Prologue

The local infantry officer was right—dedicating enough time to practice and gain combat experience can, indeed, save you from a fatal crisis. If it wasn't for the intuition I'd developed from long training, I would have undoubtedly died in my sleep—would have died without resistance, as pathetically as a butchered dog.

That did not happen, however. As I slept peacefully in my own bed, a sudden jolt—similar to the sensation of being hit by lightning—shook me from the very depths of my mind, abruptly tearing me away from my pleasant sleep.

What greeted me afterwards, when I opened my eyes, was the cold gleam of steel, reflecting moonlight. A chill went down my spine as the blade-point then plunged down my face.

I didn't know when exactly I had the chance think of avoiding it—but I somehow did; I'd managed to turn my head as I squirmed in my sheets, giving my face enough space to look back upon the blade that descended.

Then I saw the embellishments of the sword stabbed into my bed—a familiar design that I'd only seen from books, but still recognized its simple yet carving of the black rose in the sword's hilt.

My eyes widened in shock. "Madara's undead soldiers!"

The realization was a like a bucket of cold water to my face; I immediately found myself very much awake as crisis and confusion swirled through my mind.

'What the hell are these bastards doing here?!' I thought, intentionally referring to this one skeleton soldier as many—it was known, after all, that wherever a Madarahn skeleton soldier appeared, there were bound to be more nearby. 'And how did they even get inside my house!?'

It was odd. As far as I'd known, these things shouldn't even be anywhere near here in Bucce. I'd read about it from one of the books here, in the study. These devilspawns are aparrently summoned only by undead conjurers.

'Did that mean there's an undead spellcaster—at least at the level of a necromancer—nearby? Does that mean we're... shit!'

My thoughts were suddenly cut off when I saw the skeleton soldier finally unlodge its sword from by bed. My instincts flared once more, screaming danger. I had the urge to simply run and scream out for help, but the teachings of the militia infantry's combat instructor took over and forcefully suppressed my fear.

'No use getting scared,' I thought, thinking of ways to make it out of my current dilemma. 'I have to fight back.'

I suddenly remembered my sword, and scanned to room for its whereabouts. It didn't take long to find—but I somehow had the urge to beat myself from a few hours ago when I'd found its location: It was beside my bed, behind the skeleton soldier that was trying to kill me.

'Damn it! I should have listened to the instructor's advice of always keeping my sword where I can easily reach it!'

The skeleton began to march its way towards me, sword ready to kill. It was slow, however, so I at least had a bit of leeway to think of ways to get to my sword—without getting killed. The book I'd read had warned in bold letters, written with red ink, that any idiot who underestimates an undead soldier from Madara was the first to die in any battle with them. I did not want to be one of those idiots.

Another chill came down my spine, warning me of immediate danger. I instinctively leaped to the side, and a familiar black sword flashed at the corner of my vision as I rolled; the sword narrowly missed me and slammed down my wardrobe, lodging itself once again in furniture. I was dumbfounded for a moment.

'Did the skeleton just... jumped and slashed?' I thought. The book never mentioned anything about that!

But I suddenly realized this was a chance. My instructor's words rang inside my head as I saw the skeleton attempt to pull its sword out of the wardrone, its guard as open as a whore's skirt.

...

"Remember," my instructor had said, on the first day of my training. "I know you have you're own reasons for learning to fight. However, the reason why I'm teaching you to fight is so that you can defend your sorry asses against Madarahn Legion, if they ever attack. So I'll teach you about what you may encounter in case war hits our land...

"...First is their undead soldiers. They are Madara's lowest rank infantry soldiers, and are the weakest. They rely solely on a soul fire that a necromancer has bequethed them, so they're slow and weak, and are incapable of intelligent thoughts...

"...Still, even with all that considered, you must remember not to underestimate them, do you understand? They are still creatures of the arcane, after all. Any one of them can wipe out a group of ill-trained soldiers as easy as butchering pigs..."

...

The recollection came into my head within a moment.

As if the memory gave me encouragement, I felt a heat of adrenaline spread over my body; my nervousness turned to boldness, and determination to triumph over this foul creature grew inside my head. 'That's right! How can I ever become a famous adventurer if I caved in from a mere skeleton? Oh, I'll show everyone—I'll show them all!'

And with that thought it mind, I lunged towards the skeleton that was still struggling to get its sword... or at least that was what it seemed.

Before I completely neared it, however, it managed to hoist its blade out of the wood's hold and the excess force from its pull swung its arm my way. It then hit me squarely in the chest, and felt like a massive boulder had just smashed into me. My face grew immediately cold as I flew to the other side of my bed, smashing into my table.

