Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C108

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Chapter 108: Tonygel and the Young Lord Part 8

Brandon nodded. He had, of course, considered such a scenario. But first, there was the matter of buying a reputation with extravagant generosity, and second, not every group of the elderly, weak, or infirm lacked strong backs capable of labor. Some young men would stay by their families’ sides, while most lords would refuse to take in an entire household for the sake of one able-bodied worker.

And that was his advantage. Besides, women were far from useless—they could accomplish much. The youth and children, too, were the future of any domain. Perhaps few in this era possessed such foresight, but Brandon was determined to plan for Eruin’s long-term prosperity.

Thus, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he interrupted Beru's concerns. "Master Beru, I have already weighed all you've said, and I believe it will not be an issue. People are the future of any land. Foolish nobles fail to see this, but I do not mind teaching them a lesson. In any case, I leave this matter in your hands."

"But what of food?" Beru persisted, still uneasy. Though reluctant to admit it, after months in Brandon's company, he could not deny that some of the young lord's actions struck deeply into the hearts of those around him. Whether out of selfishness or justice, he did not wish to see this young man’s efforts crumble.

In the quiet hours of the night, the old master craftsman had even wondered more than once if this boy might truly be the one destined by fate—else why would he resonate with the Lionheart Sword? And his deeds… they inspired loyalty from everyone who witnessed them. Sometimes, it almost made Beru feel as though he were looking at that man again—the lord beneath the banner of light, sword raised in solemn vow.

But Beru dared not be certain.

"Food is indeed a concern," Brandon admitted, nodding thoughtfully. Then, quirking an eyebrow, he asked, "Master Beru, since when did you begin worrying about such matters?"

The elder flushed slightly, stammering, "A mere passing question, nothing more."

"I see," Brandon replied with a sly smile. "Food is undoubtedly a pressing issue—but seeing so many refugees displaced pains my heart greatly. It keeps me awake at night. So no matter how difficult, I must press on. Don't you agree, Master Beru?"

"You…" The old man glared, recognizing the noble words but spotting the mischievous gleam in Brandon's eyes. His voice rose indignantly. "Enough of your nonsense, kid! What’s really going on?"

Metissa stifled a giggle behind her hand.

"It’s not as dire as all that," Brandon shrugged casually. "Food is a challenge, yes, but with the support of Shafrend’s silver mines, it won’t be our primary concern for now."

"Buying supplies alone won’t suffice," Beru countered, shaking his head. "What if the northern lords impose a blockade?"

"First," Brandon held up a finger, "the merchants of Ampersal are merchants. Second"—he raised another finger—"the northern fleet remains under the control of Her Highness, the princess."

"Still," Beru conceded, "what you say is not without merit. Yet Tonygel is not barren by nature."

Brandon smirked inwardly. With druids at his disposal, agricultural challenges were hardly a worry. Druids, unlike elementalists, excelled in matters of the earth. Convincing those who revered the balance of nature might prove tricky, but Brandon had already laid traps for them. A treaty signed earlier bound the druids to defend the territory in all conflicts—including, conveniently, wars over food. His crafty grin went unnoticed.

Beru studied him, then sighed. "I don’t understand why you need so many people. Tonygel already has a sizable population. If you secure this place, raising an army shouldn’t be difficult."

Brandon didn’t respond. Beru wouldn’t grasp his vision. His ambitions extended beyond Tonygel, beyond Valhalla, even beyond Eruin itself. His sights were set on distant horizons, where endless wilderness awaited. After the ancient honors faded, humanity would rise once more, reclaiming lost banners and marching into untamed lands. Eruin would expand, becoming a mighty empire. Opportunity lay hidden in the wild places untouched by civilization.

Brandon wouldn’t explain this to Beru—not yet. But he knew someday, those around him would understand his purpose—if he survived long enough.

He chuckled softly, changing the subject. "Since when have you become so invested in my domain, Master Beru? Are you considering pledging your allegiance to me?"

Beru choked, coughing violently before spluttering, "You impudent brat! Wherever did you get such an idea? I’m merely concerned your reckless schemes will ruin everything—and hinder the Princess’s plans for reviving the kingdom!"

