The Amber Sword

The black stream of arrows shot across the sky and covered the sun with countless undead marching over the scarlet earth. The noises that were transmitted behind Freya’s back could not be discerned clearly. Was it despair, pain, or furious roars?

The young girl wanted to look behind her, but she could not move at all.

An undead knight covered with burning white flames sitting on a skeletal horse rode up to her, and it stared down at her from above the mount with its flaming eyes. This was a dream that she had to experience every night.

But the dream was so realistic to her that she could not utter a sound because of her tension. She merely stared back with wide opened eyes.

“You should not have wakened up. The fate for Valhalla’s descendant is too heavy,” The knight spoke in a hoarse tone, “do not sacrifice yourself for an unrealistic belief.”

The knight raised his longsword: “Back off, or there would not be any road left for you to retreat!” The voice was like a strict warning, and it thrust its hand forward, plunging the cold blade into her heart.

“Ahh—” Freya screamed in fright and sat up from her bed in cold perspiration. She panted lightly and could not help but clutch her chest. She did not know when this nightmare started happening, and whether it was some kind of omen or that it was the stress from her recent training that caused it.

She could hear her heart pounding, but the hasty footsteps from the outside corridor quickly drowned out this noise. The dim candlelight in her room gradually brought her back to reality. The footsteps probably belonged to the knights that brought back information—

Ever since the war broke out in the south, the number of people bringing back reports had increased several times. Factions of all sizes had been attracted by this sudden battle, even forgetting their own civil wars that were on the brink of happening.

The south of Ampere Seale was only accessible after the snow had melted, and Count Randner’s civil battle was something of an ‘appetizer’, as described by Oberbeck.

It was quite the insult to be described in that manner, but the other nobles did not mind that description, and merely laughed merrily to see how many fangs the old tiger still had remaining. Of course, the majority was questioning how many fangs were remaining, and not the idea that he had no fangs left.

Only a few people in the Royal Knight Academy believed that Brendel could win, and Freya anxiously waited for news of the frontlines every day.

The messenger passed through the long corridor and went into the dormitory’s back courtyard. All news regarding the civil war would be first delivered to Princess Gryphine.

The half-elven princess studied the few lines on the parchment coldly, then placed it down—

Lord Palas’s army had engaged the rebels.

There was no substantial progress in this summary.

[Things will be settled in a day or two.]

“Copy the contents of this letter and send it to the other lords.”

“Should I gather the lords to come here?”

“There’s no need to do so, but there will be a competition this month and a hunting festival to celebrate the end of winter. Help me prepare for these two events as I want to oversee both of them.”

The messenger bowed and left the room.

‘The cunning fox’, Makarov, looked at the report and shook his head with a slight smile. He then started placing the report down on a bunch of documents that were stacked high on the table, but he thought for a moment and stopped in the middle of his action, then took the report and left his room.

He went over to Count Barre’s quarters with the report in his hand, but he was intercepted by the latter’s servants and got informed that his good friend had gone to the tournament grounds. It was only then that he recalled there was such a competition, and he hurriedly rented a horse cart to travel to the tournament grounds that was several miles away.

The Winter Games was a particular tournament that had a long history in southern Aouine. The tournament’s events included horsemanship, swordsmanship, and jousting. It was primarily a chance for the knights in various regions to gain glory, and it was a passionate activity for the youths. The public could also satisfy their thirst for finding heroes.

This tournament hosted by the Royal Knights Academy had a stronger meaning, and the knights-in-training sought to prove they were the best knights of their batch, vying passionately for the crown that was weaved with evergreen leaves.

Preparations for the Winter Games started before daybreak, and it was already crowded when dawn broke. However, Makarov was indeed Count Barre’s good friend and knew him well. He did not take long before he managed to find the latter in the crowd.

Count Barre paid great attention to his attire. He wore a purple robe lined with silver seams with three silver leaves emblazoned onto his cuffs to represent his identity. He did not wear a hat, and his hand was holding onto a goblet, standing on the highest position of a hastily made wooden stage and receiving the cold wind there.

Barre raised his goblet when he spotted his good friend walking over to him with a smile: “Tordor’s wine with a vintage that’s five to seven years. I know you dislike it.”

“Actually, I dislike drinking wine, not the wine itself.” Makarov’s exasperated reply came.

“I know, alcohol affects one’s judgment, but I’m not making one anyways.”

“You received the news about Trentheim?” Makarov did not want to waste time on that frivolous matter.

“You’re talking about the joke to see how many fangs that old dog still have left?” Barre said in a pleasantly light tone.

“I’m asking you how long the ‘rebels’ can last.”

“What do you think? Do you think that youth doesn’t have the possibility to win?” Barre shook his goblet playfully: “He has the Silver Elves and the Dragon race backing him.”

“The Silver Elves were merely passing by.”

