Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C99

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

Thank you.

Everyone from Otaku Translation

Chapter 99: The Visitor from Copper Dragon, Part 1

Otaris’s solution was straightforward. Since the blood of gods invaded and consumed the host’s soul, it was essentially a war waged on the spiritual plane.

One option was to destroy the blood of gods—but since that was impossible, another approach was worth considering.

The Heroic Spirit of the knight suggested strengthening Cinnabar’s soul. Enhancing one’s soul involved honing spiritual and mental fortitude—skills at which wizards and Elementalists excelled.

Otaris had recalled another unique use of the golden apple, also known as the Fairy Tongue—a treasured gift for wizards and Elementalists. This revelation sparked her idea.

However, even with this method, forging a soul wasn’t simple. For natives like Cinnabar, leveling up wasn’t as easy as accumulating experience, as Brandon could. It required a long, arduous process.

Even with the golden apple’s aid, Cinnabar might only buy herself another year or two.

Otaris proposed that Cinnabar compete with the blood of gods to absorb the apple’s power. This too was fraught with difficulty, as their rates of absorption differed vastly. Unless Cinnabar reached the level of Awakened Elemental Affinity as a wizard or an elementalist within two years, the plan seemed impractical.

Reaching such heights in just two years?

Brandon shook his head at the thought.

Still, having a plan—even a difficult one—was better than none. While pushing someone to awaken their Elemental Affinity was no small feat, Brandon knew of some exceedingly harsh methods that might achieve it.

For now, he kept this to himself, burying it deep in his mind.

Finally, Brandon gently closed the door behind him. Metissa, Fleur, and Chael followed him out of the room. Though Cinnabar had temporarily recovered, she remained weak and needed rest. Brandon left Antietta to keep her company.

As for Roma, who was still sleeping soundly, he chose not to wake her—not because he didn’t want to, but because Cinnabar preferred it that way.

“Let her sleep a little longer,” Brandon thought, feeling a pang of sympathy for the young merchant girl. In Shafrend, Roma had worked harder than anyone, and upon returning, she had stayed by Cinnabar’s side for a full day and night.

Brandon rubbed his temples, slightly tight from fatigue. Though temporary, the golden apple had alleviated one of his greatest concerns. Still, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling about whatever “seasoning” the young dragoness had added to it—effects that might not surface immediately.

“My lord.”

Chael called from behind, one hand pressed against his abdomen as he hunched over in pain. Despite his discomfort, his expression had grown more serious.

Brandon glanced at him, then continued walking. “Speak,” he said.

“The frequency of travelers from Palas has noticeably increased.”

“Palas? Cold Fir City?” Brandon asked.

“No, this is intelligence from Copper Dragon.”

“Minty?”

Chael nodded.

“Oh?” Brandon raised an eyebrow, surprised. This was the first news he’d received from Copper Dragon’s group in days.

Though he had instructed them in his letter to seize the opportunity and capture Minty’s stronghold, Minsburg Castle, he hadn’t been certain they would follow through. Power often bred arrogance, and while Retto might remain loyal, others in his group were less predictable.

Brandon leaned forward with interest, prompting Chael to elaborate. From the young wizard’s account, Brandon learned the entire sequence of events:

After Minty led his forces out, control of the castle fell to his eldest son. To prevent this son from eliminating his siblings during Minty’s absence, the knight had left minimal forces behind.

This oversight gave Retto and his companions the perfect opportunity. They launched a daring night raid, catching their opponents completely off guard. The enemy, unprepared for such boldness, was swiftly captured.

Once in control of Minsburg Castle, Copper Dragon acted similarly to Brandon. Using Minty’s eldest son as a puppet, he summoned all of Minty’s retainers—estate owners, gentry, and even ascetic scholars from the Temple—to a banquet, where they were swiftly subdued.

Retto then dispatched his men across the leaderless Minty region. With refugees from Ridenburg, they eliminated several opportunistic bandit groups and firmly established control over the area.

While the process wasn’t entirely smooth, the decisive efforts of Retto, Mano, Barthom, Uriel, and especially Voltaron—the former White Mane Legion Commander—proved critical. Without their leadership, the refugees would have remained just that: refugees.

What surprised Brandon most was that Amber Sword Mercenary Company hadn’t faced unanimous opposition at the outset. Uriel, Barthom, and Voltaron had firmly supported him.

Voltaron’s military discipline and obedience weren’t surprising. Barthom’s loyalty, forged in Braggs, was understandable. But the unwavering support of Uriel, the peacekeeping cavalry captain from Ridenburg, puzzled Brandon.

As usual, when something perplexed him, Brandon set it aside to avoid unnecessary headaches. Overall, this was excellent news.

“Retto has done well,” Brandon praised generously.

