Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C110

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Chapter 110: Tonygel and the Young Lord Part 10

The Seventh Day of the Month of Slumbering Frost – After the First Snowfall

Winter’s icy grip had sealed off the roads stretching from the Anlek Mountains to the Ampersal countryside. For two months, envoys from various factions had wasted their breath in Freeport, only to return empty-handed as the bitter season froze the volatile situation in the north. The once-fierce rumors of war that had spread like wildfire just two months prior now dissipated like smoke on the wind.

But those with keen insight understood that beneath this deceptive calm lay a deeper crisis. Beneath the pristine blanket of snow and the frozen stillness of the world, tensions simmered, biding their time before erupting into chaos. Swords yearned for blood, and Brandon knew this truth as clearly as he knew the ink-stained pages of history books.

Yet, even as the land lay dormant under layers of snow, a latent force stirred beneath the surface. Like the echo of hooves reverberating through a forest, shaking the earth, so too did the arrival of the aged knight Palas and his company atop a small hill within Minty’s territory signal something greater. Unbeknownst to him, news of the firestorm ignited in Tonygel had already reached the desks of numerous dukes and lords through covert channels.

In such sensitive times, even the smallest spark could ignite an inferno. Many believed Princess Grifine was taking reckless risks, yet none suspected that the silver-haired maiden now accepted Brandon’s “kindness” with a wry smile. What path Earl Jandel would take remained shrouded in uncertainty, leaving observers pondering its implications.

But no one truly cared about the fate of a single pawn.

It was only when Princess Grifine received intelligence that Palas had begun marching toward Cold Fir territory that she picked up the parchment between two delicate fingers, gave it a slight shake, and smiled faintly at Orville beside her.

“Lord Orville, who do you think will prevail?”

Orville bowed slightly. “Reason tells me Earl Jandel is certain to win, but instinct whispers otherwise.”

“And if he does win?”

“Then Earl Jandel will be even more hesitant to act rashly.”

“And if he loses?”

“Anlek will likely push for Jandel to remain neutral—at the very least—which suits that old fox perfectly.”

“So, in short, it benefits us greatly either way?”

“If Your Highness can recognize that Earl Jandel will never align himself with us, then yes.”

“Unfortunately, neither Lord Macaro nor Master Liwutz sees it that way,” the silver-haired princess sighed, resting her chin on her hand.

Orville refrained from responding immediately. In his view, neither the cunning Macaro nor the wise Liwutz failed to see the truth—they simply chose differently. Perhaps they deemed Earl Jandel more reliable than some unknown youth. Macaro, especially, seemed intent on keeping the princess from associating too closely with Brandon. Orville, ever perceptive, sensed this tension acutely.

Such words, however, could not be spoken aloud without sowing distrust among the royalists. Still, he trusted the astute princess to grasp the unspoken implications.

“Tell me…” Grifine raised her delicate lashes, fixing her gaze on her trusted advisor. “Why does he do this? Is it merely out of some innate loyalty to the crown?”

Before Orville could respond, she already shook her head. Her upbringing made her inherently skeptical of such altruism without tangible benefit. “I doubt it.”

“In my view, it stems from the ambition of an adventurer—”

“Ambition, you say?”

Grifine blinked thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, standing amidst the biting wind, the elderly knight Palas remained oblivious to the fact that a breathtakingly beautiful princess was contemplating the fates of both sides. With calloused hands, he lifted his visor and exhaled a cloud of white vapor into the frigid air, gazing out at the mist-shrouded mountains beyond.

Below, the camp bore the scars of yet another attack—this week’s sixth.

The attackers were none other than cave dwellers. Always cave dwellers.

Lines of worry etched deep into Palas’s weathered face, making it resemble gnarled bark. Behind him, his knights emerged from the forest, their expressions grim. They had assumed the rolling hills of Minty would prove less treacherous than the Graharl Mountains where they usually fought. Likewise, they expected civilian mobs to pose little threat compared to the elusive mountain folks. Many had seen this campaign as an opportunity to relax.

Instead, they encountered something far worse before even facing refugees.

“Are these damned cave dwellers rebelling?” someone cursed bitterly. Their targets varied widely, encompassing not just military objectives but also granaries and estates.

Though Jandel’s main forces had yet to gather, these relentless ambushes had already sown fear throughout the region. While the losses themselves weren’t catastrophic, Palas feared the delays they caused in assembling the army. Particularly troubling was the recent assault on a camp inhabited by mountain folks—the second such incident.

