Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V3C120

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Chapter 120: The Five-Headed Basilisk, Part 1

When Brandon located the basilisk, Antietta and Tia were crouched in a nearby thicket, admiring the magnificent creature from afar. They dared not approach too closely, keeping their distance at several hundred meters to observe safely.

Antietta had initially been searching for the young wild elf girl who had wandered off gathering materials for Tama. However, upon encountering Tia with the Fireclaw lizardfolk, they stumbled across a tranquil pond nestled deep within the forest. There, they discovered fragments of scales that Antietta immediately recognized from her studies. She was well-versed in the monstrous bestiaries describing various breeds of basilisk.

While she sent Ropal, the Fireclaw lord, back to report the discovery to Brandon, Antietta led the others further into the forest, following the trail left by the colossal beast until they found it.

It was a five-headed basilisk, its sinuous body shimmering with an interplay of light and shadow. Its sleek, muscular lines exuded power, and its obsidian-black scales glinted faintly green in places. This particular variant was a venomous basilisk.

Though weaker defensively and physically compared to its kin, and lacking abilities like shadow fog or elemental manipulation possessed by other subspecies, this basilisk was among the most dangerous due to its ability to spew corrosive venom over distances exceeding a hundred meters—even capable of dissolving magical alloys.

Fortunately, Brandon knew how to handle such creatures. He stepped forward confidently, addressing the eager young recruits behind him. “Stay here and watch.” Then he commanded Kulan, Ropal, and Cinnabar, “You three attack from behind. The five-headed basilisk’s field of vision is limited to 180 degrees. I’ll draw its venom attacks.”

“That’s too risky,” Kulan protested, unsheathing his sword as he prepared to follow. The value of a basilisk was undeniable, especially since Brandon had promised him a vial of dragon power potion.

“Leave it to me,” Brandon replied calmly. Drawing The Sword of the Earth—Harangya, he activated the wind-based acceleration enchantment imbued in Tama’s custom scabbard, increasing his agility by fifty percent. With newfound speed, he entered the basilisk’s detection range.

The towering monstrosity, nearly five stories tall, spotted the intruder from two hundred meters away. One of its heads reared up, opening its conical maw wide.

Brandon remembered fighting these creatures before. As soon as he saw the mouth open, his brow furrowed, and he rolled to the side just in time. A jet-black stream of venom whizzed past him with a soft hiss.

The toxic liquid surged through the forest like a serpentine dragon, corroding everything in its path. Trees obstructing the venom erupted in white smoke and flames from the intense heat. When the missed shot struck another section of the woods, the foliage withered and yellowed almost instantly.

The young recruits, emboldened by youthful bravado, initially considered joining the fray. But witnessing the devastation caused by the venom drained all color from their faces. Some even gasped in shock.

“By Marsha’s grace…” Mordain, one of the youths named by Brandon, stared in awe as their lord deftly dodged five successive jets of venom. His heart raced with a mix of tension and admiration. He’d heard tales of Brandon’s exploits, but nothing compared to seeing them unfold firsthand. Mouth agape, he suddenly heard someone beside him ask, “Is… is it true what Lord Brandon said? That one day we could fight like that?”

The speaker was clearly stunned, tugging on a companion’s sleeve instinctively. Meria, startled by the sudden contact, blushed and stepped aside.

“Meria?” the youth asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Meria stammered, shaking her head vigorously. Looking toward the battle, he whispered, “Lord Brandon must be at least Gold-rank. To reach his level, I think it would take us decades…”

“Decades? But Lord Brandon looks no older than twenty!”

“He’s a genius. Can you compare yourself to him?”

“I suppose not. But decades still feels so far away.”

At this, one of the former mercenaries chimed in sarcastically, “Gold-rank isn’t something you pick out of the ground like weeds. Do you know about the Temple Knights’ reserves? If you achieve Gold-rank strength, you can enter their preliminary ranks.”

A collective intake of breath rippled through the group. The Temple Knights’ reserve corps were figures they only heard whispers about—individuals far above even Lord Grudin in status.

Another voice added, “Forget Gold-rank. Even reaching Silver-rank would grant you a knight’s title under any lord.”

