Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C49

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Chapter 49: The Silver Mine, Part 10

To everyone’s surprise, it was who launched the first attack.

Faced with a legendary master swordsman like , he didn’t dare underestimate his opponent. With full force, he unleashed a devastating strike from the .

The longsword descended in a sweeping arc, shattering into fragments mid-air as a crescent-shaped wind slash surged forward along the ground toward Kulan and his soldiers. The air howled sharply as it compressed into a razor-thin blade of wind, while the displaced currents on either side formed destructive vortices. A series of thunderous booms echoed through the tunnel as the shockwaves slammed into the wooden supports holding up the walls.

couldn’t help but glance at the tunnel, fearing it might collapse under the strain.

Yet even sturdy timber couldn’t withstand the force of the vortex. As for the guard unit soldiers—none of whom possessed Iron-rank strength—the wind slash swept across the corridor, cutting down all ten men in an instant. Some were decapitated; others were severed at the waist.

The White Crow Swordsmanship was, after all, an intermediate-level technique. Kulan himself dared not meet the attack head-on. He leapt upward to evade the sharpest edge of the wind slash, using the ceiling to propel himself past the swirling currents. Simultaneously, his longsword thrust directly toward Brandon.

These veterans of the favored the classic , and Kulan was no exception. However, Brandon was intimately familiar with this style. Recognizing the move immediately, he retreated hastily, allowing Cinnabar to step in with her halberd. With a resounding clang, she blocked Kulan’s strike.

“Lower-tier Gold,” Kulan assessed Cinnabar’s strength after their brief exchange. “—Move aside.” His voice thundered as he pressed his sword downward.

Cinnabar’s eyes widened in shock. She stumbled backward, retreating seven full steps before regaining her footing.

But Kulan was also taken aback. He had expected her to retreat much farther, perhaps even to the side of the tunnel. Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated Cinnabar to be a , possessing physical capabilities far surpassing those of ordinary humans.

As soon as the old man landed, he launched another aggressive assault toward Brandon, who had retreated earlier. Kulan’s objective was clear—he intended to break through their blockade.

However, Brandon wasn’t about to let him succeed. Though his sword had shattered, he had come prepared. Swiftly drawing another blade, he readied himself. Kulan now understood why the young man carried so many swords, though the very notion of a Gold-rank swordsman lacking a proper weapon seemed almost laughable.

Snorting derisively, Kulan stepped forward. His longsword descended like a silver cascade, aiming straight for Brandon. The strike itself wasn’t particularly intricate—it was one of the most basic moves from the —but when wielded by this veteran swordsman, it carried the overwhelming weight of a collapsing sky or a mountain crashing down.

“Oh shit.” Brandon suddenly realized he had underestimated his opponent. Whether Conrad or , none of the Gold-rank swordsmen he’d faced before could compare to Kulan. Even , whose absolute strength surpassed Kulan’s, didn’t exert the same oppressive pressure.

Brandon understood why. Those others were mere swordsmen, whereas Kulan was a soldier. This relentless, unstoppable momentum was something he had only encountered once before—in .

Eberton, save for the , had been one of the few who pushed Brandon to his limits despite only possessing Silver-rank strength—though, admittedly, Brandon himself had been weaker back then. Still, against someone else, such an outcome wouldn’t have been guaranteed.

A soldier’s swordplay was bold and direct, imbued with an innate killing intent and overwhelming presence. It felt less like facing a single blade and more like confronting an entire wall—an illusion of inevitability and doom.

Eberton’s swordsmanship had already been exceptional, but Kulan, a veteran of the Ten-Year War, far surpassed him. The moment Kulan swung his sword, even battle-hardened Brandon felt a chill run down his spine.

Nonetheless, the veteran remained old. At the last moment, Brandon gritted his teeth and dodged to the side. Kulan’s sword missed its mark, but the accompanying airflow whipped downward like a whip, leaving a deep gouge over ten meters long in the ground with a deafening boom.

The entire tunnel trembled violently.

Brandon’s scalp tingled. For the first time, he questioned the wisdom of engaging here. The tunnel clearly wasn’t built to withstand their battle.

Yet Kulan seemed unfazed. He was mildly surprised that Brandon had managed to avoid his strike, his gray eyebrows twitching slightly. Surprise aside, however, the old man showed no hesitation, launching another horizontal slash toward Brandon.