He deeply approved of their actions. Initially, he had merely hoped Amber Sword would seize Minsburg Castle. Instead, Copper Dragon’s group had exceeded his expectations.

From their reports, Retto and his allies now controlled most of Minty’s territory. This highlighted both Minty’s ineffective governance and their remarkable success—far beyond what Brandon had anticipated.

This development was crucial. The hills and forests where Minty, Shafrend, and Cold Fir intersected formed the gateway to Palas. Controlling Minty meant controlling the future battlefield.

“So,” Brandon asked, “has someone from the mercenary group arrived?”

Chael nodded.

“Who?”

The young retainer smirked, his tone teasing. “Why don’t you guess, my lord?”

“Guess?” Brandon tilted his head at a 45-degree angle, glancing at Chael from the corner of his eye.

Seeing Brandon’s fingers already resting on the hilt of The Sword of the Earth, Chael yelped in panic. “No, no, my lord! I’ll tell you—it’s better that way!”

But it was unnecessary. As Brandon descended the spiral staircase with Chael, Metissa, and the wild elf maiden, he spotted the visitor waiting in the grand hall below.

Uriel, the former peacekeeping cavalry captain of Ridenburg.

Brandon paused momentarily. He had expected Barthom, the gruff mercenary leader who had followed him the longest and understood him best.

Uriel, too, was taken aback upon seeing Brandon.

It had been nearly half a year since their last meeting. Now, as the young man emerged from the shadows with Chael, Metissa, and the wild elf maiden, his demeanor—and even his appearance—had transformed dramatically from the youth Uriel had met in Ridenburg.

At first glance, Uriel almost hesitated to approach.

Six months of adventuring, trekking through the wilderness, and enduring battles had stripped Brandon of all youthful shyness and naivety. His lips were slightly pursed—a sign of inner resolve—and his sharp gaze seemed capable of piercing through one’s soul.

Dressed in a black suit, its fabric slightly faded to gray, Brandon’s presence remained undiminished. His aura was razor-sharp, like an unsheathed blade. With one hand resting on the sword hilt, he casually surveyed Uriel.

That fleeting glance sent shivers down Uriel’s spine. He had encountered such an aura only once before—in Luc Besson.

Cold, decisive—it was the aura of the battlefield.

“My lord…?” Uriel hesitated, rising instinctively from his seat. He was astonished not only by Brandon’s transformation but also by a subtler detail that made his heart skip a beat.

Uriel had known Brandon’s original strength—no stronger than iron rank, perhaps even weaker. While iron rank was impressive for a young man, it was still within reason. But now, standing before him, Brandon’s strength felt immeasurable.

Or rather, unfathomably deep.

Uriel himself, once an iron-rank fighter, had made tremendous progress in six months. His swordsmanship and absolute strength had improved significantly, placing him at the peak of iron rank, brushing against the threshold of silver.

Among their group, his progress was second only to Voltaron’s. Where he once couldn’t match Retto, he now held his own in sparring.

Yet here, facing Brandon, Uriel realized he could no longer gauge the young lord’s strength. Brandon’s hand rested naturally on the sword hilt, his entire presence unified—an unmistakable sign of mastery.

Uriel could hardly believe his eyes. He thought his growth was rapid, but Brandon’s advancement surpassed even his imagination.

In just six months, had the young man surpassed him by two ranks—or more? Even geniuses couldn’t progress so quickly. Two ranks above his original level placed Brandon squarely in mid-silver rank. Uriel couldn’t fathom such speed.

Brandon nodded at him.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Brandon admitted frankly. “You’ve done well.”

“My lord.” Uriel bowed sincerely. Brandon had earned their respect the moment he led them out of Ridenburg.

Everyone remembered the vibrant figure who charged fearlessly into the undead horde.

Over time, however, some had begun to forget that initial awe. When Brandon ordered them to attack Minty’s territory, the command stirred unrest within the mercenary group.

Many opposed the idea of attacking a legitimate noble. It seemed outrageous, even reckless.

But Uriel, along with Voltaron and Barthom, stood firmly in support. Uriel didn’t know their reasoning, but he had his own.

He, Uriel Cardos, had once been Ridenburg’s peacekeeping cavalry captain. Backed by nobles, he ruled that small corner with impunity. Everyone addressed him respectfully as “Captain Uriel”—except the White Mane Legion and the nobles themselves.

But Uriel wasn’t blind to the truth. Beneath that respect lay fear and hatred. At the time, he didn’t care. To him, the world was simple: only those with power and authority mattered.

Then Brandon led them to defeat Madara’s dark undead—forces far stronger than any in Ridenburg, leaving the local nobles trembling in fear. Only then did Uriel realize there was another kind of power that could ignite passion.

A power worth devoting oneself to wholeheartedly.

Brandon called it an ideal.

Retto called it belief.

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.