Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C81

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lowered his hand, as if he had finally come to a decision.

and stood nearby, watching him with heavy hearts. No matter what, Koven was still their companion. For the young men, this kind of separation felt cruel. They had already made up their minds—if Koven couldn’t leave, they would stay behind. What did it matter if none of them could escape?

Mahler’s thoughts turned dark. Perhaps might stay too. The young man’s dilemma was plain to see. Mahler imagined having someone like Brandon—a figure he regarded as larger-than-life—staying here with them. If such a person stayed, wouldn’t it make their own imprisonment seem trivial?

But Koven remained silent. The frail youth paused for a moment, as though steeling himself for what came next.

Then, without warning, he stood up, raised the card in his hand, and hurled it far across the arena. “Sir, catch it!” Koven shouted with all his strength, his eyes locked on Brandon.

Brandon turned, startled by the unexpected action.

“Are you mad?” Mahler gaped at Koven’s audacity.

But instead of fear or regret, a satisfied smile spread across the gaunt boy’s face—a smile brimming with ambition and longing, one that seemed entirely out of place on someone of his humble origins. In that moment, he no longer appeared to be just another miner but rather a ruler surveying his domain.

Brandon stared back, baffled.

Koven straightened his back and smiled faintly. “Sir, during my time as an apprentice, I learned something. I know that in the eyes of great men like yourself, people like us are insignificant…”

He shook his head. “But even we, who seem so small, have the chance to change our fates. Perhaps I cannot do so anymore, but at least now, I realize I may have the power to alter the destiny of someone like you.”

His words left everyone stunned. Was this boy insane?

But Koven wasn’t mad. He began to cough violently, only calming down after the girl beside him helped steady him. Once recovered, he continued. “I don’t know what this card will bring you, but if it brings you luck and helps you escape from here, then my part will live on in your legend—won’t it?”

Brandon froze. What kind of reasoning was this?

For the first time, he looked at the boy with fresh eyes, filled with astonishment. He didn’t know how to judge such thoughts—they were reckless, like a gambler’s desperation, yet strangely admirable.

Admirably carefree.

But why did this boy believe so strongly in him? Confused, Brandon asked, “This card is indeed meaningful to me, but even if I take it, I won’t be able to change the outcome of failure. So… do you regret it now?”

Brandon spoke openly about his predicament, glancing toward Koven.

Yuta and Cinnabar held their breaths, shocked into silence.

“Wait, kid…” Kulan finally reacted, his voice trailing off.

But Koven wasn’t surprised. He smiled. “Even if that’s true, sir, by taking the card, you’ve accepted my goodwill, haven’t you?” He added, “Besides, your words confirm my belief. As for the result, I don’t care.”

“Koven…” Joka and Mahler were dumbfounded, as if seeing their companion in a completely new light. There was a strange mix of alienation and admiration in their hearts. While Brandon had already established himself as an invincible figure in their minds, Koven suddenly seemed to stand on equal footing with him.

It was unimaginable.

After hearing Koven’s response, Brandon fell silent. He believed that anyone with such ideas was either a lunatic or a truly extraordinary individual. But looking at Koven, he didn’t seem like either.

And then—

“What’s your name?” Brandon suddenly asked.

“. My surname was given to me by my master,” the boy replied.

Quvana… Of course! It was him. Brandon’s eyes widened with realization. Historical records showed that spent his youth in the countryside of , but he never imagined it would be in these very mines.

Brandon immediately recalled the game where Koven must have followed this questline, eventually ascending to the pinnacle of power. But what had changed his fate? The cold iron ore? Or something else?

In history, Lord Quvana rose from obscurity to replace Earl Jandel, becoming a duke. His journey from commoner to noble was legendary, yet nowhere in the tales was there mention of him dying in .

Could there still be hope?

Or had Brandon’s arrival altered history?

Brandon’s grip on the hilt of wavered slightly. For the first time, he felt uncertain about the future. Meanwhile, listened to the exchange between Brandon and the boy, sensing something amiss despite her usual obliviousness.

She frowned worriedly. “Brandon, what should I do?”

“Decline the challenge, Roma,” Brandon answered, snapping back to reality. Whatever the future held, he had to face his choice now.

“Decline?”

