Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C88

Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.

Thank you.

Everyone from Otaku Translation

Chapter 88: The Gathering Storm Part 2

Our focus shifts momentarily to Pädarson—

The heart of Jandel Province lies at the border where Anlek and Flada converge. Originally built to guard against incursions from the mountain folk, it has since evolved into a symbol of political authority as the kingdom's grip on the south solidified. While Jandel’s largest fortress now stands in Baraso, Earl Jandel prefers to keep his administrative center within the walls of Pädarson.

Pädarson Castle, with its origins dating back nearly a hundred and thirty years, reflects the resurgence of elven architectural styles during the Year of the Glorious Return. Today, it remains one of the few surviving masterpieces of that era—a testament to the Jandel family’s respect for tradition, a trait that has earned them considerable esteem among highborn circles.

Of course, this reverence for heritage complements Earl Jandel’s reputation as a cunning politician, notorious for playing both sides of any conflict to his advantage.

Take, for instance, Hood, the veteran gatekeeper who has guarded the castle gates for most of his life. Since the November War, he had never seen a rider approach so swiftly—not until today. The thunderous hooves shook the ground, startling him. Surely there was no war raging yet? Had the fighting begun in the north already?

Hood quickly recognized the rider’s attire—it was one of their own. Urgent intelligence.

With practiced efficiency, the old soldier shoved aside the clumsy newcomer manning the winch and took hold of the crank himself. His sinewy hands turned the mechanism, raising the portcullis with a groan of ancient gears. Without hesitation, the knight surged forward, a streak of steel and determination crossing the drawbridge and heading straight for the castle interior.

The message in the rider’s hand passed swiftly through the castle staff, handed off from servant to steward, climbing the ranks without delay. Earl Jandel maintained three levels of urgency for correspondence; this letter bore the highest classification—one that hadn’t been seen in nearly a decade. Such reports were almost invariably military dispatches.

Soon enough, the steward rang a bell connected by a wire to Earl Jandel’s chambers. Most nobles would have relied on magical contraptions, but not this earl. Though capable of rudimentary magic himself, he harbored a deep distrust of such devices, preferring mechanical solutions whenever possible. This quirk was well-known—and often mocked—in noble circles.

When the bell chimed on Earl Jandel’s left, he was in the midst of a conversation with a guest. The earl’s hair was silver-white, though no one could say precisely how old he was. He had fought in the November War—or rather, observed it from afar—but the scars of that conflict lingered vividly in the collective memory of Eruin’s aristocracy.

Today, he wore a monocle and was impeccably dressed: a sleek black marten-fur coat adorned with a silver ruffled collar. His finely groomed beard framed a face that carried an enigmatic smile—one that masked emotions as easily as clouds obscured the moon.

His guest, seated below him, felt the weight of that smile more than anyone else. This visitor was not Cruzean, nor did he consider himself fully Eruinian. Among the people of Eruin, such individuals shared a common label: mountain folk.

The term spoke volumes. Mountain folk were the children of the rugged peaks, descendants of tribes once deemed barbaric. Two centuries ago, they might have been considered uncivilized, but under the rule of the kingdom, many had assimilated into society. Yet one thing remained unchanged—their unyielding pursuit of independence, something the crown found intolerable. As a result, the borders of Jandel teetered perpetually on the brink of unrest, plagued by skirmishes and small-scale wars.

Not all mountain folk shared this rebellious spirit, however. Some accepted the kingdom’s dominion willingly, including the man seated before Earl Jandel. His purpose here was simple: to plead for relief from the crushing taxes imposed on the southern regions devastated by Madara’s invasion. Though it was an open secret that Madara’s forces still occupied parts of the south, the devastation wrought by their presence had crippled agriculture and industry alike. Entire regions lay barren, unable to sustain even basic livelihoods, let alone meet exorbitant levies.

Yet the kingdom showed little mercy. Instead, its grip tightened further.

Earl Jandel listened intently to the envoy’s account of their plight, his expression placid, betraying nothing. To those unfamiliar with his ways, his demeanor might have seemed kindly, almost grandfatherly. But the envoy knew better. Those who misjudged him rarely met pleasant ends.

Just as the envoy prepared to voice his request, the bell at Earl Jandel’s side rang sharply. For the first time that afternoon, the earl’s smile faltered.

He recalled how long it had been since he’d received intelligence marked urgent. Frowning faintly, he rose from his seat—not a trace of impoliteness in his movements—as he inclined his head apologetically toward his guest.

“Forgive me,” he said smoothly. “I must step away briefly.”

“You may go, my lord,” the envoy stammered, rising hastily, careful not to betray even a flicker of dissatisfaction.

