Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C92

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Chapter 92: Brandon's Chief Architect

The earl’s command drew a soft snort from the youth lounging on the sofa. Reluctantly, he had to admit it—borrowing a knife to kill, this was a masterstroke.

But the aide was visibly startled, quickly lowering his head. No one understood the implications of this order better than he did. Madara’s invasion had plunged the mountain folk into unprecedented hardship. For these tribes nestled in the hills, tax exemptions or saving even a portion of their grain stores would be nothing short of life-saving measures.

Thus, they would not—and could not—refuse.

As for war, wasn’t it second nature to these barbarians?

The aide quickly calculated in his mind. This time, excluding both Madara’s forces and Sir Palas’s army, the mountain folk alone might field over ten thousand soldiers.

This figure unsettled him. It had been years—perhaps a decade or two—since Earl Jandel last demonstrated such resolve. Since the last upheaval in the kingdom, an entire generation had seemingly grown up overnight.

But that didn’t mean the old man had lost his former audacity.

This long-serving aide of Earl Jandel stole a glance at his lord and the young man on the couch. The elder earl’s temples were streaked with gray, but his gaze remained sharp and piercing.

All three present understood that once these two letters were sent, the march toward war would become unstoppable. Yet the situation was curiously ironic. While all eyes were fixed on the brewing conflict in the north, the opening act of this civil war had quietly begun in the southernmost, most forgotten corner of the ancient kingdom.

In the remote, seemingly forsaken region of Tonygel.

…

The shadow of war crept closer—

But at this moment, Brandon had little awareness of the approaching army from Jandel.

He might have sensed that the course of history had shifted. The news of Sir Minty’s crushing defeat, once disseminated, effectively placed him on the grand roulette wheel of Eruin’s fate-deciding civil war.

As for the outcome, it depended on how each player performed next.

Yet Brandon’s thoughts were not consumed by this question. At this very moment, he sat in a carriage en route from Shafrend to Cold Fir City. The vehicle jolted along the mountain roads, but the young man’s gaze remained fixed on the azure-blue sky beyond the window, lost in thought.

His departure from Shafrend’s silver mines, boarding the carriage to Cold Fir Castle in the dead of night, wasn’t prompted by knowledge of Earl Jandel’s impending forces or a definitive reply from Princess Grifine.

It was for another reason entirely.

Brandon finally turned his gaze from the shifting landscape outside the window and focused on the interior of the carriage. His eyes landed on a familiar old dwarf seated across from him—and then locked onto the dwarf’s wide, unblinking stare.

"I’d like to know what this is about." The young man finally broke the silence.

"Hmm…?" The old dwarf blinked, momentarily confused as he stuffed another sweet into his mouth. "What do you mean, ‘about’?"

Since boarding, the old dwarf had already devoured half the pastries Fleur had prepared for her lord, stashed away in the carriage’s hidden compartment—and now he was working on the remainder.

Brandon’s appetite vanished at the sight of the dwarf’s ravenous eating. Of course, this might well have been part of the dwarf’s strategy.

For now, it seemed effective.

"I don’t recall inviting you to join me," Brandon said dryly. "Weren’t you doing just fine at the mine? I never asked you to leave. Why are you constantly underfoot?"

He paused, took a deep breath, and added, "For the past fortnight—"

"You mean this?" The old dwarf nearly choked, hastily patting his chest to swallow the pastry. "Ah, um… yes, well… that’s a good point, lad. Quite the conundrum…"

Brandon felt his eye twitch. If he could, he would have kicked the dwarf out of the carriage right then and there.

But he lacked the energy for such theatrics. Instead, he replied coldly, "Then, since that’s the case, Overman Odum, may I kindly ask you to disembark immediately?"

"No, no, no." The old dwarf waved his stubby hands emphatically. "Absolutely not, absolutely not."

"Reason?"

"Well… uh, let me think." Odum was clearly flustered. He couldn’t exactly say he was evaluating whether this young man had the potential to become a king of the earth, worthy of uniting all runic dwarves under his banner.

He feared being dismissed as insane if he voiced such thoughts.