A sharp gasp left my lips as the table broke from my crash. I suddenly felt like my lung had unbearably tightened, making it impossible to breathe for just a moment. Still, I somehow managed to force my lung to heave and cough out in pain; a little blood accompanied each and every breath I sharply exhaled. I still couldn't move, however; my body was in too much pain.

As I waited for the pain to dwindle, my vision found its way towards the skeleton. It was on the move once again, towards my direction, in its usual sluggish and clumsy movements.

'The instructor was right, and he's always right this night,' I thought. 'But how the hell is this one weak? A mere swing of an arm was enough to send me flying! Or am I the weak one instead?' I didn't know what expression I was making, but I could guess it was something along of horror and disbelief. I could feel it in my facial muscles.

It was a massive miscalculation on my part—I was never a match for any of these guys. At least not in this cramped space, against opponents of superior strength.

'I need ro run!' I thought. Luckily, the force of the skeleton's swing had thrown me across the room. To my left was the exit and my sword was only ahead of it; I was quick enough, so I would probably be able to pick it up and run away safely. My body had gradually adapted to pain too; I was able to move by the time I made the decision.

I hoisted myself off the table. There was a stinging pain on my back, as if something had lodged itself there. I ignored it; running was a priority at the moment. I then limped towards the door... and suddenly stopped when I got close.

Another skeleton entered through the door; it paused by the doorway. It was the same as the first skeleton that was trying to kill me. Black rusty armor, an old but still sharp black sword, and a similarly black full helm covering its skeletal face; behind the helm's visor, two pale green soul fire gleamed on hollow eye sockets, peering towards my way.

I felt blood drain down my face. "Goddess Marsha's tits..."

I had just been locked on as its target—that made two of them. I was stuck between a boulder and a hard place, making me—despite having just uttered vulgarities to her name—pray inwardly to the Holy Mother Marsha.

My mind spun at great speeds.

I was only nineteen years old; too young and still had plans on what to do for my life. Hadn't I decided to grow stronger—by either joining the army or becoming an adventurer? I had a dream of becoming famous, surpassing even my grandafter who fought and survived the historically famous November War, and earned the Candlelight Emblem. And I would then go out and prove myself to the world and earn great wealth, and find a beautiful wife while I was at it...

I was going to become a legend for generations to come.

'Am I going to die here? In this remote countryside, unknown and without any exploits to my name?' Suddenly, it felt like everything was unfair. My head felt like it was spinning as memories rolled across my mind. A realization then struck me.

"Damn it, I hadn't even confessed to the girl I like, yet!" I blurted out when my thoughts shifted towards the beautiful, lively merchant girl next door. And as I thought of her and her precious smile, a flame of resolve began to spark itself in my chest once more. I ground my teeth.

'That's right. I can't possibly die yet. Not when there's a possible Madarahn invasion. What'll happen to her, then, when I die?' There were only so much fighters in Bucce. Not to mention it was deep in the night—how many people would be there to protect her?

Well, there was Brandal—but he was a prick, so he didn't count.

When my thoughts shifted from mere survival to protecting someone—and insulting Brandal—I suddenly felt my fear diminish. It didn't make it all go away though, but it was enough. It was all I needed to calm myself down.

'That's right,' I thought, taking a deep breath. 'I have to calm down. As my instructor taught us, "One can only fight with a calm head and a working mind."' The combat instructor of the local army had already elevated himself to a great position inside my mind.

'I'll make sure to properly thank him once this all ends.'

I reassessed my current situation. Currently, I was blocked on both front and back, against physically superior and armed opponents—as for me, I had no weapon or whatsoever. My sword was behind the skeleton in front of my door, so I couldn't easily get it. And although I was somewhat of a noble myself, I was nowhere near the established families in terms of wealth; I didn't have any decorative shields or weapons hanging on my walls.

'So my only choice is the sword, huh?'

The skeleton in front of me began making its way towards me. The other one behind was also close too, almost close enough for it to make a leap towards me once again. I felt the mind-gripping pressure of crisis once more.

'Goddess Marsha... Isn't there anything at all!?' I thought as I frantically looked around for possible solutions. Then my eyes turned towards a painting, hanging on the wall just to my left. An old heirloom left behind by my grandfather; a precious artwork said to cost at least ten gold coins.

Ten gold coins! Imagine how many things I could have bought with that much money in my purse! A horse—perhaps, a fine destrier for travelling—or an enchanted piece of weaponry in case I became an adventurer...

Nonetheless, I knew my priorities. My life mattered more than the money I could (or couldn't) have gained from a measly painting. If there was a chance this painting would help me get past the night alive, then I'd even burn it with my own hands, if I must.

I took it from the wall, and inspected its frame. And as expected of an expensive piece of art, it seemed solid enough. 'This should work...'

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of whistling air, and a cold chill down my spine. I subconsciously lept forward, evading a sword that swung from behind. Thank the Goddess these guys were slow; if any chance they had been a bit faster, then I would have been dead by now.

