Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C87

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Chapter 87: The Gathering Storm Part 1

Brandon was indeed preparing to play a high-stakes game.

After the series of encounters at the Shafrend Mines, silver flowed into the veins of his territory like fresh blood, revitalizing it. Simultaneously, the spoils from the sanctum of the runic dwarves had far exceeded anyone’s expectations. Brandon quickly realized he now possessed the means to tackle a greater challenge.

But it wasn’t just a challenge—it was also an opportunity. Risk and reward always walked hand in hand, after all. And so, Brandon cast his gaze further north, toward the lands where the nobility held sway. He intended to make a statement, one that would echo across the ancient kingdom—a declaration of a rising power.

As part of this grand design, this newfound force must prove itself swiftly to the old guard. Whether as a warning to enemies or as a pledge of confidence to potential allies, the message needed to be clear. Brandon figured his letter should have already reached Princess Grifine by now.

For better or worse—and with this thought lingering in his mind—the news of Minty’s crushing defeat reached Earl Jandel first. Naturally, it also landed on the polished mahogany desk of the Royal Cavalry Academy, before the half-elven princess herself.

Grifine sat poised on her crimson velvet chair, her delicate yet thick lashes lowered slightly as she studied the two documents before her. One was a letter; the other, a parchment scrawled with intelligence. Today, she wore a tailored military uniform, its silver hue accentuating her lithe, feminine figure while lending her an air of disciplined authority. Beneath the softness of her youth lay the unyielding resolve of a soldier.

Grifine did not speak. Her pale silver eyes blinked only occasionally as she remained lost in thought. After a long moment, she lightly tapped her fingers against the desk, breaking the trance-like focus that had gripped her. She raised her head.

Neither Nimuesis nor Orville were present. Instead, another group stood before her. Of them, she recognized only one. The half-elf princess inclined her head respectfully toward the elder.

“Master.”

The man in the scholar’s robes was none other than Liwutz, the royal courtmaster. Gone was the arrogance he displayed when facing Brandon; here, he bowed deeply, his demeanor deferential.

This princess was his most accomplished pupil, but she was also the hope of the Crown’s resurgence. Though he commanded absolute authority in matters of knowledge, in this moment, he understood his place as a loyal subject.

“Your Highness.”

Grifine offered a faint smile, her gaze sweeping over the others. She had never met these individuals personally, but their identities were unmistakable.

The youngest among them, a man brimming with energy yet visibly uneasy—this was Aiko. Beside him stood a weathered yet dignified middle-aged man, exuding the unmistakable aura of nobility. Grifine vaguely recalled meeting him as a child. That must be Macaro.

Macaro the Sly Fox.

Once the leading figure of the royalist faction.

Next to him stood a man with long, calloused hands, clearly honed by years of swordplay. Grifine smiled faintly. This was Buga, the current bearer of the Cross Swordsman legacy.

And the last figure—there could be no doubt—was the infamous Violet Earl, Baeli. Grifine had never met him, but his reputation preceded him.

Her gaze lingered on each of them in turn. Through fragments gleaned from past reports and her keen observational skills, she identified her guests without needing Liwutz to introduce them.

The son of the Duke of Lantonilan, heir to the Cross Swordsman tradition, the former leader of the royalists, and the cunning fox of this generation, Baeli the Violet Earl.

Each of these individuals was a name to be reckoned with.

Especially the youngest, Aiko.

Though Lantonilan was but a small duchy on the border between Ampersal and Anlek, in the current political climate, the support of the Duke Rhun was crucial for Grifine’s cause. Fortunately, the longstanding enmity between the Dukes of Lantonilan and Anlek ensured they would not unite against her.

Grifine’s gaze rested a moment longer on Aiko.

The unexpected attention caused the young man to flush. He was still adjusting to his abrupt rise from obscurity as a mere mercenary to the ranks of nobility. Any man thrust into such a position might feel disoriented. And then there was the added surprise of discovering that the fabled princess was breathtakingly beautiful.

As a half-elf, Grifine bore the ethereal beauty often described as the crown jewel of Eruin. Her presence carried the cool aloofness of the elves, tempered by the warmth and approachability of humanity. These contrasting qualities blended seamlessly, making it easy for anyone meeting her for the first time to feel an immediate pull.

Though still young, she already possessed the makings of a queen who could captivate nations.

