Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C66

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“What… is that?”

All heads were tilted upwards in unison, mouths agape and eyes unblinking, as if any momentary lapse would cause them to miss a single detail. Above, countless hung equidistant from one another, gleaming with golden light. Together, they formed an immense diamond shape, like stars inverted upon the heavens. The appeared as cerulean threads woven seamlessly into the blades, becoming one with their radiant unity.

The saw it too. These metallic constructs raised their toward the sky, reflecting the looming threat of the divine array. Without hesitation, they acted in perfect synchronization.

A collective clatter of spears leveling drew everyone’s attention back to the arena below. Thirty IV-Type Cavalry Hunters aimed their weapons at . Six dark muzzles per spear base locked onto the young man, each humming ominously.

“Watch out!” someone shouted from behind the cage bars, though no one could tell whose voice it was amidst the mounting tension.

Before the warning fully registered, the magical conduits within the spears began to whir. Gears ground against one another with sharp clicks, igniting long tongues of flame—thirty fiery streaks erupting along the length of the spears.

“Ptyoona—” (: )

A burst of stray bullets grazed past Metissa, kicking up clouds of dust. The reacted instantly, raising her weapon high. A surge of mana unfurled from her back, spreading outward into vast lattice-like wings of shimmering light.

Stepping before Brandon, she shielded him completely. Every bullet struck the hexagonal crystalline barrier, sparking showers of brilliance that lit half the arena. The cacophony of ringing metal was deafening, forcing onlookers to instinctively cover their ears.

The IV-Type Cavalry Hunters shifted their aim to Metissa, now the focal point of the Wings of the Spirit. But by then, Brandon had already lowered his outstretched hand, pointing directly at the metallic knights.

He stood across the arena like a commander issuing orders, his finger slicing through the air toward the enemy ranks.

From above came a low hum. The holy swords pulsed with light, growing incandescent until each blade's tip coalesced into a blinding pinpoint. Then, without warning, thousands of beams shot downward simultaneously.

It was a sight none present would ever forget.

As the light began to converge in the sky, thoughts raced through Kulan’s mind—and Joka’s, and Koven’s, and Mahler’s—all imagining what horrors might unfold next. Yet even their wildest imaginings fell short of the spectacle that followed.

In an instant, countless rays pierced the earth, searing columns of energy evaporating the very air between them. For a fleeting moment, it seemed the entire arena would be reduced to ash.

Kulan’s mind flashed back to lines from the Azure Poem, spoken by Cruzean ancestors describing war:

“We saw the skies part, painted crimson as blood; steel burned, descending like golden rain obliquely striking the earth, plunging all living things into a sea of fire.”

How fitting.

This veteran had lived through the , witnessing wizards unleash devastation capable of annihilating armies with mere gestures. He thought those days were forever behind him, buried deep in nightmares revisited only sporadically in sleep. Yet here he stood, reliving the terror anew.

Unaware of his own trembling, Kulan’s pupils dilated, his breathing quickened, and his hand instinctively reached for his sword—only to grasp empty air. Panic surged through him as cold sweat drenched his brow. It took every ounce of willpower to remind himself where he was. Still, unease lingered. His gaze darted between the flames consuming the arena and the figure orchestrating it all.

The IV-Type Cavalry Hunters felt the assault more acutely. Their response was simple: cease fire and activate etched onto their bodies. With synchronized movements, the sands beneath their hooves trembled violently, giving rise to towering walls of stone shielding their forms.

Golden beams descended once more, crashing against the rock barriers. Molten magic splashed across the enchanted outer layer, glowing red-hot as the underlying layers smoldered but held firm.

Onlookers gaped in awe at the display. Such raw power exceeded anything they’d imagined possible. Whether it was the apocalyptic rain of light or the resilient stone defenses, both left indelible marks on their souls.

Joka remained frozen, while Mahler stumbled backward until he collided with the far side of the cage, his forehead slick with sweat. Koven clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles whitened, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Brandon—not dazzled by the spectacle but fixated on its source.