The relief I felt didn't last long, however, when I realized that my forward evasion had brought me into the other skeleton's attacking range. I cursed inside my mind as I saw it raise its blade overhead with both hands.

'Shit! There's no way I could block that!'

In a hurry, I stepped forward and pushed out the painting in my hand before the skeleton could bring down its sword. I managed to make it, blocking his blade from gaining momentum, allowing me to lock blades(?) with it through superior center of gravity.

After a short while of contesting with it, however, it soon became apparent that I was not going to best it in terms of strength, even of I had the upper hand in posture. No matter how much I pushed to knock it out of balance, the skeleton remained unmoving.

I knew there was no point to keeping this deadlock. The clanging of armor as the other skeleton constantly rang behind me, getting closer and closer with each step, so I needed to break this somehow. My goal was to get past these two, after all, not wrestle with them.

And I needed my sword, in case there were other skeletons out there. Besides, I was quite confident with my swordsmanship. My instructor had praised and even went as far as calling me the most talented among my batch. He didn't lie about it, too. I knew it because no one was actually able to beat me in mock battles—not even that brat from Earl Remmington's House.

If only I had my sword, then these bone-heads wouldn't even be a problem for me. So I had to get it.

For the third time, I heard the sound of air being cut. Time seemed to slow down as my mind went in full throttle. I knew the skeleton behind me had finally caught up. I despaired...

But suddenly, an idea came into my head.

I lowered myself, letting the skeleton soldier in front of me gain momentum for its sword. It had been a bad idea, as I'd expected, as it quickly dug through the frame and cut halfway into the painting. But it did allow me to avoid a worse fate—getting cut down from behind.

Metals screamed as steel clashed when the sword of the skeleton from behind collided with the one in the front. At the moment of impact, I shifted to the side and managed to avoid both blades as they cut through the painting.

A powerful sense of relief washed over me for an instant, when I realized I'd just avoided death, albeit narrowly. However, I was not yet done.

'This is my chance!' I thought upon seeing the two skeletons slightly out balance. And without wasting my brief opportunity, I immediately scrambled to where my sword was.

I took the blade from the ground, and an awesome feeling of confidence welled up within me. The skeletons were still a bit far, so I had time to think. And I didn't need to worry about them coming close either—not anymore. Sure, they were quite strong and weirdly accurate in their attacks, but I had a sword now. I could take on both of them easily.

A smile unconsciously formed on my face as I turned to the blade. It was an old blade—a family heirloom, forged sometime during the third decade since the kingdom's founding. It had the embellishments of ivy carved into its hilt, to commemorate the victory against the barbaric Greenwahr.

Although it's length was a bit off, a bit longer than the standard swords used by current knights, it was still a proper knight's blade. A blade fit for a future hero.

I turned towards the skeletons, feeling the spirit of war inside my heart. "You've had your fun. Now it's my turn."

• • •

Words from me, the Re-Translator:

As any of you, who read The Amber Sword before, might have noticed, rather than a translation, it wohld be more apt to say that what I've done for this chapter is closer to a re-telling.

And I mean no offense by that to the original translator (since I based the translation for this one from wolfie's translations) nor the original author... or maybe I really do—I'm not sure myself. Still, what happened was actually because while I was translating, I noticed some annoyingly jarring paragraphs of exposition in the chapter, that did not actually do anything other than tell irrelevant pieces of information and drag down pacing. It was horrendously bad (at least to me) that I felt compelled to reshuffled the order of some paragraphs, cut off unnecesarry pieces of information and see if I could weave them better into the emotional beats of the story.

Is it arrogant of me to do this? Perhaps. But I don't feel guilty for it. After all, the reason why I'm doing this whole re-translation thing is because I feel like the story isn't being conveyed well enough. I'm an author myself, so I know. And there's also the fact that I'm in a slump in my writing lately, so I wanted to find another reason to train my 'Author Senses' without actually facing that massive beast that I'm rearing.

So yeah. I'm really just re-telling the story in my own interpretations rather than translating it.

But I'd like to say, though. This chapter was a special case. I honestly think I went a bit overboard in reshuffling (and even going as far as change some of the action beats just because I couldn't imagine the original translation well). And I'll assure you, this won't happen again... probably. Well, even if it did happen again, it won't have as much change as here in the prologue. After all, the fact that Brando (I'm going to translate him as such here) dies in the end, means that I get to mess around with his character in my own way without actually impacting the story. It's basically a free chance to flex my imaginative muscles, so how can I help it?

Anyway, that's all from me right now. It's fucking 12:07 AM at the moment, and I'm mentally drained. Just comment down if you got questions.

Bye, folks. Stay toasty.

~A Random Re-Translator