“Lord Aiko,” the half-elf began, her voice calm and measured, “and Lord Baeli, Lord Macaro, Sir Buga, I am pleased you have come to lend your support to the Colcova Crown at this critical juncture.”

Her recognition of each individual startled them, though Macaro seemed particularly delighted. To him, this confirmed the rumors of the princess’s brilliance. With such a successor, the prospects for the Crown’s revival no longer seemed so bleak.

The old fox had always believed in the power of people—both their hearts and their capabilities. The Crown Prince’s impulsiveness had never sat well with him, but Grifine inspired confidence.

For a fleeting moment, however, Macaro’s thoughts drifted to another young man. He shook his head sharply, banishing the memory.

Baeli, meanwhile, remained impassive. His sharp eyes were fixed on the two documents resting on the princess’s desk. He cared little for her polite pleasantries or her ability to identify them—such a feat was hardly surprising given her reputation. What intrigued him was the intensity with which she had studied those reports. Someone like her rarely let emotions show, yet when they had entered, she had been leaning on her hand, seemingly lost in thought, even smiling faintly.

Baeli would wager she hadn’t even realized she was smiling.

Interesting.

He mused silently to himself. But he did not speak. Eccentric as his methods might be, he was no fool. Now was not his time to intervene. He glanced at Liwutz, who had already begun speaking.

“Your Highness, please do not speak so humbly. I have already arrived later than anticipated,” Liwutz said, bowing his head. “There were delays along the way.” He looked up. “If I may ask, how fares the situation in the north?”

“Overcast.”

Grifine turned briefly to glance out the window, choosing a word both simple and apt to describe the movements of the northern dukes’ coalition.

“Their envoys have entered Ampersal. It seems they are close to swaying those greedy merchants.”

“No countermeasures planned?” Macaro interjected.

All eyes turned to him. Years of experience beyond the court had changed the once-sly fox. He had grown pragmatic, less bound by noble conventions. Normally, it would not yet be his place to speak.

But Grifine’s silver eyes brightened slightly. Unlike the others, she appreciated such initiative.

“I have entrusted Princess Margadal with the task,” the half-elf replied. “Her connections are extensive, and her ties to the Temple run deep. Perhaps she can turn the tide.”

“You mean the Nun Princess?” Liwutz ventured cautiously.

Grifine nodded.

“Will she be protected?” Macaro pressed immediately. “At this stage of the conflict, every move is transparent. The moment she leaves here, she will likely face assassination attempts.”

Grifine’s admiration for his foresight grew. She smiled faintly.

“Of course. Nimuesis will lead the escort personally.”

Buga’s eyebrows rose. Nimuesis, daughter of Lady Miller and kin to Duke Rhun, was known for her prodigious skill with the blade—even as a child, her talent had been extraordinary. Surely, by now, she had matured into a formidable warrior.

Macaro, too, knew of her. Hearing her name brought him some relief, though he added, “Lady Miller’s daughter is undoubtedly skilled, but she is still a student. Your Highness, I believe a more seasoned leader is necessary.”

Grifine nodded. “Which is why I have delayed their departure until your arrival.”

Macaro paused, exchanging glances with Buga. Both men were impressed by the princess’s meticulous planning. Buga stepped forward, placing a hand on his sword. “You have my sword, Your Highness.”

Grifine inclined her head in acknowledgment.

A silence settled over the room. Though the Duke of Rhun and the Colcova Crown had private agreements to discuss, now was not the time.

Yet, aside from that pressing matter, there seemed little else to talk about. The pressure from the north loomed ever closer. Despite outward composure, tension simmered beneath the surface, leaving little room for lighthearted conversation.

It was Grifine who broke the mood. Smiling warmly at her guests, she said, “Please, take your seats. Let us speak of lighter matters. Lately, I have been inundated with grim tidings.”

She paused, her gaze settling on Aiko. “Tell me of your journey here. If memory serves, you were once a mercenary, yes? Such an experience is rare and commendable among our nobility.” She glanced at Macaro, subtly including him in the praise.

“And Master Liwutz,” she continued, her tone light, “you are always punctual. Whatever detained you must have been significant. Will you share?”

Aiko, still lost in thought, struggled to form a coherent response. It fell to Liwutz to answer first.

“It is true, Your Highness. We encountered… complications.”

“Complications involving the Golden Apple.”

The Golden Apple.

Grifine felt her heart skip a beat. Her attention sharpened instantly. Though her subtle reaction escaped most, Baeli noticed it.

The eccentric noble raised an eyebrow.

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