Amber Sword

The sword was thrust into the meadow between the wilderness and the sky, its blade bright like a pool of autumn water. The white ribbon with the new moon insignia wrapped around the sword hilt fluttered in the breeze, gently swaying like a memory.

Wise and deep eyes squinted slightly, looking with great interest as the horizon between heaven and earth became almond-shaped and broad. A white cloak draped over him, and beneath it, his rough hands rested on a black scabbard. He stood proudly, like a lion.

"King, time is late."

"Crentel, can you guess what I’m looking at?" The old man smiled, turning his head to ask calmly.

"Beyond this prairie, forward, forward, the land of Erune."

"Erune, the land we vowed to protect with our lives. But what I’m looking at is my sword, Crentel." The old man withdrew his gaze. The sword stood distinctly tall in the wilderness, yet it supported a piece of heaven and earth.

"Your sword?"

"I’m wondering, a thousand years later, will anyone pick up this sword, wipe off its dust, and remember our oath? Can our descendants withstand the test of time—do you think Erune will endure?"

"Erune will endure, Your Majesty."

"But as time passes, if one day our descendants forget today’s promise? The Cruz people once had ancient radiance, but they long since ceased to reclaim it. Perhaps one day, the Eruein will be the same."

"Your Majesty."

"It’s not Erune I want, Crentel."

In his gray-blue eyes were reflections of clouds, his soft gray hair lay beside the wrinkles of his eyes. Time had left too heavy a mark on him. The old man felt the fire in his heart slowly burning out, yet, at this moment, it seemed to reignite with brilliance.

He had seen too many flames of war, too much suffering, too many close friends sacrifice on this land; he closed his eyes, past scenes like a golden painting, as if still under that twilight, when they first left the land of Kruz.

That was the place where it all began.

"What I want is not Erune, Crentel—but the soul and faith entrusted to this land. I want this voice to be eternally passed on, for the rebellion and pursuit belonging to Erune to never be forgotten, for its nobles to always remember their duty—"

"Crentel."

"You remember—if one day, the Eruein truly forgets all of this, then from where this sword came, it should return, not to protect this country anymore."

Then this sword, from where it came, shall return there.

"Your Majesty, the Eruein truly forgot all of this."

"But it’s only been two hundred years."

"This land no longer holds that perfect ideal—"

Yet today, that sword has returned.

In Crentel’s eyes, the sword radiated endless golden light. It trembled in that girl’s hands, as if reborn, quivering with excitement, ready to leave its scabbard at any moment.

Crentel suddenly felt tears streaming uncontrollably, though he long ceased to cry.

But those were the tears of the heart.

Your Majesty, do you see? There is still someone who picks up this sword, wipes away its dust, remembers our oath. Thus, it felt that belief again, after being forgotten for centuries, the radiant banner returned to Erune.

Brand also watched the Lion Sword in Frey’s hand.

At that moment, he heard the sword’s voice—as if mountains collapsing and seas roaring, a massive sound resounded, telling a story. He seemed to see that radiant era, saw two elongated shadows in the lonely wilderness.

The sword was swearing—

Will Erune endure?

Erune will endure, Your Majesty.

"What happened, Frey?" Nemesia shouted.

Everyone was stunned by the sudden intense light from Frey’s sword.

"I don’t know, I don’t know!" Frey stared wide-eyed at the trembling sword in her hand. It seemed alive, responding to something: "It, it seems to have sensed something..."

The entire Ambeser trembled—

Foster frantically rushed out of the tent, and the entire White Lion Legion headquarters was enveloped in a giant buzzing sound. Inside the camp, everyone involuntarily stopped and looked in one direction.