"If that’s true," Brandon teased, amused, "then perhaps you’ve strayed too far from the original topic?"

"What do you mean?"

"Weren’t we discussing a certain plan earlier? How did we end up talking about food? Or are you angling to trade jobs with Lady Antietta?"

Beru scowled. For all his virtues, this young lord lacked proper respect for his elders—and showed no signs of repentance. Still, he couldn’t deny that Brandon’s character surpassed most of his peers among the current generation of nobility.

"I haven’t stooped to your level of shamelessness," Beru snapped. "I’m not competing with some girl for scraps. We were speaking of the elemental furnace, remember? Never mind—I give up trying to make sense of this."

Suddenly realizing his explanations might paint him in an unfavorable light, Beru hastily changed tack. "Fine, as you wish. Let us return to the matter at hand. As of now, I’ve completed fewer than three hundred units. Would you care to inspect them?"

"If possible, yes," Brandon agreed, genuinely curious about the progress. "But not here. Is there a private chamber within this workshop?"

"Naturally," Beru grumbled, shooting him a suspicious glance. "Sneaky little fox."

Brandon suppressed a laugh. If the old man claimed to be above subterfuge, why did the workshop include a concealed room? He hadn’t explicitly ordered its construction, but pointing this out risked provoking Beru’s infamous temper—and being thrown out would be counterproductive.

Under Beru’s guidance, the trio crossed the bustling workshop and entered a dimly lit chamber through a door on the southern wall. To Brandon’s surprise, the “hidden” room resembled less a covert space and more a temporary storage area or rest lounge. It wasn’t large, perhaps thirty paces square, filled with crates and barrels. Beru moved methodically between them, finally prying open a chest with a shovel and retrieving a peculiar suit of armor.

It was indeed strange—a distorted mockery of armor, resembling something a novice apprentice might create during a failed experiment. There was no helmet, no collar; the breastplate and backplate were fused seamlessly together. Arms and legs were positioned unnaturally, and worst of all, the entire ensemble was absurdly heavy. Beru strained to lift each piece onto the table, panting heavily.

The old man muttered under his breath, "Even knights wouldn’t manage to wear this monstrosity—assuming they could overlook its grotesque design. Most wouldn’t fit into it anyway."

With a final grunt, he slammed the last piece down, the resounding crash echoing through the room. Catching his breath, he glared at Brandon. "There. This is exactly what your blueprints specified—no deviations. And let me assure you, no sane person could possibly wear it."

He shook his head. "I can’t fathom why you’d commission hundreds of these… things."

Brandon smiled serenely, inspecting the armor. He was pleased—more than pleased. Beru’s craftsmanship lived up to his reputation as Eruin’s finest artisan, a title earned before the Second Black Rose War. Reproducing such intricate designs required skill equivalent to a Level 60 Grandmaster—a rank virtually nonexistent among craftsmen, even two decades later.

No wonder Brandon regarded Beru like a prized treasure.

"Are you even listening, brat?" Beru growled, exasperated by Brandon’s silence.

"Of course," Brandon replied smoothly. "I’m very satisfied."

"I know you’re satisfied, but you still haven’t explained what this contraption is supposed to be!"

"You’ll understand soon enough, Master Beru."

"Soon? What does that mean?"

Before Brandon could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Beru frowned, irritated by the interruption. "Who dares disturb me?" he barked.

"It’s me, Master," came a timid voice from outside.

"How should I know who ‘me’ is, you fool?" Beru snapped, glaring daggers at Brandon’s amused expression. "Speak! What do you want? Give me a good reason, or I’ll send you packing!"

"It’s—it’s for the lord," the voice stuttered.

Beru turned questioning eyes to Brandon, who gave a slight nod.

"Let them in," Beru relented.

The door creaked open, revealing the young man Brandon had dubbed “Mordain.” His duck-shaped familiar was absent, replaced by another odd figure—a diminutive individual swathed in a long cloak.

"A dwarf?" Beru blinked in surprise.

...

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