brandon’s gaze remained steady. He watched as the air rippled, revealing a towering skeleton clad in brass armor, wielding a battle-axe.

Kabirus.

Soulfire danced in its empty eye sockets as it stared at Brandon, the deep notch in its axe marking where the two weapons had clashed. Brandon raised an eyebrow—such a plain weapon seemed unfit for a general of Madara’s caliber.

Everyone froze.

Noble soldiers and mercenaries alike gawked at the sudden appearance of the skeletal general. Thanks to the Black Rose War, ‘Deathbringer’ Kabirus might not be known throughout Eruin, but his name was infamous among the nobility and across the southern territories.

Especially rare were high-ranking undead commanders born as skeletons. Among them, Kabirus stood out not only for his cunning reputation but also for his distinctive brass armor—a relic from the Cruze Reck Dynasty three centuries prior.

“Ka… Kabirus…”

“…Madara’s undead general…”

“How is he here…?”

Whispers spread like a dark tide across the battlefield, freezing every movement. For a moment, both sides ceased fighting.

“So the rumors are true,” Kabirus rumbled, unperturbed by the commotion. Its soulfire flickered as it locked eyes with Brandon. “You know black magic…”

Brandon smirked. “A mere Dark Curtain? Child’s play.”

Yet inwardly, he remained vigilant. The Dark Curtain enveloping Kabirus wasn’t ordinary—it bore none of the hallmarks of a typical skeletal wizard. Instinctively, Brandon sensed Roscoe was nearby.

“Who are you, young man?” Kabirus rasped, its voice gravelly and low. “Copper Dragon Retto’s tricks may fool your ignorant nobles, but not me.”

“You’re their true leader, aren’t you?”

“And the one who led Ridenburg’s refugees through our encirclement—you.”

“Young commander,” Kabirus tilted its head, jaws splitting in a silent grin. “I’ve long wished to meet you on this battlefield.”

The words sent shockwaves through the crowd.

Gasps echoed all around.

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.

For more updates and to stay connected, feel free to join the Discord on the otaku translation blog.

Please vote for this novel at

https://www.novelupdates.com/series/the-amber-sword/

If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.