Leaving the study, the earl entered an adjacent chamber where his advisor and second-in-command awaited him. Before these trusted subordinates, Earl Jandel shed his usual composure, his features darkening immediately.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“It concerns Tonygel,” the advisor replied.

“The same matter as before?” The earl snatched a silver snuffbox from a nearby servant, inhaling deeply. “Has that fool still not resolved it? It’s been over two weeks!”

His irritation was palpable.

“There’s fresh intelligence, my lord,” the advisor continued. “From Sir Palas.”

“Palas?”

Earl Jandel paused. Though technically a vassal of Grudin, Palas was also one of his oldest retainers—loyal to both him and his house since their days together in the waning battles of the November War. Few men inspired such unwavering trust. Hearing that Palas had sent word, the earl calmed slightly.

“What does he say?”

Without a word, the advisor handed him the parchment.

…

“Brandon?”

At the mention of the name, Princess Grifine’s delicate eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. A fleeting look of surprise flashed across her silvery eyes, vanishing almost instantly. She frowned.

“That young man told you his name was Brandon?”

The half-elven princess raised her lashes, gazing steadily at her guests.

“In situations like these, ordinary people rarely reveal their true identities.”

“But this is no ordinary person,” interjected Earl Baeli for the first time, placing a hand over his chest in a shallow bow. “Someone with such close ties to the Silver Elves cannot be dismissed lightly, Your Highness.”

Grifine laced her slender fingers together, resting her chin atop them. Her thoughts wandered for a moment.

“The Golden Apple, the Silver Elves, dragon magic, Highland Knights…” She murmured softly, then looked up. “You say he possesses strength equivalent to silver rank?”

“It appears so,” Macaro confirmed with a nod.

“Twenty years old,” Grifine murmured, glancing at Aiko. Inside, however, her mind churned furiously. Orville had assured her the youth was barely iron rank. “That makes him comparable to Lord Aiko.”

“He is a prodigy,” Buga added solemnly. “And there’s something intriguing about his swordsmanship…”

“His swordsmanship?” Grifine prompted.

“It bears traces I find familiar… reminiscent of someone I know.”

“Pray continue, Sir Buga.”

“Sword Saint Darus.”

“Sword Saint Darus?” Grifine tilted her head, puzzled. “But didn’t you say earlier, Sir Buga, that the young man employs standard Eruin military techniques? That style isn’t derived from Sword Saint Darus.”

“Sword Saint Darus mastered military techniques as well,” Liwutz interjected. “Surely you recall, Your Highness—he began as a soldier.”

Grifine’s thoughts raced. Modified techniques.

Though her internal musings went unnoticed, Liwutz pressed on. “A silver-ranked swordsman at twenty is exceedingly rare.”

As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward Aiko, who ducked his head modestly.

Grifine sighed inwardly. The recent championship tournament had unveiled a new generation of remarkable talents. Could Marsha still favor Eruin despite the turmoil gripping the realm? If so, why did the path ahead feel so fraught with peril?

Fatigue tugged at her resolve, but she forced herself to refocus. Drawing a steadying breath, she regained her composure.

“Furthermore, Master Liwutz…”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“You’re certain the Golden Apple hasn’t bonded with his soul?”

“I am, Your Highness,” Liwutz affirmed. “I stake my decades-long honor as a court mage on it.”

This revelation stirred something within Grifine. Legend held that the Golden Apple could transform a person’s destiny entirely. If wielded properly, might it awaken her weak-willed brother as a true king for Eruin?

Yet doubt lingered. Why hadn’t the young man claimed the artifact for himself? Unless… unless it was a fake. No, her mentor would not err in such matters.

Perhaps, she reasoned, his connection to the Silver Elves meant he wasn’t bound by conventional desires. Maybe he harbored other plans for the relic. And when she considered the intertwined legends of Highland Knights, dragon magic, and the Silver Elves, her heart quickened involuntarily.

Grifine lifted her gaze, her eyes gleaming. “Can we bring him to our side?”

“To our side?”

The room fell silent. They all wanted to, whether because of his ties to the Silver Elves or his possession of the Golden Apple.

But they had already offended him. How could they mend that rift? While the young man had shown goodwill toward the royal family, such gestures meant little in the grand scheme.

“It will be difficult,” Macaro stated bluntly, ever the pragmatist.

“No,” Grifine countered with a faint smile, finding the situation oddly amusing. “Perhaps not as hard as you think—if he is indeed the same person.”

All eyes widened in astonishment.

The princess picked up a letter with two fingers and extended it to them.

“See for yourselves.”

Please rate or leave a review for this novel at

https://www.novelupdates.com/series/the-amber-sword/

If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.