The Amber Sword

TL: This chapter was kind of difficult to TL. Hopefully the prose sounds okay here.

In other news, I found the artist for “The Strategy to Be Good at Magic” and updated the image accordingly. The colors on my screen are much more vibrant compared to the printed cover =X

Chapter 18 – The footprints on the other path in History

The vast land slept within the darkness where nature did not even emit one sound. It was as if the silence was mourning for the dead souls that had left this world. A meteor shower streaked across the starry skies, appearing and disappearing quickly, as if to symbolize the names that appeared briefly in history.

Bretton silently stood straight up against the cold night wind. He sent out command after command, and the guards vanquished the undead remnants in the ruins of the Green village. Every single undead had to be purified. Every single one.

The young vice-captain felt that this was the only way to make himself feel better.

He checked the time. He had only thirty minutes left.

Zeta looked at the scene from afar. He shook the glass flagon in his hand, and touched the girl beside him: “Hey, you’re called Irene right?”

[The gods gave you extraordinary trials and you had ordinary talents. But you were humble, dedicated, kind and strong. You were beyond amazing.]

Brendel played with the small stone gargoyle statue in his hand. He looked into the distance and sighed: “Freya, I don’t know how far you would go in the future, but I want you to remember this.”

“Yes?”

“Friends. No matter how far you are going to go, there will be many people who would accompany you. You will never be lonely.”

Freya’s eyes widened, and suddenly they were misty. She thought of Romaine, little Fenix, Mackie, Irene and everyone in the third militia squadron.

And of course, her aunt.

She wiped the corners of her eyes and looked at the crimson sky that was illuminated by the burning village. It had continued to burn, and the spiraling flames seemed to hint at the next battle which was going to be even bigger.

“Thanks.” She whispered back: “Shameless Brendel.”

Our protagonist started to cough and choke.

When he looked back in protest, he saw that her eyes had returned to its former brightness, and it was shining like the brightest night star in the sky. Brendel suddenly felt that his existence here had worth. History had started to change.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Bretton quickly found what he wanted. Medicine. Even though the Green village appeared to have been completely destroyed, the things that the undead didn’t need were food and medicine, and they were simply stacked up in a corner.

Furthermore, Brendel was there to help them.

Even though Bucce, Verbin and the green village were under the protection of the guards, Brendel was definitely much more familiar with the area than them.

With his memories, he found two secret cellars that were filled with medicine, food and other goods. There were cast iron, copper and even gold, which were useless in their current situation, so he left them untouched.

It was not Brendel’s usual habit to leave empty handed. The owners had died in the war and they had no descendants.

These cellars were the players’ favorite spots after Madara torched the village. If the players found one they would have become considerably rich. Because of that, Brendel knew these spots very well thanks to these greedy players.

He left the bulky items alone but he wanted the magical equipment.

Under everyone’s shocked eyes, he quickly opened hidden compartments with a ‘bam, bam, bam’ sound. They were mostly filled with precious gems and gold.

The leader of the young guards looked darkly at Brendel with suspicion. When did he learned something like this and became like a burglar?

Brendel brought out a half platemail meant for a female in the midst of their amazed mutterings. It was an ancient armor adorned with complicated bronze ornaments, but the black gold symbols on it showed that it was an artistic ornamental armor from the golden age of the past.

Before they finished admiring the armor, Brendel took out another ornamental armor with a flourish. He beckoned to Freya.

“Freya, over here.”

“Me?” The future Goddess of War pointed at herself.

“Try this out.”

“Wait,” Bretton immediately mocked without thinking: “Brendel, are you serious in letting Freya that piece of artwork? Not all armor are meant to see action, you do know it right?”

Brendel ignored him and wanted to put it on for Freya. But she blushed and shook her ponytail and received the ornamental armor: “I, I’ll do it myself.”

He paused in surprise. There was not much attention paid on this matter in the game. He had helped the other female players who were knights and warriors with their armor, but he forgot he was in another world now.

“What are you trying to do?” Bretton watched Freya run to an area with dense foliage and asked. (TL: Wow… Brendel tried to strip Freya in front of everyone. Ho, ho, ho.)

“What?”

“That’s an ornamental armor and it’s too heavy. You can’t be serious to let Freya wear that into battle right? Besides, has the militia learned to fight wearing armor before?”

“Too heavy?” This was the first time Brendel had heard of this argument. He looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, wondering if lead had been poured into his mind.

He did not bother to explain but beckoned Freya over. He asked: “How does it feel?”

“It’s a little heavy. It’s not very flexible.”

The youths behind Bretton giggled and laughed. How could an ornamental armor not be heavy? But the majority of the laughs were made in jest and not mockery.

Brendel paid no attention and chanted: “S’Taz.”

An ancient word, its meaning was ‘Wind’.

The half plate was instantly enveloped by a green aura, which floated around Freya’s body and then tightly wrapped around her whole body. The young girl was startled and uttered a low yelp of surprise: “This?”

Brendel looked back and said: “The Half Plate of the Wind Empress that was infused with the wind element, described as heavy? The Elven armor smiths who designed this must be flipping in their graves.”

Bretton and the riders were at a loss for words.