Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C15

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Chapter 15: The Battle for the Lumber Mill, Part 2

Nearly an hour had passed since they entered the forest.

The sound of arrows whistling through the air echoed through the trees, followed by a cheer as the mercenaries rushed forward and dragged several corpses from the underbrush. The creatures were grotesque—bulbous, yellowish bodies covered in warts, their heads resembling massive malignant tumors. Smooth and featureless, they lacked eyes and nostrils, yet beneath the folds of their skin lay thousands of sensory organs attuned to smell and sound, granting them a hundredfold advantage over humans in dim or pitch-black conditions. But the mercenaries quickly realized these creatures were already dead. The arrows protruding from their bodies had caused only superficial wounds; the fatal injuries were jagged holes burned through their chests.

Some wounds pierced front to back, others back to front, but all shared the same charred, gaping quality—as if struck by a bolt of lightning. A few mercenaries recognized the signature marks left by Brandon’s “dragon cavalry.” With a mix of revulsion and awe, they turned the creatures over and glanced back at the young lord riding steadily toward them.

Brandon examined the corpses while on horseback. Their mouths gaped open like sharks’, lined with rows of serrated teeth. The blood oozing from their lips was pale green—a stark contrast to the crimson lifeblood of surface-dwelling creatures. These beings, distant relatives of lizards, hailed from the deepest layers of the underground world. If given the choice, Brandon would have preferred to launch this campaign in winter when their activity naturally diminished due to the cold. Alas, time was not on his side, though the cooling weather offered some consolation—it wasn’t ideal, but it could be worse. At his signal, the mercenaries prodded the stiffened claws of the fallen , still clutching their spears in death.

“These are lower-tier members of cave dweller society,” Tiger Finch observed, studying the bodies. “It seems they’ve stationed their elite forces deeper within their defenses. The further we go, the stronger our resistance will become.”

Brandon nodded but refrained from voicing what he truly thought: this was good news. In , monster zones often grew progressively more dangerous as one ventured inward—a common design principle in traditional games. This suggested that these cave dwellers had yet to form a cohesive military structure. They weren’t an organized army but rather a loosely-knit tribe or settlement, bound together perhaps by simpler social ties.

Before the operation began, Brandon had feared two possibilities: either these cave dwellers were part of a larger military force sent from the depths to invade the surface—a strategy not uncommon in —or they were remnants of a defeated army fleeing to the surface to survive. Both scenarios would have been far more challenging than dealing with a scattered tribal group.

A standard monster zone.

That was how Brandon mentally categorized the forest’s cave dweller population. The corpses they’d found belonged to the lowest-ranking scouts patrolling the outer perimeter. Deeper inside, they would likely encounter cave dweller warriors and possibly even “Kamulu”—a term meaning “warrior” in the subterranean tongue. Players once referred to them as elite cave dwellers, akin to elite soldiers, wielding power equivalent to the peak of Iron Rank. Aside from their priests, Kamulu represented the strongest combatants among the cave dwellers.

But for Brandon, none of this posed a significant threat.

The mercenaries fanned out like a net across the area, uncovering more than twenty bodies in total. This aligned with Brandon’s expectations—their attackers had struck so swiftly that most cave dwellers hadn’t even reacted before succumbing to Silver Rank attacks. Hailing from the ——the might not possess Iron Rank strength, but their mastery over airflow made them natural predators against creatures reliant on scent and hearing.

As the scouts positioned throughout the forest’s outer rim were systematically eliminated, Brandon and his three leaders——led hundreds of mercenaries deeper into the woods with surprising ease. Hundreds of warriors moved cautiously between the towering trees, their boots crunching softly on ferns and occasionally snapping twigs, each sharp crack sending shivers down their spines. Yet every time they froze in alarm, they found nothing but nameless birds flapping away from the branches above.

For the wizards nestled safely within the ranks, however, this unnatural calm felt surreal. Ordinarily, they would be prime targets for ambushes—everyone understood the value of a wizard on the battlefield. And while these spellcasters ranged from mere apprentices to fully-fledged wizards, their defensive capabilities paled in comparison to their strategic importance. They knew they were easy prey for enemy scouts, just as commanding officers were—but unlike commanders, wizards rarely survived such assaults unscathed.