Cave dwellers moved with astonishing speed in the forests. By the time the mountain folks realized danger, the creatures had already struck from the north, inflicting casualties before retreating swiftly. The dense terrain hindered pursuit, rendering cavalry useless—a disastrous combination.

“How many casualties?”

“Not many dead—just over a dozen—but quite a few wounded.”

“And how many total losses since last week?”

“Nearly a hundred,” the knight replied. “And that doesn’t include combat-related losses.”

“Combat-related losses?” Palas turned sharply. It was too early for battles; supplies and reinforcements were lagging behind schedule, and fewer than one-tenth of the promised troops had arrived. Besides, he hadn’t issued any orders.

“It seems a group of mountain folks assembled privately to retaliate. They ventured into Minty territory and were ambushed. Only one or two returned.”

“Fools!” Palas spat. “What’s the total loss count since the first attack?”

The knights exchanged glances before one finally answered.

“Over three hundred.”

“Only two weeks…” Palas shook his head. Though the losses were manageable, he recognized the psychological toll. These attacks were likely the enemy’s final desperate gambit.

Palas had gathered ample intelligence over the past two months. Reports from fleeing nobles’ private soldiers painted a clearer picture: Brandon commanded hundreds—if not thousands—of cave dwellers alongside over a thousand mercenaries. Despite this, Palas believed victory was assured if he proceeded cautiously. He vowed not to repeat Sir Minty’s mistakes—not even once.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Rumors of Karglis’s capture troubled him deeply. His student’s fate weighed heavily on his mind.

Palas estimated another month and a half until full mobilization. Even if the mountain folks lost a thousand men—or even a third of their numbers—he cared little. But he understood battlefield mathematics all too well. Such attrition would crush morale and potentially plunge the region into chaos.

He saw through the enemy’s strategy: pressure him into advancing prematurely. Yet, he refused to fall for it. Ambushes against the mountain folks proved his point. Patience was key.

Still, the incessant complaints from the mountain folk leaders grated on his nerves. Their grievances weren’t unfounded; cave dwellers had penetrated deep into Palas’s domain, burning a granary. This raised suspicions about Shafrend’s defenses, though reports claimed everything was normal.

Palas cursed Orkins’s incompetence, calling Shafrend a sieve. Yet, he acknowledged that without such vulnerabilities, his own spies might have struggled to infiltrate.

Suppressing his anger, Palas ordered retreat.

“My lord,” the knights protested. “What of the cave dwellers?”

“Have the mountain folks fortify their positions. Reroute supply lines and reconsider granary locations. We are exposed; vigilance is paramount.”

“But delaying further jeopardizes our timeline. Why not strike directly?”

“If you insist, your enemies will rejoice,” Palas snapped. “Madara’s undead, the mountain folks, food, supplies—all remain unready. If we lose Palas territory, how will Lord Jandel save face?”

“We outnumber them vastly. Even with cave dwellers, they’re no match!”

“Sir Minty thought the same. Look where it got him.”

“But delaying affects mobilization, my lord.”

"Even so, it would be best to delay until the month of Spring’s Awakening—launching a campaign in winter is never a good omen," Palas muttered, shaking his head. Though the sporadic raids caused little real damage, they felt like a slap to his face—one he was powerless to retaliate against.

He prided himself on his caution, a trait his enemy seemed to have anticipated perfectly.

Yet Palas clung to one certainty: he would not let anger cloud his judgment or push him into premature action. This old knight believed he had seen through the enemy’s desperation—they were fighting like cornered beasts, scrambling for any chance to break the deadlock before Jandel’s full forces could assemble. His plan was clear: proceed with patience and precision, tightening the noose bit by bit until the foe had no room left to maneuver.

The humiliation they inflicted now would be repaid tenfold later.

"Delay until Spring’s Awakening? Three whole months? Marsha preserve us—how much grain will that require?" one of the knights exclaimed, incredulous.

"My lord, if you persist this way, Earl Jandel will have our heads!" another protested.

"On the contrary," Palas replied, glancing at his seasoned subordinates. "The longer we delay, the better. You must look beyond Tonygel—the battlefield is far broader than this region. Rest assured, Lord Jandel won’t trouble us until this war concludes."

"Some things can’t be measured merely in coin spent," the veteran knight continued sagely. Though a soldier through and through, his years of experience allowed him to perceive the undercurrents beneath the surface calm. "Of course, if we execute this well, Lord Jandel will sleep even more soundly."

"Naturally," the knights echoed in agreement, their voices carrying a mix of resignation and resolve.

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