Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C52

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Chapter 52: The King Beneath the Earth, Part 3

The crystalline tears rolling down ’s cheeks caught Brandon off guard.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

But the girl only stared blankly, letting the tears fall as if she hadn’t heard him at all. After a long moment, she sniffled, pulling herself back from the edge of despair. Realizing her lapse in composure, her cheeks flushed crimson.

“It’s nothing… just… it hurts so much,” she mumbled, turning her head away, her voice reluctant and faint. “My lord…”

Brandon’s heart sank. This excuse is painfully transparent, he thought. She’s not crying because of pain—she’s trying to mask the panic clawing at her.

He wasn’t a fool. He had an inkling of what weighed on her mind. Though he couldn’t claim to understand how she truly felt about the Gray Wolves, , or even himself, one thing was clear: her outward silence masked a deep avoidance of the past.

It wasn’t acceptance—it was entrapment. She clung to memories like a lifeline, afraid to face the world beyond them. If she let go, she feared being swallowed by isolation.

Brandon didn’t know the full extent of what Cinnabar had endured, but he knew Macaro’s actions had left scars deeper than any wound.

“Can you stand?” he asked, brushing aside those thoughts.

Cinnabar nodded weakly, but when she tried to rise—even with Brandon’s hand steadying her—the sharp pain forced a whimper from her lips, and she collapsed to her knees.

Watching her fight through the tears, her jaw clenched in determination, Brandon felt a pang of sympathy. He’d seen women cry before, but unlike the spoiled daughters of nobles who dissolved into sobs at the slightest provocation, Cinnabar’s resilience struck a chord within him.

And, well, he fancied himself something of a man.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said gently. “I’ll carry you.”

They couldn’t afford to linger here. Though they had no idea what had become of Kulan and Metissa on the other side of the collapse, if that old man reached the surface before them, their mission would be a failure. Time was of the essence.

“But… that’s… impossible!” Cinnabar stammered, stunned.

What kind of lord would do such a thing? Perhaps Macaro might have, but she now understood that his actions were calculated—to win loyalty. Just as he had ignored her entirely in the past, no matter how hard she worked, she never received the same recognition as .

She didn’t begrudge Aiko, but the disappointment lingered.

A leader needed followers worthy of investment, and Cinnabar knew she had little value in the eyes of her former commander. Even , with his silver-rank strength, likely outranked her in Macaro’s esteem. Thinking of the white-haired youth Brandon had killed, Cinnabar felt a surge of revulsion.

But why was this young lord doing this for her?

She was powerless now, insignificant among the remnants of the Gray Wolves. Even held more sway. If Brandon sought her body, she doubted he found her appealing compared to , the woman proclaimed as his betrothed.

And yet…

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head firmly. “You go ahead, my lord. Once you’ve secured the mine, come back for me.”

She hesitated, her voice trembling. “I’m a mercenary—I won’t be afraid alone. Just… leave me a light crystal, and I’ll manage.”

Brandon stared at her, torn between amusement and exasperation. Her fear was written plainly across her face, yet she tried to play brave. Finding the way out was uncertain enough; even if luck favored them, returning could take hours. Leaving her defenseless here wasn’t just risky—it was reckless. Moreover, the longer he stayed away, the greater the chance Cinnabar might succumb to the blood of the gods.

Still, he softened his tone. “You’ve lost too much blood. Staying here is dangerous.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted, shaking her head again. “This is ’s will. Besides, dragging me along would only slow you down.”

Her voice wavered. “Thank you, my lord… for not abandoning me. That’s enough.”

She took a shaky breath, forcing a faint smile. “So… I shouldn’t be selfish, right?”

Brandon froze at her words.

He gazed into her amber eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, yet dulled by resignation. And in that moment, he understood.

In a peaceful age of , perhaps a girl like Cinnabar wouldn’t have faced such a cruel fate. But when had Vonder ever known peace?

The had crafted this world—a realm of ceaseless conflict and turmoil—to serve as the stage for grand epics. Yet what were these epics but tales of fire consuming the earth, bones piling high, rivers running red with blood?

On the fringes of civilization, war grew ever more frequent. Humanity, driven by survival, became both more collective and more pragmatic. The cost? Individual lives meant less and less.

Warmth and compassion faded, replaced by cold efficiency. In , incompetent nobles ruled, sparking rebellion—but not to overthrow the system. At its core, the unrest stemmed from widespread doubt about rulers’ legitimacy. Bloodlines mattered little; power was the sole measure of worth.

The strong thrived; the weak perished.

As a modern man, Brandon didn’t oppose the logic of strength. But he rejected the callous indifference it bred.

Stories like Cinnabar’s weren’t rare here. There were countless others—like Funiya. Had Brandon not intervened, the fate of the girl from the would have mirrored Cinnabar’s own.

And worse fates awaited others still.

He couldn’t change the world’s nature—that was a battle against the very fabric of this reality. But he could try to save one kingdom. Whether his efforts harmed others—from , , or even the oppressed citizens of this land—he didn’t dwell on it.

His selfish wish was simple: to rewrite history, sparing those he cared for from tragedy. , , and countless others who had sacrificed everything deserved better.

When tragedies like Cinnabar’s unfolded before him, he refused to turn away.

“You’re overthinking,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Do you really think I’m that useless?”

“But…” Cinnabar hesitated.

“A good commander doesn’t abandon any of his soldiers,” Brandon declared, recalling the words his senior had once told him.

Yet as he spoke, he realized he couldn’t muster the gravitas. Instead, he cracked a lame joke: “Don’t worry—I won’t take advantage of you.”

Internally, he cringed, convinced he’d embarrassed every who ever lived.

Cinnabar fared no better. Her face flared scarlet as she shook her head vigorously. “Of course not! It’s just…”

“No ‘justs,’” Brandon interrupted, exasperated. Without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her startled yelp.

Cinnabar froze, utterly stunned.

He… he just said he wouldn’t take advantage of me! her thoughts scrambled. But like an ostrich, she buried her face against his chest, her heart pounding wildly. Words failed her.

Is this what they call a princess carry?

Once, she’d dreamed of Aiko holding her this way, carrying her toward the sacred temple. But Yura’s arrival had turned that dream into a distant fantasy.

Yet here she was, cradled in someone else’s arms—not Aiko’s, surrounded by the eerie darkness of the mine shaft.

Still, nestled against Brandon’s chest, despite her racing heart, she felt an inexplicable sense of calm.

Lord Brandon is different from most people I’ve known, she thought. Different from Aiko. Being near him feels strangely comforting, as though and Lady Roma must feel the same way.

For the first time, she understood why so many had gathered around him. It wasn’t just his abilities—Vonder had no shortage of capable individuals.

But today, she saw the truth.

She let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at her lips. To follow such a lord… perhaps Marsha hasn’t forsaken me after all.

Still, the prospect of losing her powers cast a shadow over her thoughts. She wasn’t a prodigy; regaining her strength wouldn’t be easy.

Shaking her head, she pushed the worry aside. One day at a time. Brandon’s steady presence had already eased her fears.

But as she leaned into his embrace, she didn’t realize her time might be measured in mere days—or hours.

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