“This is…” Yuta gripped the iron bars tightly, the cascade of light piercing her very soul, sending shivers down her spine.

Only now did she realize how insignificant her mercenary band truly was, how laughable their struggles appeared in comparison. Why was this young noble here? She understood that such strength commanded respect—even in this decaying kingdom. If Brandon wished, he could wield far greater power under any banner.

Grudin’s territory? To him, it was nothing more than a jest. What reason could someone of such caliber have for choosing this barren land?

So much so that, he even chose to oppose Earl Jandel, to defy the upper echelons of Eruin society—

Yuta searched desperately for answers but found none. Until memory stirred, recalling a fateful night months ago when Grudin received his due. That evening, which altered countless destinies, when a young man brought forth a child and carried determination in his eyes.

“He is a herald sent by providence, raising a banner for us all. When people gather beneath it, everything changes—”

The words echoed in her mind, reminiscent of descriptions of the Azure Knight centuries prior—and even Eck, the first king.

But the IV-Type Cavalry Hunters’ defenses bought them only moments. As second and third waves of light converged upon a single point, the magical barriers shattered. Stone vaporized instantly, and molten metal poured forth like egg whites spilling from cracked shells—but these “whites” burned gold-red, glowing at hundreds, perhaps thousands of degrees. Wherever the molten metal touched sand, it crystallized into smooth, glassy sheets.

Less than a minute passed before the final beam faded, leaving the arena eerily silent. Smoke curled lazily over crystallized sands, while scorched black ruins of rock fortresses loomed lifelessly along one edge of the battlefield.

No survivors remained. The IV-Type Cavalry Hunters had melted into pools of slag within their self-made tombs.

Even Metissa, who stood amidst the carnage, was stunned. The young elven princess glanced upwards at the rows of holy swords, then turned to Brandon. “Is that it, my lord?” she asked softly.

“What else did you expect?”

Brandon shrugged, mildly annoyed by her tone. Did she think thirty-odd IV-Type Cavalry Hunters weren’t enough? True, without being a , dealing with them would’ve been quite a challenge. But now, the thrill of mastery coursed through him. Only the swords’ relatively low attack power dampened his satisfaction—they barely pierced peak silver-tier defenses despite combining three beams.

Silence reigned over the arena, as if Brandon’s actions had stumped even its creator. The sudden quiet made him wary. He knew the wasn’t beyond adjusting difficulty dynamically. After all, this place existed as a manifestation of imagination built atop material foundations—a test players often described as masochistic self-challenge.

But after a brief pause, a voice resonated in his mind:

"Three challenges completed. Extra reward unlocked."

Brandon blinked, finally recalling the rewards system. He resisted the urge to slap his forehead. In , the rules of the Arena of Destiny were clear: the first challenge was mandatory, the second optional but unrewarding. Only after completing two rounds could players attempt the 'core reward.' This required at least two successful attempts, meaning four total challenges minimum. There was no upper limit.

The core reward here? The Sword of the Earth. Brandon glanced toward the direction of the prize. To claim it, he’d need to endure at least two more trials.

An additional rule applied: starting from the third trial, each success granted extra rewards. These grew progressively better, potentially surpassing the core reward itself—but not until around thirty completions, a pattern discovered only by late-game players. It was a milestone Brandon couldn’t fathom reaching anytime soon.

"Claim your reward?"

Fluorescent text appeared on his retinal display. "Of course," he thought confidently.

"Select interface—" another prompt read.

Brandon frowned, puzzled. Interface selection wasn’t something he’d encountered before. Scanning further, green text revealed two options:

General Interface

Planeswalker Interface

"Huh?" Brandon stared blankly. Never had he heard of alternate reward choices tied to character advancement. While some quests offered multiple rewards, those options were predetermined—not added retroactively based on class.

After a moment’s hesitation, curiosity got the better of him.

"Planeswalker Interface."

The screen shifted again.

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