He aimed to force Brandon back.

This sequence of attacks unfolded in the blink of an eye. Cinnabar had barely stabilized herself, and though was rushing forward, she was still a step behind. Kulan’s sword was already inches away, and Brandon couldn’t afford to retreat.

But Brandon’s temper flared. Did he think he was some pushover?

Activating his , his speed surged explosively. In an instant, he vanished from Kulan’s line of sight, reappearing just as swiftly to sidestep the sword and thrust his own blade toward Kulan’s throat.

Such incredible speed.

Kulan recognized the skill as belonging to the . Parrying instinctively, both warriors exchanged insights into each other’s techniques—they shared familiarity with Eruin’s Battle Formation Swordsmanship, yet now they sought to determine which was superior.

Kulan felt a flicker of excitement. But when he saw Brandon retreat slightly, angling his sword ever so subtly, his eyes gleamed with realization.

“This isn’t Eruin’s military swordsmanship.”

The old man immediately stepped back, deflecting Metissa’s spear with a reverse swing. However, instead of pressing further, he called out sternly:

“Halt!”

---

As Brandon and his group clashed with Kulan, the mine quaked repeatedly from several minor tremors.

felt grains of sand trickle onto his shoulder. Brushing them off, he glanced up at the ceiling, concern evident in his voice. “What’s going on? Is the tunnel collapsing?”

Turning to his companions, he asked, “Did you guys feel that?”

Meanwhile, and the others were busy extracting the mysterious object embedded in the rock face. Its sharpness forced them to work painstakingly from the sides, gradually revealing the gleaming silver artifact.

As the surrounding rock crumbled away, the object’s outline became clearer. It wasn’t a sword—it resembled a silvery sphere. Yet how could a sphere be so sharp? The mystery baffled them.

Now partially exposed, the sphere invited cautious touches, but nothing unusual occurred, easing their fears somewhat.

At that moment, however, the girl shivered. “I feel cold,” she murmured uneasily, glancing around as if danger lurked in the shadows. “It’s gotten colder.”

Koven’s attention remained fixed on the silver sphere. Its surface shimmered with a faint golden hue, reminiscent of a metal he’d read about in ascetic scholars’ texts—.

His eyes burned with excitement. Compared to Mithril, was practically worthless.

Hearing the girl’s and Joka’s concerns, he shook his head dismissively. “Minor tremors happen occasionally in these tunnels. Nothing to get worked up over—don’t scare yourselves.”

Turning back to the group, he grinned. “Do you realize what this means? We’re rich! We won’t need to leave the mine to live the life we’ve always dreamed of.”

Before he could finish, Mahler interrupted with a startled exclamation.

Everyone turned to look.

Mahler’s pickaxe had dislodged a large chunk of the rock face, revealing a smooth, black layer beneath. They stared in disbelief. They had assumed the vein of cold iron extended at least half a meter deeper—not this strange, polished stone.

“This wasn’t formed naturally,” someone exclaimed. “Look! There’s writing on it!”

Peering closer, they saw rows of faded inscriptions etched into the black surface. Time had rendered them illegible. Koven approached cautiously, running his hand over the cool surface. Pulling his palm back, he found it smeared with black residue.

“It’s rust,” he said. “This thing is made of iron.”

“What is it?” someone asked.

The youths exchanged puzzled glances. Even Koven, knowledgeable as he was, couldn’t answer. Despite his limited understanding, the discovery filled him with both trepidation and exhilaration.

Even in their youthful naivety, they sensed they had uncovered something extraordinary.

“Come on, let’s keep digging. Let’s get it out,” Mahler urged, ever the pragmatist.

“Wait, do you even know what it is?” Joka snapped, anxiety creeping into his voice. “Besides, how are you planning to carry something that big out of here?”

That gave Mahler pause. Turning to Koven, he awaited guidance.

“Let’s focus on getting the silver sphere out first,” Koven decided after inspecting the iron wall without finding anything noteworthy. Practicality took precedence.

No sooner had he spoken than the tunnel shook violently—far more intense than the previous tremors. It felt as though the entire underground was convulsing.

All the youths were thrown to the ground.

“Look! That thing’s glowing!” a voice cried amidst the chaos.

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