Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C40

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Chapter 40: The Silver Mine, Part 1

At the heart of stood an inn called . Its owner was an unremarkable middle-aged man, but the ale brewed here was exceptional, drawing a loyal clientele. Most patrons were local miners who worked six days a week and spent their rest day in town unwinding. These men descended from the mines reeking of sweat, their loud voices filling the air as they unabashedly appraised the serving women’s figures. A wink or smile from one of the barmaids inevitably sparked raucous cheers.

In a corner of the tavern, however, a group of young men sat drinking quietly, casting sidelong glances at the rowdy crowd while discussing their own plans. Like their fathers, they worked in the mines—but youth's restless spirit gnawed at them. They dreamed of leaving this small town to seek adventure beyond its borders. Yet, for all their talk, none had ventured farther than the nearby forest, relying on scraps of hearsay from passing adventurers to imagine the wider world.

As they finalized their plans, a derisive snort interrupted their conversation. Startled, they turned to see an elderly dwarf seated nearby. His prominent nose, long braided beard adorned with iron rings, and muscular limbs marked him as a classic figure from fantasy tales. But his skin bore a pale gray hue rather than the ruddy complexion typical of .

The youths exchanged uneasy glances. This was , a cantankerous overseer employed by the mine's administrator. Though skilled, he was infamous for his sour temper and disdain for others. Often seen drinking alone—a rarity among dwarves—he grew even more irritable when intoxicated. Worse still, his arrogance alienated everyone, including the scribes he openly mocked. Yet no one dared report him; it was said he'd curse even the king if provoked.

One of the quicker-witted youths stammered, "Overman Odum, we didn’t realize you were here—"

Odum eyed them dismissively. "Am I bothering you?"

"Not at all!" the youth replied hastily. "We were just about to invite you for a drink..."

Odum snorted. "I care little for your nonsense. But heed my warning, lads: the outside world isn't so forgiving. Don't come back bloody and broken."

Relieved, the young men mumbled thanks, paid their tab, and fled through the front door. Once outside, they muttered curses under their breath. Thankfully, Odum wasn’t well-liked in town; otherwise, news of their scheming might have reached their parents—and punishment would be inevitable.

Odum watched them leave, shaking his head. He cared nothing for their ambitions, dismissing them as youthful folly. Turning back to his solitary drink, he paused mid-sip as seven newcomers entered the inn: three men and four women.

When Brandon pushed open the door, every eye in the room turned toward the group.

, a pure-blooded , exuded ethereal beauty. Though her frame retained a girlish delicacy, her presence commanded attention. and were no less striking. Roma carried an enigmatic charm accentuated by her ceaselessly roving dark eyes, while Cinnabar's fiery amber gaze radiated danger. Her , disassembled into three parts and strapped to her back, only added to her intimidating aura. Long crimson ponytail trailing behind her, she surveyed the room with wary scrutiny.

Yet it was , the mercenary captain, whose entrance elicited whistles and lewd stares. Tall and curvaceous, she drew admiring glances, particularly from drunken miners. Unfazed, she responded with a cold humph.

Brandon couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Scenes like this were staples of fantastical tales—the bustling inn where adventurers plotted schemes amidst raucous laughter and flirtation. A bard would have completed the picture.

Lost in thought, Brandon barely noticed the innkeeper approach. The man, though unremarkable, quickly discerned the hierarchy within the group. While others ogled the women, his keen gaze focused on subtle details: Brandon’s modern confidence, reminiscent of well-bred nobility, set him apart. Ignoring the angel attendants trailing silently behind, the innkeeper thought to himself, "This young man is likely a nobleman's son." Forcing a polite smile onto his face, he adopted a tone of deference. "How may I be of service, sir?"

Brandon glanced at the chalkboard listing available drinks and pointed to the most expensive option—a mere gesture to maintain appearances. He cared little for alcohol itself.

Meanwhile, the ladies opted for sweet-and-tart fruit wine. Metissa, requiring neither food nor drink, stood quietly at the back. Noticing this, Cinnabar leaned over and whispered, "You don’t eat or drink?"

Metissa blinked, then shook her head. "Not necessary."

"Still, try something," Cinnabar suggested, flicking her ponytail. "It’d look odd not ordering anything."

"Nonsense," Roma interjected earnestly. "A true lady wouldn’t indulge in such uncouth surroundings."

Cinnabar rolled her eyes as Roma cradled her own glass of fruit wine. "And you’re drinking because...?"

"I’m not a lady," Roma declared matter-of-factly.

Metissa stifled laughter at their exchange.

The innkeeper, observing the dynamics, confirmed his suspicions: the two people behind were servants, not companions. With the shrewdness of a seasoned merchant, he inquired, "Traveling from afar, I presume?"

Cinnabar stiffened, her brows knitting together.

Brandon saw no harm in honesty. Such men often knew everyone in town, and hiding their origins could raise suspicion. Nodding, he replied casually, "Just trying our luck."

The innkeeper surmised they were likely noble offspring traveling for leisure—a common enough sight among .

"Venturing into the forest? Might I suggest a guide?" he offered.

"How thoughtful," Brandon thought, appreciating the effect of his pricey drink. Taverns like this thrived on gossip, though much of it was unreliable. Still, the cost was included in the price of the ale.

He declined politely. "No need for a guide, but tell me—what lies ahead in the forest?"

"The outskirts are safe," the innkeeper explained, "but deeper in, beasts and monsters lurk. To the north lies the mining district. Stray too close, and you risk encountering patrols. If caught, they won’t hesitate to arrest suspicious characters."

He hastened to add, "Though technically part of , the mines belong to ."

Brandon nodded noncommittally. Taking another sip of the potent brew, he suppressed a cough. Clearly, pretending to enjoy alcohol wasn’t wise. Deciding against further pretense, he steered the conversation subtly. "So, avoiding trouble means steering clear of the north?"

"Precisely," the innkeeper affirmed. "Stay south, and you’ll encounter no issues."

"But without heading north, how does one find the fabled ?" Brandon feigned concern.

The innkeeper’s expression shifted knowingly. So that was their goal.

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