After much deliberation, he finally offered a feeble excuse: "Lad, don’t you need someone to do your bidding?"

Brandon almost laughed in exasperation. "Alright then, what can you do, old man?"

"I… I prospect for minerals! And I’m quite skilled at mining. You see, I apprenticed under the gold dwarves. Though runic dwarves aren’t known for it, gold dwarves are unparalleled miners…"

"Yes, no need to elaborate," Brandon interrupted, shaking his head. "If you’re so talented in this area, why leave the mines?"

The old dwarf froze, stuttering after a prolonged "Uh…" before finally replying, "Well, though I’m skilled at mining, I thought I’d try something new…"

He forced a strained smile at Brandon.

A very strained smile.

"Oh?" Brandon found himself somewhat amused by the exchange, at least for its sheer absurdity. "So what do you want to do instead?"

The young man’s tone dripped with mocking malice.

The old dwarf scratched his head, genuinely stumped. Beyond mining, what else could he do? To Odum, this question felt absurdly unfair. What else could a runic dwarf raised among gold dwarves possibly excel at?

This was outright mockery.

Under normal circumstances, Odum would have retaliated sharply. But he realized this awkward predicament was entirely of his own making.

After much hesitation, he finally muttered, "Well… I dabble in… architecture…"

Odum wasn’t lying. He did possess some rudimentary knowledge of architecture—an amateurish hobby rooted in his belief that runic dwarves should at least grasp the basics of construction.

Of course, his architectural expertise wasn’t inherited from the runic dwarves but rather cobbled together from scattered bits of knowledge. In essence, he was still a miner at heart.

Thus, when he spoke, his confidence wavered noticeably.

But Brandon’s interest was piqued. Unlike others, he knew precisely what runic dwarves were capable of. Hearing Odum mention architecture, his eyes lit up, momentarily dispelling his earlier worries.

"You say you know architecture?"

Brandon’s voice rose with excitement.

But his heightened tone startled the old dwarf, whose already shaky response faltered further: "A… a little, perhaps…"

However, driven by the stubborn nature of dwarves, Odum suddenly realized he couldn’t appear so weak. He was a dwarf—and not just any dwarf, but a Silver Folk, the sole bloodline of the runic dwarves.

Clearing his throat, he declared, "Lad, everyone starts from scratch. My limited skill only reflects my lack of experience. After all, I’ve spent my life as a miner."

This disjointed explanation was riddled with holes. Even Roma might have struggled to believe it. But Brandon, steeped in the near-mythical reverence for runic dwarves’ construction prowess, swallowed it whole.

The young man saw potential. Nodding, he asked, "So, you can build cities?"

"Build a city?"

The old dwarf nearly jumped out of his seat.

Building a city wasn’t just any construction project. He immediately envisioned the disastrous results of his incompetence: a lopsided, misshapen city becoming a notorious landmark—a cautionary tale for all runic dwarves and other dwarves alike.

"Behold," future generations might say, "the work of the boastful old dwarf Odum—who even forgot to include gates."

Cold sweat trickled down Odum’s brow. He quickly banished the chaotic thought, focusing instead on the expectant look in Brandon’s eyes.

"How about it?" Brandon’s voice was rich with temptation. "Not just a city, but an entire fortress complex. Once completed, it will immortalize your name forever—"

Lowering his voice to a reverent tone, he continued, "Behold, the architectural masterpiece of Dwarf Master Odum, who restored the glory of the runic dwarves. Surely you haven’t forgotten what your ancestors excelled at?"

The phrase “glory of the runic dwarves” struck a chord with Odum—or rather, it reassured him completely. The vision Brandon painted made him forget his own amateurish skills. Almost instantly, the old dwarf resolved himself.

Yes, he thought, I am a descendant of the runic dwarves. How bad could I possibly be?

With renewed conviction, he nodded firmly.

Good. Unaware of the truth, Brandon felt a wave of relief. It seemed fortune favored him—here was a descendant of the runic dwarves, ready to assist. Constructing a fortress complex shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

Brandon believed he had struck gold. So did Odum.

For a moment, both envisioned a bright future.

…

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