Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C6

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Chapter 6: The Letter, Part 6

"By expansion, I mean venturing into the untamed wilds. With the strength of the entire nation, we will carve new frontiers from the wilderness."

Brandon spoke each word deliberately before setting down his work and raising his gaze to meet Andrew’s conflicted expression. The druid elder inhaled sharply but remained skeptical.

"Yet the laws of nature are cyclical," Andrew countered. "As a lord, you can simplify matters for your domain. But like any force, resistance arises against oppression. Though pushing this agenda might benefit the order-bound world, others may not share your vision." He paused, rephrasing his argument. "Expanding civilization’s borders is perilous and arduous, especially now. Are you truly prepared to face widespread opposition?"

"In truth, it’s not so difficult," Brandon replied. Privately, he mused that this was akin to how gold and silver drove the Portuguese and Spanish to sail across uncharted seas—he was merely retracing the path of Prince Henry the Navigator. Moreover, few besides him understood the vast value hidden within the wilds, save perhaps the Temple. But while the Temple weighed risks and rewards, he had concrete examples at hand.

"The returns from the wilds will fuel Eruin’s progress. People are forgetful; when they hold gold in their hands, only a few notice the accompanying risks. And once most see their lives improve, they’ll never want to return to the past."

"You’re certain the investment will yield returns? Losses are common," Andrew argued. "A single setback at the outset could devastate your entire plan."

Brandon inwardly chuckled. Andrew was already considering the matter from his perspective—proof that he had swayed them. This proposition was inherently alluring to druids, almost irresistible. "That’s why I need you, along with my experience," Brandon explained. "With careful planning and a bit of luck, every endeavor carries risk. Individual pioneers often fail because they lack strong backing—support from a territory, a lord, or even an entire kingdom."

Privately, Brandon knew that some great lords occasionally undertook spontaneous ventures into the wilds. Yet surrounded by enemies, none dared invest heavily in unknown lands. Such efforts were often one-time gambles, unrecoverable losses. Over time, only true gamblers remained interested.

But this disinterest stemmed from ignorance. He, however, held an advantage: he knew his investments would pay off. That was the power of experience.

Andrew fell silent, then nodded. "Very well, Lord Brandon, you’ve convinced me. If you truly achieve this, what do you need from us?"

"Not what I need from you," Brandon corrected. "Rather, protect your own gains. You’ll understand in time. Ambition isn’t unique to me—other lords’ greed remains unseen by you."

The druid elder nodded. "I see. I must say, Lord Brandon, you are the finest persuader I’ve ever encountered."

Brandon smiled faintly and picked up the two letters from the desk. "One last favor."

"Speak," Andrew prompted, his earlier skepticism replaced by rising excitement. If Brandon succeeded, the transformation of the ordered world would be monumental. If Eck the Merciful was the greatest pioneer after the Year of Chaos, this young man might shape the next epoch entirely—if he succeeded.

"Deliver these two letters for me."

"Letters? To whom?" Andrew asked.

"To the east lies Gris Port, reachable via the forest. Some of my subordinates are stationed there. Deliver this letter to Copper Dragon Retto. His title ensures you won’t mistake him."

Andrew accepted the letter, glanced at it briefly, and asked, "Anything else?"

Brandon shook his head. "Nothing more. The rest is left to time. I have other matters to attend to, so I won’t see you off. Best wishes for success."

Andrew nodded deeply. "Farewell, then." With a bow to the young lord, he and his companions exited. Fleur, who had watched silently, turned to Brandon as the door closed.

"My lord, you entrusted them with both letters?" Though she trusted Brandon’s meticulousness, handing over such critical matters to strangers unsettled her.

She couldn’t fathom why Brandon placed such trust in these men—entrusting Funiya and vital affairs to them. Even if they claimed to be druids, what if they were impostors?

But Brandon couldn’t explain his familiarity with the Amber Sword druids without revealing too much. His knowledge stemmed from wizardly studies—or so he claimed. Yet admitting he recognized them would raise questions. After all, their paths crossed over a decade later, during the post-Holy Stone Conclave when he built rapport with the Witherwood Council for Valhalla’s ruins and quests. Back then, Grudin was long gone, and Eruin stood at its zenith—a tale no sane person would believe today.

After a moment’s thought, he replied, "Copper Dragon Retto has maintained contact with Freya. Delivering a letter to Princess Grifine shouldn’t pose much difficulty."

The elven maiden glared at him. "You know that’s not what I meant, my lord."

Brandon chuckled.

"I’m aware, elf-maiden," he said. "But admit it—you lack my understanding of druids. Trust me; their respect for Nyia is profound. Delivering a letter is trivial to them, and I suspect Andrew views this as a test. What I proposed aligns with their values, and unless you view it through their lens, you won’t grasp how seriously they take this."

"But—"

"No buts," Brandon interjected, crafting an excuse. "Besides, I have contingency plans."

"Contingency plans?" Fleur eyed him suspiciously, thinking she hadn’t heard of any. Both letters Andrew took were copied by Antietta—she doubted Brandon prepared more. Over time, she’d grown to understand him better.

"Of course," Brandon glanced at the impassive elf beside him. A sudden idea struck him. "How’s the inventory coming along?"

Fleur lowered her gaze, exasperation flickering in her eyes. Interrupting conversations with girls required audacity, especially since she was technically his summoned being. Still, professionalism prevailed. She opened her ledger and reported flatly, "We’ve inventoried the granaries—roughly fifty thousand bushels of grain, enough to sustain the city for three to four months. However, material warehouses are nearly depleted. Stone, iron, and timber stocks fall far below records, and their whereabouts remain unclear—"

Shortages were expected given Grudin’s incompetence. It was miraculous Cold Fir City hadn’t devolved into a Black Forest. Credit belonged to the forest druids, though Grudin likely remained unaware of their existence.

Brandon sighed. "Stone and timber shortages must be addressed. Cold Fir City isn’t secure—the damaged walls from the battle two nights ago require immediate repair and reinforcement." He rubbed his temples, frustrated by the lack of quantifiable resources compared to the convenient "Lord Mode" in games. For instance, reinforcing a wall segment required two units of stone and wood—but how much did two units equate to in reality? Consulting Antietta or others wouldn’t help either—her extensive knowledge didn’t extend to specifics like stonemasonry or logistics management.

The crux was that Cold Fir City lacked skilled masons and officials alike. Captured captains, mostly mercenaries recruited by Grudin, refused cooperation and lacked expertise. In fact, they knew less than Tiger Finch, who wasn’t much better than Antietta.

Thinking about this gave Brandon a headache.

He shook his head. "In short, do we have enough materials to repair the walls?"

Fleur glanced at him, internally blaming his reckless display of splitting the southern gate in half. Aloud, she stated flatly, "In simple terms, my lord, we have virtually nothing left."

"What?"

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