Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C165

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Chapter 165: The Gambler's Roulette, Part 3

“No enemies in sight.”

“No sign of them on the left either.”

“Not a single one of those damned bone constructs here—” Voices echoed through the empty streets. Yuta turned her head, her deep green eyes reflecting a faint glimmer of unease. Where had the undead gone? The mercenary commander’s slender fingers rested motionlessly on the hilt of her rapier, her mind shrouded in a thickening fog of confusion. Everyone stood enveloped in that haze, looking around but finding nothing.

The mercenaries advanced cautiously through the darkness, their footsteps rustling softly. Hidden beneath the stillness of the night was an unseen presence, a cold grip tightening around each heart. Fear loomed like a shadow over them all, silent yet suffocating. The silence was so profound that even the smallest sound could be heard. Every eye gleamed brightly in the dark, scanning warily:

They feared the undead, who had vanished without a trace, might suddenly pour out from some alleyway and surround them completely.

They crossed half the city, expecting to clash with the bloodthirsty dead at any moment, engaging in a desperate battle for survival. But it seemed as though the enemy existed only in their imagination. The undead at the western gate appeared to have never existed at all—had the young nobleman miscalculated? Yuta turned her head. The light of the youth’s illuminating crystal seeped into her pupils, reflecting his pale, malnourished face.

“Commander?” the youth asked.

“What is it?”

“Did that noble make a mistake?” he whispered. “Could they have gone north instead?”

“Impossible,” the mercenary commander dismissed the notion outright. “On the battlefield, every second counts. Their commander isn’t a fool.”

“But…” the youth began again, but before he could finish, someone called out from ahead: “Commander!”

Both of them froze, instinctively turning toward the voice.

“What is it?”

“We’ve found something,” came the reply. “Come take a look.”

Yuta and the youth exchanged glances, nodding before following the caller. As she rounded the corner, she stopped short—

The long street had transformed into a scene of devastation.

It looked as though a fierce battle had taken place here. Scanning the ground, not a single paving stone remained intact. Craters dotted the landscape, the shattered stones seemingly flipped outward by some immense force from below. Some stones had been hurled dozens of meters away. If not for the absence of elemental disturbances in the air, anyone would assume this had been the site of a clash involving powers above gold rank.

Yuta raised her head, noticing a two-story building nearby that had collapsed inward, its central structure obliterated as if struck laterally. The wooden beams supporting it lay broken. Such a blow must have come from someone wielding power at least silver rank or higher. She drew a sharp breath, stepping forward while observing the skeletal remains scattered among human corpses within the craters.

“Who are these people?”

The mercenary commander studied the bodies, frowning. Their attire resembled that of the poor outside the city walls—a detail easily explained. But how to account for the piles of bone fragments lying beside them? Upon closer inspection, she realized the casualty ratio was nearly five to one: for every human corpse, there were at least five skeletal remnants. If the impoverished masses outside the walls possessed such combat prowess, Yuta would question how Grudin had survived this long.

The mercenaries shook their heads.

“What about their weapons?” she asked.

“No weapons,” one replied.

“No weapons?” Yuta exhaled sharply. “Are you telling me these humans fought the undead barehanded—or were they Silver Folk?”

“Commander, I don’t know if they were Silver Folk,” the scout answered hesitantly, lowering his gaze. “But regarding your first point—I believe so.”

Yuta’s eyes flickered; events unfolding tonight stretched beyond her understanding. Then, hoofbeats rang out in the distance. Everyone looked up to see two or three riders emerge from the mist, halting before them—the scouts sent earlier. The mercenary commander snapped back to attention, raising her head. “What news? Any discoveries ahead?”

“Commander,” one rider replied immediately, “there’s the sound of battle near the gates.”

Battle near the gates?

So, had these refugees pushed the undead back?

Everyone paused, exchanging bewildered glances. By Marsha’s grace, what kind of situation was this?

---

In the darkness, light does not behave like white paint on a black canvas. Especially in the depths of night, that solitary beam resembles hope flowing through the human heart. Even unseen, it draws one inexorably toward its glow. Whether imagined or real, humanity will trudge toward light, leaving deeper shadows behind.

In the dark, torchlight flickered.

A young girl knelt silently before the flame. Its orange glow outlined the gentle curves of her cheeks, alternating between light and shadow, stretching down her neck and into the recesses of her silhouette. Her obsidian eyes reflected the fire, as if a flickering ember burned deep within her pupils. Lips pressed together, hands resting on her knees, she sat utterly still.

As though everything around her no longer concerned her.

With a thunderous crash, a massive vine erupted from the ground, carrying shards of rock and soil. It arched like a bow, sweeping through the sea of skeletons in the night. Dozens of meters long, the vine lashed across the battlefield, scattering countless broken bones high into the air, flinging them aside.

Three tall men clad in fur robes stood atop the wall, commanding the vines with stoic expressions. They swept away the waves of undead like clearing trash, repeatedly driving back the surging tide. Beside them, towering werewolves with glowing eyes watched the ocean of undead below, ready to repel any hidden Black Warriors or necromancers attempting to strike.

The battle had raged for nearly an hour—

Finally, a towering werewolf approached the kneeling girl, bowing respectfully. “Lady Antietta, reinforcements seem to have arrived.”

