Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C38

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Chapter 38: Landed Knight, the Young Man, and the Hunter

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By the banks of the , dawn was slowly breaking. Within the forest, Frein and crouched silently beneath a thicket, watching as a motley array of streamed past along the woodland road. This chaos was unsurprising—discipline was a luxury even the kingdom's regular army struggled to maintain.

Mercenaries, however, were a different breed. At least they knew when to keep quiet. Hundreds of them now lay hidden in the dense woods lining the riverbank, holding their breaths as they waited for the last nobleman’s soldier to step into the ambush zone. Crossbows and longbows alike were poised, ready to rain death upon their unsuspecting prey.

"Though these fellows don’t look particularly formidable," Tiger Finch muttered, eyeing the procession outside, "their scouts are seasoned enough—just lacking a bit of real combat experience."

Frein, leader of the , glanced at his companion. The man had no name, only an alias—Tiger Finch—a moniker Frein had never encountered before.

"Only you would dare say that," Frein thought but did not voice aloud.

As a former captain of the , Frein possessed far greater insight than most. He knew full well that ’s scouts were among the best, even by regular army standards. Yet this man—this mercenary captain—and his small band of fighters were something else entirely.

Frein had witnessed firsthand how those effortlessly dispatched a squad of noble cavalry scouts. Each movement flowed seamlessly: leaping onto horses, striking down foes, dismounting corpses—all executed with chilling precision. Those lifeless bodies still littered the forest floor, their cold flesh silent witnesses to the mercenaries’ prowess.

A shiver ran down Frein’s spine. Such audacity and coordination made him question whether these men were truly mere mercenaries. And yet, they were merely retainers under that young lord—not knights, perhaps not even close. Frein couldn’t fathom who truly was, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t ordinary.

Even before or , Frein had recognized the young man’s extraordinary nature. Likewise, he was the first to suspect Brandon’s intentions. Why would a noble like him come to such a forsaken place unless he harbored ambitions?

Frein, though outwardly brash, had keen instincts. He sensed the ambition Brandon carefully concealed, which was why he aligned himself with him so readily. After leaving the Karasu cavalry, Frein had founded this mercenary band—not out of resignation, but determination. He sought a lord worthy of his loyalty, but most nobles either dismissed him or were contemptible figures like .

Then Brandon appeared, offering opportunity on a silver platter.

Their alliance was immediate.

Lost in thought, Frein barely noticed as the noble army trudged deeper into the forest.

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Minty slowed his pace after crossing the Gris River. Though the rebels seemed absent, caution was second nature to him—better safe than sorry. But his prudence stemmed less from military acumen and more from innate timidity.

Behind him, the clatter of hooves signaled the approach of his youngest son. Minty paid little heed, allowing his ragtag force of hired swords and private guards to continue along the wooded path. Their clamor grated on his nerves, though discipline here was fleeting at best.

Still, he took solace in his knights—veterans loyal to him, their sharp eyes scanning the treeline despite their heavy armor. True knights were professional warriors, disciplined and vigilant. Even their squires, trailing behind massive monster mounts bearing colorful banners, appeared more refined than common mercenaries.

But appearances could deceive.

As the column entered the narrow forest trail, Minty instinctively frowned. His thoughts turned to potential trouble ahead when hoofbeats echoed behind him. Only his younger son’s contingent remained back there—a group of fifty men he’d personally assigned, believing it sufficient to occupy the kid. To his surprise, the boy had organized them efficiently.

"What mischief is this?" Minty grumbled, turning to see the familiar face of his son riding up with a few companions.

Karglis reined in his steed, adopting the quintessential knightly posture atop his horse. Pushing aside unruly locks of hair, he exhaled deeply.

"Father."

"What now?"

The youth flashed a shy smile. "How long has it been since our scouts returned?"

Minty stiffened. It was a question he hadn’t considered, and he disliked being reminded of it. "Why do you ask? They’re merely delayed—it happens. My men often wander too far."

Karglis gazed into the forest. "Perhaps," he said lightly.

"Blasted whelp," Minty cursed inwardly. "What are you implying?"

Karglis chuckled awkwardly. "They say is cautious, though perhaps not always..." Catching his father’s darkening expression, he hastily amended, "But surely Father isn’t reckless! Surely you noticed the scouts’ absence yet pressed onward?"

In truth, Karglis wasn’t overly concerned. What threat could rabble pose? He held no regard for Brandon’s mercenaries.

Had he known what lurked nearby, his confidence might have wavered.

"When did I start taking lessons from you?" Minty snapped. "I fought battles before you were born!"

"Yes, Father. Still, let’s halt the march."

Reluctantly, Minty raised his hand, signaling his order. The column ground to a halt.

But silence brought unease. Karglis immediately discerned the anomaly—the unnatural stillness of the forest. Others soon followed suit.

The forest was too quiet.

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Frein frowned. The nobles had stopped just short of the ambush zone. A moment longer, and he could’ve struck preemptively, but now the situation hung precariously.

He inhaled sharply, scrutinizing every detail beyond the treeline. Drawing on lessons learned in Karasu, he resolved to wait. On the battlefield, calmness often revealed truths and secured victory.

This time, however, he erred.

Tiger Finch stared intently, detecting the shift in atmosphere. When the rider rejoined the main host, halting the advance, suspicion flared. Whether or not the enemy suspected them, a decision was needed.

Cave dwellers already crept within a hundred meters of the noble forces, armed with four-armed crossbows gifted by humans. had coveted such weapons, but Grudin hadn’t been foolish enough to arm potential enemies. Now, under Brandon’s banner, they served eagerly.

For humans, a hundred meters was daunting; even iron-ranked warriors required several seconds to traverse it through dense foliage. For , it was ample.

In an instant, Tiger Finch decided.

"Signal the attack," he commanded.

"Wait," Frein protested. "They’re still beyond range."

"We hold overwhelming numbers and strength. The ambush is secondary. If we delay further, they’ll regain control."

"The lord wants the landed knight alive. That’s our priority."

Frein paused, realization dawning.

Indeed, it was.

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