Most of these mercenary wizards had grown accustomed to being targeted during jungle skirmishes. Ambushes, sneak attacks, poisoned arrows—all were commonplace in their line of work. Nearly everyone bore scars from past battles, and many had witnessed comrades fall or narrowly escaped death themselves. Yet today’s eerie silence stood in stark contrast to their usual experiences. The cave dwellers’ scouts seemed to have vanished altogether. As sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor, some wizards half-jokingly wondered if this was less a military expedition and more a leisurely outing funded by the crown.

Of course, they knew better. They’d seen the cave dwellers’ bodies earlier.

All of this could only be attributed to the enigmatic young lord leading them. Rumors swirled that he was a high-level summoner, perhaps even transcending the boundary between Gold and Silver Ranks. Among wizards, respect for power was deeply ingrained—a tradition dating back to when the first taught mortals the arcane arts. Moreover, Brandon commanded , another Gold Rank wizard whose presence earned them the nickname “the Council of Two” among the mercenaries’ wizards. For , councils symbolized authority and leadership. Thus, Brandon’s reputation among the spellcasters solidified almost unconsciously.

Yet as Brandon watched his mercenaries instinctively break into small squads, armed with swords, halberds, bows, shields, and staves, spreading methodically across the grassy clearings, he felt no sense of accomplishment. While the Wind Spirit Spiders’ results were impressive, they came at a cost. Silently, he calculated the toll on his magic reserves. Nearly an hour had passed since entering the forest, and maintaining the and its initial activation had consumed 13 units of Earth Element. Checking his Elemental Pool, which held up to 32 units, he saw it was nearly depleted—only 7 remained.

Frowning, Brandon summoned the guide once more.

The ragged man approached hesitantly, fearing he’d done something wrong to displease the young lord. “My lord, is there something amiss?”

“How much longer?” Brandon asked impatiently. In five minutes, he would need to recall the Holy Sword card to conserve enough energy for its next use. True combat awaited them later—perhaps deep into the night or even at dawn.

Relieved, the guide replied, “We’re almost there, my lord. Just beyond those trees lies the lumber mill. It’s built in a river valley—I—” Before he could finish, a soft cooing call interrupted him. Recognizing the prearranged signal, Brandon looked ahead and saw the lead mercenaries halt, crouching low. Warriors stationed near the edge of the forest turned and signaled back.

Brandon recognized the gesture—enemy sighted.

Yet the Wind Spirit Spiders remained dormant, offering no experience notifications. This meant the enemy numbers likely exceeded what the dragon cavalry system could handle in a single strike, prompting them to follow Brandon’s secondary directive and lie in wait. Startled, Brandon dismounted immediately and strode toward the source of the signal. Seeing their lord descend, Yuta, Frein, and Clenia exchanged glances before following suit, along with Tiger Finch, Cinnabar, and Roma. The latter, predictably, showed no trace of caution, her wide eyes brimming instead with cautious curiosity.

The dense foliage thinned as Brandon reached the forest’s edge.

“My lord,” one of the mercenaries whispered respectfully upon noticing his approach. Glancing back, he caught Clenia, his former captain, nodding approvingly.

Wordlessly, Brandon surveyed the scene. Ahead, the forest sloped downward into a valley carved by the river—the very lumber mill described by the guide. Originally little more than an open clearing dotted with wooden huts and a large sawmill, the site had been transformed into a fortress. Stones and timber formed walls along the riverbank, complete with watchtowers. Behind the fortifications, earthen mounds hinted at underground tunnels. After counting, Brandon estimated the stronghold housed over two hundred cave dwellers.

“This is troublesome,” muttered the red-haired female commander behind him, her brow furrowed. She glanced worriedly at Brandon, hoping he wouldn’t order a reckless frontal assault.

But Brandon’s gaze lingered on the patrols moving along the riverbank. Each patrol was led by a cave dweller with deep red skin—. A direct attack would drive them into the fortress, squandering the element of surprise. Turning to , he asked, “What do you think?”

“Let’s stick to the old ways,” Tiger Finch replied.

“The old ways?”

Brandon raised an eyebrow.

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