Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C63

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Chapter 63: The King Beneath the Earth, Part 14

"Ahh!" A girl beside Koven let out a soft cry.

But Cinnabar's eyes flickered with a hint of confusion.

Instead of retreating, the old swordsman advanced. For the first time, he raised his sword to meet ’s massive warhammer head-on. A sharp, ear-piercing clang reverberated through the coliseum, causing everyone to instinctively close their eyes and cover their ears.

The next moment, the caged youths were astonished to see sweep Evarian’s warhammer out of his hand with a single swing of his sword.

Impossible. That was the only thought in everyone’s minds.

Brandon’s heart skipped a beat. He had already suspected that Kulan had been holding back his strength, waiting for this decisive blow. What truly shocked him, however, was the fleeting blue glow he and Metissa noticed on the elder’s right index finger as he delivered the counterattack.

Wind Blast.

Instinctively, Brandon glanced at the identical ring on his own right index finger. Though imitations of the were common throughout Vonder, this coincidence felt oddly significant.

Momentarily distracted, Brandon missed the scene where Kulan swiftly stepped forward, knocking off Evarian’s helmet and driving his blade into the dwarf lord’s throat. By the time he refocused, Evarian’s body had already dissolved into white light. However, the elder was far from unscathed. His reckless strike left him open to a devastating punch to the chest. The spikes on Evarian’s gauntlet not only shattered his ribs and damaged his lungs but also left his chest a bloody mess.

What truly took its toll, though, was the exhaustion. After securing victory, Kulan could barely stand. Leaning on his sword, he gasped for breath for a long while before regaining some composure.

Finally, he pointed toward one of the cages holding the youths, and its gate swung open.

"Come out, Joka. What are you all doing here?" the elder asked between labored breaths.

"Captain Kulan?"

The youths were stunned. They didn’t know how to react, unsure why Kulan had chosen to save them first. Unbeknownst to them, the guard unit leader wasn’t aligned with Brandon.

Kulan coughed, wiping blood from his lips with the back of his hand. He appeared unfazed by his injuries, which would have killed an ordinary person outright.

"Alright, stand aside," he waved dismissively at the youths. "This has nothing to do with you. I’ll ask later."

Joka and Mahler fell silent. Though Kulan had saved them, they had been captured in two separate groups. Koven and several others remained imprisoned. It seemed Kulan had rescued them merely to gather information about the events. Moreover, the aged guard unit captain showed no intention of continuing further challenges.

Everyone understood—Kulan was spent. He couldn’t fight any longer.

Though Mahler and Koven often exchanged barbs, the bonds between these youths ran deep. Abandoning their comrades felt unbearable, yet they were powerless, standing there helplessly.

"You go first, Joka," Koven said calmly, showing no trace of panic.

"Koven?"

"Take as many as you can. The rest, I’ll figure something out."

"How are you going to figure it out?" Joka asked.

"I don’t know," Koven admitted honestly.

Kulan paid no heed to their whispered exchange. He recognized Joka and Mahler simply because they were familiar faces. But to him, they were just a bunch of idle troublemakers from Shafrend Town, unworthy of much attention.

"Mortal, will you continue the challenge?"

A thunderous voice boomed across the arena.

"No."

The elder declined the next challenge. Limping toward the edge of the coliseum, he shouted to Brandon, "Tobbs’ brat, what do you think?"

Brandon watched, shrugging nonchalantly.

Kulan approached, tossing his sword to Brandon. "Here, take this. It’s your turn now. Let me see if the old stubborn fool’s descendant has improved."

He scrutinized Brandon. "Are you his son?" Shaking his head, he continued, "No, not like him. A grandson, perhaps? But judging by your age—barely over twenty—and already reaching … Not bad. You’re quite the match for that old man."

"Like father, like son," Kulan muttered, shaking his head as if lamenting his lack of heirs.

Brandon nearly dropped the sword he had just caught. What did he mean by "already reached gold rank"? He had never known his grandfather was a gold-rank swordsman—or rather, based on Kulan’s words, perhaps even more than that. Brandon knew his rapid ascent from white rank to gold rank in half a year was due to external assistance. But if his grandfather had achieved the same at around the same age, he must have been at least an .

