Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C1

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Volume 3: Crown and Rose

Chapter 1: The Letter, Part 1

"The silence here feels... unnatural," said Gail. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over the carpet of dead leaves. "My lord."

"There is a tale among the mountain folk," replied Viscount Teste, his pale, slender hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His gaze swept across the trees, where a narrow game trail wound into the underbrush. "It speaks of places in the forest where the stillness is otherworldly, for they are watched by the eyes of the Lake Goddess. In such places, one must never look back."

"My lord jests," Gail muttered, though unease prickled at his skin. He glanced around, and for a moment, it seemed as though shadows concealed a pair of watching eyes. "By the Chaos, gods are but fables."

"No, Gail," Teste countered softly. "I believe they exist."

Gail stared at the young viscount, searching for some trace of heresy in those calm, kind eyes. Teste was the Chosen Son of the Ouroboros Society, a position earned only by those who had been rigorously vetted—men of unparalleled intellect, talent, and unwavering devotion to the creed. Though his temperament could be erratic, he was not one to utter such words lightly.

"If the gods do exist," Gail ventured hesitantly, "then are we not committing sacrilege?"

Teste turned to him, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if mocking the younger knight’s timidity. "And if they do exist," he said, "does that make them infallible? I think not."

Gail fell silent, realizing with sudden clarity the gulf between himself and the viscount.

The young noble turned his attention back to the edge of the forest, where the knights had finally managed to drag their boat ashore from the small cove. "Let us proceed," he snapped his fingers. "In a place like this, we might encounter wraiths come nightfall. They pose little threat, but they are troublesome nonetheless." With a sweep of his gray robes, he strode forward, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

Gail hurried after him.

Before long, another knight caught up to them. "My lord," the man whispered, bowing slightly, "the third, fourth, fifth, and seventh squads have arrived. We received a signal from the north earlier—all others disembarked there. As for the remaining units, it seems none could penetrate the mists outside."

Teste's gaze wandered over the forest, the shifting light softening the sharp angles of his face. "So that makes thirty-seven of us," he mused.

The knight nodded.

"Thirty-seven silver-rank warriors, plus myself," Teste tapped his chest lightly. "That should suffice against a single Knight of the Lake—if our intelligence holds true."

Gail remained silent.

The crunch of footsteps echoed through the woods as Teste glanced back. Gail’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his longsword, his breath coming in faint hisses. "How large is this island, Sir Brandon?" he asked.

"Are you afraid?" Teste asked, arching an eyebrow. "Gail, the fishermen said the Knight of the Lake does not venture beyond the Sacred White Mountain."

Gail exhaled sharply, forcing his fingers to uncurl. "Forgive me, my lord."

Teste smiled indulgently.

The group pressed onward until they met their companions from the north. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, they stood beneath the towering expanse of white stone. Its surface shimmered faintly in the fading light, dazzling to behold. Before all assembled, the young viscount placed his hand upon the rock. His long, delicate fingers traced the uneven surface, feeling the rough texture beneath. It carried the weight of history, as though his very touch connected him to the ancient past—a king who had once come here bearing a sword, now sleeping eternally within the forest.

"A king slumbers here," he said. "Do you know who it is?"

"Eck?" Gail ventured.

"No," Teste shook his head. "Not him." His cryptic reply hung in the air as he lowered his hand and continued along the stone wall. Soon, they discovered a recess leading inward. Beyond the cavern lay a forest of emerald green, known to the local mountain folk as the 'Dreaming Grove.'

"Is this the place?" Teste paused, turning back to his men.

"Yes, my lord," one of the knights replied. "According to our intelligence, the Knight of the Lake roams the forest beyond."

"And your weapons—are they ready?"

Each knight patted the swords at their sides in affirmation.

Teste nodded approvingly. "Then follow me."

"By the Chaos," the knights murmured in unison.