At that moment, another voice cut in. Though gruff with age, it carried the unmistakable vigor of a dwarf. had finally snapped out of his awe at the sanctum built by the ancestors of the . The last thing he heard was Brandon telling them to abandon the challenge.

To a dwarf, this was nothing short of blasphemy. No dwarf worth his salt would retreat from a challenge—it was cowardice incarnate. And as a descendant of the Silver Bloodline, Odum felt doubly insulted. This place was sacred, a temple housing the spirits of countless ancestors, watching over everything below.

How could he possibly back down?

Odum immediately voiced his strong displeasure. “Even if I’m old, I’ll never retreat here. Besides, this is our territory—the land of the runic dwarves. You impudent whelp.”

The phrase “impudent whelp” resonated deeply with Kulan, who thought it perfectly described Brandon. He found himself liking the stubborn old dwarf a bit more.

“Hey, Odum, why are you here?” Kulan asked, trying to steer the conversation.

Odum’s tirade against Brandon was cut short when he noticed Kulan. His jaw dropped in shock. He recognized the golden-ranked guard captain, but seeing him battered and bruised surprised him immensely. “Captain Kulan, what happened to you?”

“This place of yours isn’t exactly hospitable,” Kulan replied dryly, raising an eyebrow. “By the way, since when did you become a runic dwarf? Weren’t you a gold dwarf?”

“Gold dwarf is merely my homeland. I’m a true runic dwarf,” Odum retorted defensively, offended at the questioning of his lineage.

“Alright, let’s assume you’re the descendant of the Silver Folk. Then why are you here?”

“I…” Odum hesitated, realizing too late that Kulan’s smile—what he mistook for smugness—meant he’d walked right into a trap. Stammering, he tried to fabricate an excuse. How could he admit that he came seeking a legendary treasure, believing himself the rightful heir as the last of the runic dwarves? Earl Jandel would surely ensure his claim ended in death before letting him succeed.

Just as Odum struggled, his gaze landed on The Sword of the Earth in Brandon’s hand.

The old dwarf’s expression shifted instantly.

“Z… Z’ore…” he blurted, catching himself and switching to Cruzean. “King of the Earth… How is this sword here?”

“You recognize it?”

Brandon, who had been ignored for some time, glanced at the dwarf curiously. Few people knew of this relic, even among those claiming descent from the Silver Bloodline.

Though Odum called himself the last of the runic dwarves, Brandon had met many such claimants. Most had forgotten their heritage, retaining only physical traits and little connection to the Silver Folk. These remnants were scattered across Vonder, relics of a bygone era.

And yet, weren’t most of Vonder’s iron-rank citizens descendants of ancient golden and silver races? But the eras of gold and silver had long passed. After centuries of darkness, Vonder bore little resemblance to its mythic past.

“Of course, sir.” Odum looked at Brandon, bowing slightly for the first time. His newfound respect irked Kulan, who thought the old dwarf switched allegiances faster than Orkins, the notorious coward. Yet earlier, Odum’s stubbornness had been undeniable.

Kulan’s gaze instinctively drifted to Brandon’s sword. Perhaps its significance lay there. But while it was undoubtedly a fine blade, was it really that important?

Brandon realized the same thing.

“Is it significant to you?” the young man asked, gesturing to the sword. Despite his question, he had no intention of relinquishing it. Not only would it greatly enhance his strength in the upcoming challenge, but acquiring The Sword of the Earth was the very reason he endured so much hardship.

“It’s less about importance and more about a legend,” Odum admitted, disappointment evident in his tone. He had come for treasure, but the presence of this sword likely meant his hopes were dashed.

The runic dwarves had many vaults, but only one was tied to The Sword of the Earth. Recalling the legend, Odum studied Brandon more closely.

He wasn’t a true runic dwarf; merely a branch of their bloodline scattered across the land. He lacked the extraordinary gifts of the Silver Folk and hadn’t inherited even a fraction of the architectural prowess that once rivaled Buga’s Craftsmen Wizards. Still, he hadn’t lied to Kulan—he considered himself a legitimate heir of their civilization. From birth, fragments of mysterious knowledge had been etched into his mind, passed through generations of blood. That was how Odum knew of the ancestral treasure hidden beneath Shafrend Mine.

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