“And the Dragon race?”

“The Dragon race will never participate in human affairs so recklessly. This will definitely attract the opposition from the Holy Cathedral, and no one wants to start a Holy War. Even the most lawless dukes from the kingdom.”

“That’s true. But that youth isn’t a worthless fool sheltered by a powerful family. Lord Palas’s character might cost him to suffer greatly at that boy’s hands.”

Makarov sneered: “Is that so? I find that boy to be foolish to the point of laughing at him.”

“What do you mean?” Barre asked intentionally.

“I thought that boy would drag Lord Palas into a stalemate. The expenditure of an army that has the size of thirty thousand is an astronomical number. There is also the lack of trust between the humans and the Madara undead, and Lord Palas will definitely lose once the war drags on.”

” But that youth constructed a defense line at River Gris, preparing to fight a direct battle with Lord Palas, and this strategy disappointed our ‘cunning fox’, right? Indeed, it’s troubling that we lack someone who could rein in Count Randner. I did hear that youth ran Trentheim quite well, perhaps he did it to ensure the harvest for the next year. Have you ever thought that he would truly become a dangerous foe to Count Randner if he manages to survive this battle?”

Count Barre raised an eyebrow and asked, only to be met with a stare from his good friend. He laughed without making a sound:

“Indeed, I also think that he can’t win this battle, but perhaps there’s a miracle. You ought to know that miracles tend to happen when people wish for it, and we need this miracle. So I have prayed sincerely for it, and perhaps Mother Marsha will grant me a miracle for the sake of my prayers.”

It was unreasonable to place hope onto miracles, and Makarov knew that his good friend was merely joking like his usual self. But their little discussion was unintentionally overheard by a girl who was preparing for the competition.

“Freya, what’s wrong with you?” One of the female students prodded the lost girl, and the latter seemed like she gained back her senses.

“Yes? Huh?”

“Well now, why do you look like you lost your soul, are you thinking of a boy?” That girl giggled.

“...... Y-you, what nonsense are you talking about?” Freya blushed immediately. These girls from nobility were much bolder when it came to affairs between a man and a woman. Even though everyone stopped at an appropriate point, the young girl who came from Bucce still felt that it was difficult to join in these conversations.

But she was still interested in that topic she heard earlier, and she could not help but ask: “Tisha, do you know who the man that those two were talking about?”

The girl Freya was talking to was a roommate. Tisha was a girl from a small noble family, and she was chosen to be invited to the academy because of her talent in magic.

“The platform above us? These people are bigwigs who have a social barrier since they are from a true noble lineage. It’s like the difference between a commoner and nobility, and we can’t even go up to them to speak without permission. It’s extremely impolite.”

She suddenly recalled Freya’s background and stopped herself: “Ah, my apologies, Freya, you know I did not mean anything bad. Anyways, we should stop talking about the contents of what they said. You are considered half a noble when you graduate from this place.”

Freya smiled at the girl’s answer, but her heart was in complete chaos. She did not know what Brendel’s situation was, and even high-ranking personnel who controlled the kingdom’s fate did not think that he would succeed. Did it not mean that the situation in Firburh was extremely serious?

She was still a native from Aouine, and the fear towards authority was not something that she could change easily, or she would have wanted to grow a pair of wings and fly to that youth to overcome this situation, or at least die together with him—

She did not know what she was thinking anymore. The memories of Brendel and her played back segment by segment, though they were not entirely made up of good memories.

[During that event of the Golden Demonic Tree, I went to search for him and Romaine with good intentions, and yet h-h-he intimidated me and even made fun of me and Romaine after that.]

Freya’s face turned red upon remembering this detail, but she did not know why she felt like she was eating a small piece of candy in her mind. Though that sweetness quickly turned into fear and gloominess, even making her unable to hear the voice that was calling out to her from the tournament grounds.

“It’s your turn, Freya!” Tisha was no longer able to continue watching Freya: “What’s wrong, do you feel uncomfortable somewhere?”

“N-no......” Freya now recalled that she was here to participate in the tournament. She picked up her lance in a slight fluster, only to meet with a pair of rolling eyes.

“The event right now is a swordsmanship competition......” Came a displeased tone from Tisha.

“AH!” Freya wanted to find a hole to bury her herself in.

“Never mind, but don’t force yourself.” Tisha sighed and looked a little worriedly at Freya with a sigh: “Remember to get a good result. If I didn’t know you well enough, even I would think that you’re obsessed with a boy......”

Freya was already walking out to the stage, until she heard Tisha’s words and nearly slipped onto the ground. She would never admit that she was thinking about Brendel earlier.

[But for me to get a good result...... How can that be easy? Be it jousting or riding skills, I’m practically unqualified to participate in these events. Even though I’m a little better in swordsmanship, but I’m going up against all the talented youths all over Aouine. It’s not sufficient......]