Even the lowest noble title, knighthood, carried immense allure.

“Can we really reach Silver-rank?” someone asked hesitantly.

Karglis snapped out of his reverie. Reflecting on his earlier attempt to confront Brandon—a peak iron-rank fighter challenging a near Sword Saint with Gold-rank prowess—he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Despite his thick skin, warmth crept into his cheeks. “We’ll definitely reach Silver-rank,” he declared confidently, glancing around at the others.

“You’re sure about that, Karglis?” Meria asked curiously. “Isn’t it difficult for ordinary people to reach Silver-rank without some innate talent?”

“Don’t you feel how quickly you’ve improved?” Karglis countered.

Everyone paused, taken aback. Had they really improved? Daily beratings from Kulan labeled them as hopeless fools. Cinnabar, the red-haired girl with a long ponytail who routinely beat them senseless, shook her head every time she looked at them. And though Lord Brandon seemed kind and approachable, smiling gently without uttering a word, they began to believe they truly were the worst of the worst. After all, both Brandon and Cinnabar appeared no older than nineteen or twenty yet vastly surpassed them in skill.

But Karglis shook his head again. He understood the truth. Recently, he noticed signs of stagnation in his swordsmanship finally giving way to progress. Moreover, after only a week in the Black Forest, his Absolute Strength metric showed early indications of silver-rank potential.

“Do you know what sword style Lord Brandon teaches you daily?” he asked.

All heads shook.

“It’s the Temple’s technique,” Meria muttered thoughtfully.

“Aren’t those forbidden from being taught outside the Temple?” someone exclaimed. The group fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances. Teaching sacred techniques privately was a grave offense.

Karglis shrugged indifferently. The Temple held little sway over insignificant individuals like him; they had plenty of prodigies to choose from—the Enlightened Ones, Chosen Ones, and other favored children of destiny. Compared to them, he was just an ordinary person.

He patted Meria lightly on the shoulder. “That’s why I believe I made the right choice this time.”

Meria flushed slightly.

The others grew quiet, absorbing Karglis’s words.

---

While the youths reflected deeply, Brandon faced challenges far greater than they imagined. The venom of the five-headed basilisk was more insidious than it appeared. Though Brandon avoided direct hits, merely weaving through the jets caused his retinal HUD to display alarming warnings:

Status Abnormal.

After dodging the fifth jet, Brandon knew the basilisk needed time to prepare its next volley. He signaled Kulan, Cinnabar, and Ropal to close in while maneuvering to force the creature to turn. This also helped him escape the toxic cloud spreading through the area.

As he advanced, Brandon swiftly toggled panels—a reflex honed through thousands of repetitions. First, he checked his life status, which remained a healthy green. This indicated that while the toxins had begun infiltrating his body, they hadn’t yet caused harm thanks to his exceptional constitution, which was over a hundred points; an ordinary person would have died hundreds of times over already.

Next, he switched to his resistance panel. His immunity rate hovered at 87%, displayed in a pale yellow bar, but it continued to decline steadily. At this rate, even without a direct hit, he’d succumb to the poison within ten minutes.

Upper-tier gold-rank creatures were formidable foes indeed.

In-game mechanics dictated a minute-and-a-half cooldown between venom sprays, meaning attackers had to seize the opportunity to close the distance. However, the basilisk was cunning, retreating as it spat venom.

Brandon was familiar with such tactics. Changing direction, he lured the basilisk to face him, making it easier for Kulan and the others to approach its rear.

Realizing this, the basilisk let out an irritated growl but was powerless to stop them.

Thirty seconds later, Brandon, Kulan, and the others closed in on the behemoth. Brandon initiated a charge, leaping high to evade the snake-like tail sweep—a signature move of dragons and wyrms alike. The steel-hard appendage swept through the forest, snapping ancient trees in half and sending thunderous cracks echoing for miles. Spectators held their breaths.

Brandon landed near the basilisk’s front-right claw, raising The Sword of the Earth.

The battle reached its climax.

TLN: The entire third volume has been completely translated. You can read all of it through the links below.

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