Brandon rubbed his temples. This revelation was hard to process. In his memories of this world, his grandfather’s generation had moved to Braggs from elsewhere. Where they came from, he didn’t know—he’d never asked. All he knew was that his grandfather bought land in Buchi and built a mill outside Braggs. Though of humble origins, their family lived comfortably.

Otherwise, someone like Brandon, at his age, would either be working in the fields or apprenticing somewhere, not living leisurely in Buchi.

Now, reflecting on it, his grandmother didn’t seem like an ordinary girl. She was literate and knowledgeable. And his mother, hailing from Cardarego nobility, had an even more illustrious background.

Honestly, Brandon had wondered why a noblewoman would marry his father—a mere miller. Despite wealth, the gap in lineage and status was usually insurmountable.

Upon reflection, Brandon realized the soul inhabiting his body had never truly investigated his family’s origins.

Suppressing his doubts, he raised an eyebrow. "You knew him?"

"I worked with him for a while, that stubborn old man," Kulan replied. "Back then, I was just a young man like you, fresh from Toge countryside. Claimed knightly heritage, but really just a wild kid. Your grandfather, on the other hand, graduated from the —a proper pedigree. Don’t laugh, but I served under him for a time."

Before Kulan could continue, the booming voice interrupted:

"The next challenger."

Kulan glanced up at the sky above the coliseum.

Brandon set aside his thoughts. In life, one might meet countless people, but only a few leave lasting impressions decades later, often triggered by a small connection. He suspected the relationship between Kulan and his grandfather wasn’t as simple as described. Moreover, glancing at his own ring, the identical pair deepened his suspicions.

Back in Buchi, he had wondered how an imitation of the Ring of the Wind Sovereign ended up in the hands of an ordinary miller. When he inquired about it in Braggs, the lame man’s evasive response only fueled his doubts.

This suspicion had lain dormant until today, reignited by the elder’s words.

Glancing at Kulan, Brandon thought, As long as this old man remains within my reach, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to uncover the truth. It seemed his grandfather—or rather, Brandon’s ancestor—was no ordinary man.

Exchanging a glance with Metissa, Brandon mentally instructed, "Let’s go."

"Yes, my lord," Metissa responded internally.

Side by side, they walked onto the field. As they did, the entire coliseum fell silent.

Two people? The youths were confused, but Yuta and Kulan were dumbfounded. They knew Brandon and Metissa were at least gold-rank, making this blatantly against the rules.

"You two?" Kulan called out urgently.

Brandon didn’t respond.

Metissa, naturally, remained silent, following Brandon to the center of the arena. There, they stood still, patiently waiting.

Kulan quickly deduced the Silver Elf princess’s origins. He recalled that her elemental power during their earlier battle was unmistakably "soul."

In this world, only one type of being wielded soul as an elemental power: Madara’s undead.

Undead.

Realization dawned on the elder. No wonder Metissa had acted so fearlessly during the earthquake—undead felt no fear. But why would an undead follow this young man? Necromancer came to mind, but that clearly didn’t fit.

First, a gold-rank necromancer couldn’t summon an undead of equal strength. Second, Brandon’s eyes lacked the purple or cyan glow indicative of soulfire.

Kulan suddenly sucked in a breath. "." He immediately speculated whether Brandon might be a novice Flame-Blessed Knight of the Temple.

were the strongest warriors of the , numbering just two hundred. Each knight was accompanied by the soul of an ancient hero from the era who once followed King of Flames . According to , Geert had 232 knights, so the Flame-Blessed Knights never exceeded two hundred.

But Kulan shook his head. None of Geert’s knights were Silver Elves.

While the elder puzzled over this, the youths whispered among themselves:

"It’s over," Joka sighed upon seeing Brandon and Metissa enter the arena.

"Can you stop being so pessimistic? It hasn’t even started yet," Mahler snapped, frowning at his companion’s words despite not knowing if Brandon would rescue Koven.

"Do you forget?" Joka retorted. "If you exceed iron rank, you can’t have two people fight together. What does that tell you?"

Mahler froze. It meant Brandon was weak. Their gazes shifted to Koven in his cage. The frail youth showed no emotion, but the girl beside him looked utterly dejected.

"Damn, turns out he’s all talk and no action," Mahler grumbled. "I thought he was stronger."

"Aren’t you the one who kept saying he wasn’t strong, Mahler?" one of the boys whispered.

Predictably, this earned him a fierce glare from the larger youth.

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