Antietta’s eyes flickered. “Who?”

“It appears to be mercenaries.”

She glanced toward the wall below, then turned back silently, nodding. Rising to her feet, she noticed Roma sprawled over the battlements, clutching her precious bag tightly. Her eyes were closed, sleeping soundly, lashes forming dense brushes against her rosy cheeks. Firelight accentuated her delicate features, making her appear almost endearing—though perhaps less so given the drool pooling beneath her slack jaw.

Antietta sighed faintly, reaching out to pat the girl’s cheek. Slap, slap.

Roma smacked her lips unconsciously, waving a hand dismissively in her sleep. “If you’re going to kill Roma, please wait until I wake up…”

A wave of exhaustion washed over Antietta.

“Roma.”

“I know, I know,” the sleepy girl muttered, wrinkling her brow slightly. “Please take a number. Next—”

“…”

---

When Yuta first saw Antietta, she was startled. The seasoned mercenary leader frowned, observing the strange figures—werewolves, druids, suppressing the undead at the western gate effortlessly. It seemed irrelevant whether they had arrived late or not; the outcome of this battle likely wouldn’t change regardless. Yet, Yuta couldn’t help but wonder who these people were. Were they under the young nobleman’s command? And if so, did that mean he hadn’t trusted her at all?

Then, what measures had he prepared for Frein’s side?

She drew a breath, knowing it made sense, yet still feeling a pang of discomfort. It was as if her determined efforts had ultimately been denied by others. Despite her mature resolve, a part of her harbored expectations—especially after witnessing the young man slay Grudin that night. A spark of hope had ignited within her, a chance to alter fate—not just hers, but the entire mercenary band’s.

In this chaotic era, drifting endlessly without rest, she yearned for a lord worthy of loyalty. Someone who could give her followers a sense of belonging. But alas, nobles were all cut from the same cloth. No matter how unique, they schemed endlessly, distrusting everyone—including him. Even this young man fell into that pattern. The mercenary commander tucked her fiery red hair behind her ear, falling silent.

Yet Antietta gazed steadily at the woman nearly a head taller than herself, unyielding. These must be the mercenaries their lord had recruited? She thought, piecing together Brandon’s intentions. Observing the other’s movements, a flash of insight struck her. So that’s it. She opened her mouth, addressing Yuta: “May I ask who you are?”

Yuta regarded the younger girl, feeling an unspoken pressure despite the age difference. Another noble brat, she grumbled internally, though her tone carried playful mockery. “Yuta, commander of the Mountain Swallow Mercenaries. We were sent by our lord. And you, young girl, who might you be?”

The probing began.

Antietta smiled inwardly but maintained her composure. “I am also under our lord’s service. Specifically, I am his chief advisor.” Extending her hand, she gestured toward Roma. “This is Lady Roma, our lord’s betrothed.”

Roma yawned, rubbing her sleepy eyes—

As I expected, Yuta’s thoughts shifted. A flicker of disdain and disappointment crossed her eyes.

Antietta caught it instantly. Understanding mirrored Yuta’s feelings, but her expression hardened as she spoke coldly: “However, Commander Yuta, please do not misunderstand. While I stand here as our lord’s advisor, it does not mean I agree with his actions.” She lifted her head, staring frostily at the mercenary leader. “Thus, Commander, please convey this message to our lord—”

“If he believes abandoning everything can prevent harming others, I hope he discards such childish notions. For though I may not know what kind of person our lord wishes to become, I do know a true hero is not a flawless saint but a man willing to shoulder responsibility.”

“Even for wrong decisions, I hope he understands life belongs not solely to oneself but to all who rely on, care for, and love him. Like myself, while I respect our lord’s choices, I cannot forgive abandoning his subordinates—”

“And please tell him—” Antietta paused, her gaze drifting into the distance. “In this world, there is no hope or freedom gained without bloodshed and struggle.”

Her final words carried far across the night.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Every werewolf atop the wall turned to look at the noble girl, their eyes shimmering with an indescribable light.

Yuta blinked, her thoughts stirring. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Antieta offered no reply.

Silence enveloped the wall once more—

The mercenary commander turned her gaze to Roma, who simply smiled sweetly. “Excuse me, Auntie,” the girl chirped. “Do you have signal arrows?”

Yuta froze.

---

When the signal rose from the western gate, its brilliant flames illuminated the deepest corners of every participant’s eyes throughout the city—

Brandon and those behind him—Chael and Cinnabar—stopped instantly. The mercenaries accompanying them halted as one. All heads turned skyward, gazing at the radiant beacon. It felt like a prayer, a blessing, declaring victory to everyone on the battlefield.

Brandon drew a deep breath.

If he were a gambler, he thought himself the luckiest one alive. When the roulette wheel stopped, fate’s pointer landed precisely on the single open path. What lay beyond, he couldn’t yet see clearly—but at least, he had won this round.

From Madara and Grudin, he had forced the first move.

At that moment, Chael turned to look at his lord, a faint smile crossing the young mage’s lips. “So, is dawn breaking already after the darkness, my lord?”

“No,” Brandon replied, gazing at the magical light. “It’s just—”

“I’ve already seen the ending.”

End of Volume 2

And there are now 120 chapters ready in volume 3

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