Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C51

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The sound of dripping water echoed in the darkness.

’s eyelids twitched, and he slowly regained consciousness in the pitch-black void. Around him, silence reigned, as though the world had returned to its primordial state before creation. He groaned faintly, his mind gradually clearing. Instinctively, he summoned his status panel—a faint green glow materialized in the darkness, offering a sliver of reassurance.

His vitals were intact. No fractures, no internal injuries, just minor abrasions and bruises from the impact. For a moment, he felt an overwhelming wave of relief. The resilience of a gold-rank body was no mere boast—it had saved him once again.

But the oppressive darkness remained unbroken. Even heightened perception could not pierce absolute blackness. He reached for his luminescent gemstone but stopped when he realized the weight of rubble pinning him down. Memories of the cave-in flooded back—this avalanche of earth and stone was what had knocked him unconscious.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel fortunate. A lesser man would have suffocated by now, buried alive beneath the debris. But then again, if he were truly ordinary, he wouldn’t have survived Buchi in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, Brandon flexed his arms outward. With over a hundred units of strength coursing through him, the rocks shifted and tumbled aside. He tried again, this time channeling , and finally broke free of the crushing weight.

Once liberated, Brandon scrambled to his feet, brushing off the dirt and dust. As he wiped his forehead, his hand came away slick with blood.

“Damn it.”

He cursed under his breath, then quickly surveyed his surroundings. To his relief, the tunnel hadn’t completely collapsed. A narrow passage remained open at the far end, though the torches on the walls had long since gone out. The environment was now unrecognizable, leaving him disoriented.

Just as he raised the glowing gemstone to inspect the path ahead, a faint groan sounded behind him.

Brandon froze, recalling the events before the quake. Turning around, he spotted the girl from the lying motionless amidst the rubble. ’s eyes were closed, her pale face almost translucent in the dim light. Her lashes fluttered softly, lending her an unexpected air of fragility and serenity.

But Brandon wasn’t admiring her beauty—he noticed the steady trickle of blood flowing from her forehead. This was troubling. A ’s body was far more resilient than a human’s; superficial wounds like this shouldn’t have been possible.

A grim thought crossed his mind. Slowly, he approached her, crouching beside her still form. Gently, he pressed a hand to her forehead.

It was burning hot.

His heart sank as he pulled his hand away. In the faint glow of the gemstone, he saw faint black veins spreading beneath her skin, creeping along her temples.

This meant one thing: Cinnabar’s consciousness was locked in a fierce battle against the . Every moment of unconsciousness was a trial, a struggle for her very soul.

Brandon considered for a moment, then poured some water onto his palm and retrieved the crystal imbued with the blood of gods. Placing it gently on her forehead, he called out softly:

“Cinnabar?”

“Wake up.”

After two attempts, her eyelids flickered. Slowly, she opened her eyes. At first, her pupils were clouded with a sinister swirl of crimson and black, but they soon cleared, revealing that burned with an intense, defiant fire.

That flame—bright and unyielding—was the essence of her will to survive.

“Cinnabar?”

She blinked groggily, her gaze unfocused. When recognition finally dawned, she looked up at Brandon with a weak, trembling voice. “Commander…. Aiko?”

“It’s me,” Brandon replied, pocketing the crystal.

Her lips quivered. “…My lord?” Then her eyes slid shut, exhaustion overtaking her. She vaguely remembered dreaming—a nightmare where she was buried beneath a blood-red tree. Its roots pierced her body, draining her life force while she lay helpless.

This wasn’t the first time she’d dreamt of such horrors, but tonight’s vision was vivid. Deep down, she feared it was connected to the blood of gods coursing through her veins.

“Are you alright?” Brandon asked, concern etched on his face.

Cinnabar stirred, wincing in pain. She glanced down at her leg and saw a deep gash, blood seeping through her tunic.

Something was wrong. Rocks sharp enough to cut her? That shouldn’t have been possible—not for someone with their level of power, let alone a Divine Messenger. Her body was supposed to be stronger, more resilient, faster to heal.

Unease gnawed at her. Attempting to sit up, she gasped sharply as agony flared through her side. Collapsing back onto the ground, she panted heavily, beads of cold sweat forming on her brow. Yet, strangely, the physical pain seemed distant compared to the panic rising within her.

Where was her strength?

Hadn’t she attained gold-rank power after becoming a Divine Messenger? Hadn’t her lord confirmed it?

But now… she felt nothing. No strength, no magic, no trace of the power she’d grown accustomed to. It was as though she’d reverted to her former self—a frail, powerless girl.

Powerless.

The word echoed in her mind, stripping her bare of confidence and purpose. Memories of disbanding the Gray Wolves surged forth, dragging her back to that abyss of despair. Everything she’d relied on, every shred of meaning in her life, had crumbled overnight.

Unable to breathe—

Until Brandon had pulled her out of that darkness. His acceptance of the Gray Wolves’ remnants had given her a new lease on life.

Now, just as she’d begun to find her footing in this new world, just as she’d started to believe she mattered… her strength had vanished.

She wasn’t naive. Nobles didn’t keep powerless retainers. might be weak, but she was brilliant and resourceful. Cinnabar? She was neither.

Trembling, she whispered, “My lord…”

“What is it?” Brandon prompted, his tone gentle yet probing.

“My lord… I’ve lost my strength.”

Brandon frowned. Blood loss could explain weakness, but this was strange. A Divine Messenger shouldn’t sustain such injuries easily. And yet, here she was, pale and fragile, murmuring those words: My lord, I’ve lost my strength.

Was she asking him to help her stand? If it were Roma, perhaps. But Cinnabar? Never. She was reserved, almost stoic.

Something wasn’t right.

Brandon scrutinized her closely, checking for signs of transformation into a full-fledged Divine Messenger. But none of the telltale symptoms were present. Confusion furrowed his brow.

“Hm?”

Cinnabar, however, was too consumed by turmoil to notice his skepticism. All she could see was Macaro’s cold, resolute face haunting her thoughts. Desperation bubbled to the surface as she repeated, “My lord, I fear I may no longer be able to serve.…”

Brandon blinked, realization dawning. “You’ve lost your gold-rank power?”

Her face went ashen as she nodded slowly.

“I see.” Brandon exhaled.

This time, it was Cinnabar's turn to be stunned.

The girl had imagined Brandon’s reaction countless times, dreading a repeat of that fateful day when everything had been stripped away from her. But she hadn’t expected this—his calm, almost enlightened demeanor.

“It’s nothing,” Brandon said, shaking his head. He knew all too well that what was happening to Cinnabar wasn’t a good sign. The conflict within her—the blood of gods—was escalating. When her power returned, she would ascend fully as a Divine Messenger.

It wouldn’t take long. Days at most, hours at least. When that moment came, her strength would reach new heights—but it would no longer belong to the girl she once was.

Of course, he couldn’t say any of this aloud. Instead, he offered gentle reassurance. “It’s alright. Can’t stand?”

Cinnabar was utterly frozen, nodding mechanically without understanding why.

Brandon extended his hand toward her. “Let me help you up.”

His voice was quiet, even tinged with sympathy for the plight of this fragile young woman. And yet, those simple words seemed to pierce through every last defense she had left, striking directly at her heart.

Tears welled up uncontrollably, spilling down her cheeks in torrents.

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