---

Brandon sat at his walnut desk, penning a letter, when the Philosopher’s Tablet nestled in his tunic began to tremble faintly. Again? He paused, setting down his quill and retrieving the device. Placing it beside the open parchment, he watched as it rattled softly, as if imbued with life. But after a moment, it stilled.

"What is it?" Antietta asked, her voice smooth as silk. She sat gracefully in a high-backed chair beside him, her posture impeccable, her neck elongated like a swan’s against the golden light streaming through the window.

"Nothing," Brandon replied absently, nudging the tablet with his finger. Still no response. "Likely another low-frequency resonance. It happens often these days." He opened a drawer and tucked the tablet away before refilling his quill. Yet, his train of thought had been disrupted, leaving him unsure how to resume.

He rubbed his temples, frustration mounting.

"Are you writing to Lady Freya?" Antietta glanced at the parchment.

"Yes," Brandon sighed. "Though defeating Grudin was merely the beginning. The real trouble lies ahead." He looked up. "Tell me, Antietta, how should we deal with Earl Jandel?"

Antietta raised her eyes, leveling a reproachful glance at him. "I assumed you had a plan, Sir Brandon. You rarely consult me when charging ahead blindly."

"If I gave up," Brandon chuckled, "would that put your mind at ease?"

The noblewoman turned away, choosing silence over argument.

"Prideful," Brandon thought, suppressing a grin. He tapped his quill against the paper. "Speaking of which, what did you mean by your words to the mercenary commander?"

"Their surface meaning," she replied coolly.

"I doubt that," Brandon shook his head. "You may harbor grievances, but you’re not one to speak recklessly, especially to outsiders." He crumpled the parchment into a ball and tossed it out the window. "Clever, Antietta. I’m fortunate to have someone like you."

Antietta regarded him with a flicker of admiration.

"I acted on my own because I believed it would aid you in securing the mercenaries," she admitted.

"So you don’t blame me?" Brandon exhaled in relief. "Thank the gods."

"I never blamed you," she said with a faint smile. "I was merely... upset at being left behind. More than anything, I fear falling behind as you move forward. Perhaps there are parts of me too deeply rooted to change."

Brandon smiled inwardly, thinking that sincerity wouldn’t lead her astray—but he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he drew out a fresh sheet of parchment. "Any ideas, then, my counselor?"

Antietta nodded. "A few. Your gambit is risky, and conventional methods won’t suffice. In matters of noble intrigue, we must consider leverage. Finding allies is crucial, but traditional options won’t work—we lack the standing, and others won’t risk offending Earl Jandel. However, we might turn to his enemies. But even that presents challenges; our influence is limited, and our actions have already challenged the established order—" She hesitated. "Which leaves unconventional choices. For instance, the Southern Legion. Or Madara, perhaps."

Brandon waved dismissively. "Forget Madara. Tell me more about the Southern Legion."

"Earl Jandel’s alliance with Madara likely serves two purposes," Antietta explained. "First, to weaken the Southern Legion through Madara’s forces. Second, to suppress the mountain tribes within Jandel’s borders. Have you noticed? Madara’s undead legions haven’t crossed the Goddess Lake. Their most active zones align with the autonomous regions of the mountain folk. This leaves the Southern Legion isolated, resentful of Jandel’s indifference. But their territory is barren—mountains and wastelands—and their greatest challenge is supply shortages. If we form an alliance, we can secure our rear, if not directly oppose Jandel."

"You think it will work?"

Antietta nodded.

"It’s a sound strategy," Brandon mused, idly scribbling on the parchment. His gaze fixed on a distant point outside the window. "But the Southern Legion is mired in conflict. After their battle with Madara, they’ve cut ties with the outside world. Whether they still exist as a cohesive force is uncertain. Even if they do, contacting them is another hurdle. We can’t rely on luck. Thus, this remains a contingency plan. I’ll dispatch scouts toward the Graharl Mountains, but until we have concrete information, it stays a fallback option."

He turned to her. "Any other suggestions?"

"What of the Silver Elves you’ve befriended?" Antietta asked. "For leverage, they’d be our strongest ally—"

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