WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Abood

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Friedrich's Battlefield

Chapter 43: New Recruit (2)

"...This scrawny-looking guy is the adopted son of the hero Matthias Hosenfeld?"

Gunther’s eyes widened, his expression oozing disbelief and even a hint of irritation.

“Hold it now, what’s with this guy all of a sudden? A mere recruit daring to talk to my Friedrich like that?"

Yurika openly displayed hostility, while Friedrich merely offered a faint, unbothered smile beside her. Whether it was that very reaction that rubbed him the wrong way, Gunther's expression darkened further.

"Man, this joke's gone too far. This guy who’s grinning like an idiot with some woman at his side is the successor to the hero I admired? ...What kinda tricks did you pull to weasel your way in?"

Hearing those words, Friedrich's smile remained, but his eyes narrowed sharply.

He was well aware he lacked an imposing presence or appearance. The recruit's disappointment was understandable, and he wouldn't hold that against him.

But to have his resolve, the choice to inherit Matthias's legacy after proving himself in battle and struggle insulted, and worse, to hear Yurika dismissed as just ‘some woman at his side’? That, he couldn't tolerate.

"Quite the nerve you've got, recruit. What's your name?"

"Huh?"

Friedrich stepped right up to Gunther and posed his question, met by the recruit's intimidating glare. Even faced with a visage fearsome enough to make weaker men faint, Friedrich didn't flinch.

Fundamentally, Friedrich reasoned, this hulking man before him was just like Bruno, someone with killing experience. Bruno had never frightened him, and now Friedrich too had taken lives. There was no reason to fear this man.

He felt no fear at all. Just mild annoyance at the complications this might cause. A troublesome situation, nothing more.

"I see... So this is what it means to be underestimated..."

Tilting his head with a troubled expression, Friedrich murmured to himself.

As heir to House Hosenfeld, he could certainly force this recruit to apologize or obey by invoking Matthias's authority. But that would be meaningless. An adopted son who couldn't command new recruits without hiding behind his foster father's prestige would never be recognized by anyone as the true successor to the hero Matthias.

"Let's clear up these misunderstandings one by one. First, this woman here is Knight Yurika, a retainer of House Hosenfeld, direct guard of the regimental headquarters, and my personal protector. She's not here because she's taken a liking to me, she's here because she's strong. Stronger than you, most likely."

“......”

"If you doubt it, you're welcome to test that theory. Right here. Right now."

Friedrich spoke these words to Gunther, whose aura grew increasingly murderous, then glanced at Yurika. She grinned broadly and gave him a nod.

"What'll it be, recruit? You can back out if you want."

"Like hell I will. Let's do this."

The moment Gunther spat these words at Yurika, veteran knight Yarg who must have overheard arrived carrying two wooden swords, one large, one slender. He handed them to Gunther and Yurika respectively.

Word that Yurika would spar with the new recruit spread through the training grounds in an instant. Knights gathered to watch, and soon soldiers followed suit, forming a growing crowd around the impending match.

"This has gotten more serious than I expected,"

As Friedrich remarked, Oliver shrugged.

"Not a bad thing, really. That recruit stands out even among the newcomers—both in size and attitude. If his arrogance gets crushed by Yurika, it'll serve as a good lesson for everyone. And for him, it'll be valuable experience."

Friedrich glanced toward Matthias, who met his gaze with a slightly exasperated nod. Beside him, Gregor gave a small shrug.

Though both seemed mildly annoyed, they clearly didn’t object to the spar. Taking this as tacit approval, Friedrich nodded back and turned his attention to Yurika.

By now, spectators had formed a ring around her and Gunther. At the center of the cleared space, the two stood facing each other, wooden swords in hand, with Yarg positioned between them as referee.

"Listen up, recruit. Even with wooden swords, no direct hits. I don’t know what passes for training where you came from, but in the kingdom’s army, those are the rules. We’re paid to risk our lives for the crown, not to waste them on pointless injuries."

"Got it,"

Gunther nodded obediently to Yarg's instructions.

This man clearly judged whether to obey others based on their appearance. If someone looked like a proper knight, he'd listen without question. Understanding this about Gunther, Yurika smirked fearlessly.

She was determined to make him acknowledge by force if necessary that both she and Friedrich, whom she loved, were figures worthy of his respect.

"Now then, begin!"

"RAAAAAAAAAH!

The moment Yarg gave the signal, Gunther let out a beast-like roar and swung his wooden sword.

The sheer intensity of his battle cry alone would have made an average soldier flee. Yet despite wielding a heavy wooden sword that should have required considerable strength, he swung it with startling ease. His furious assault like a raging storm, failed completely to corner Yurika.

With her sword still lowered, Yurika didn't even need to dodge, Gunther's strikes didn't come close to grazing her. At most, the wind pressure from his swings lightly ruffled her long black hair.

"...He fights relying solely on his physique. Self-taught, it seems. He mentioned his father was a former mercenary."

"Then either his father wasn't particularly skilled with a sword, or this one simply didn't learn much from him. One of the two."

Friedrich and Oliver exchanged these observations while watching the match unfold.

Gunther's attacks were heavy and packed destructive force, but that very strength made them broad and slow. On the front lines of a battlefield, wielding an oversized weapon with his exceptional build, he might have been unstoppable. But in a one-on-one duel against a seasoned fighter? He was clearly out of his depth.

Especially against Yurika, whose agility was her greatest weapon. The matchup couldn't have been worse for him.

Yurika continued evading Gunther's furious onslaught with effortless grace, even smiling as she did so. Her demeanor, as if humoring a child at play, only stoked Gunther's visible frustration.

"Damn it! Quit messing around and fight me for real!"

"Ehh? If I got serious, you'd be dead in seconds. Wouldn't that be sad—?!"

With a fearless grin, Yurika shifted to offense almost without telegraphing her move.

"Wha—?!"

Caught off guard by the sudden horizontal slash, Gunther barely managed to pull back his sword in time to block.

Yurika's attack was light, so light that Gunther's sword that was held ready in his hands barely trembled upon impact. But by the time he registered this, Yurika was already launching her next strike. A thrust aimed upward forced Gunther to leap back to evade.

"...He's better at defense than I expected. But how long can he last against Yurika?"

"She's still only half-serious. If she decided to end it, she could finish him anytime."

Friedrich and Oliver exchanged these words as they watched.

Gunther showed surprising aptitude in defense. Despite his massive frame, he handled his sword with unexpected dexterity, skillfully maneuvering it to protect himself. Yet even so, he was no match for Yurika.

Perhaps it was due to experiencing her first real battle after rigorous training, or perhaps it was because she had resolved herself alongside Friedrich, but Yurika had broken through another barrier as a knight, her skills now sharper than ever. She had always possessed a natural talent for body mechanics, her attacks characterized by minimal telegraphing. But recently, she had even learned to conceal her killing intent.

In combat, two elements are crucial for anticipating an opponent's moves: the preparatory motions before an attack, and the killing intent emitted by any fighting creature. By minimizing both, Yurika's strikes became nearly impossible to read for those facing her.

Gunther, forced entirely on the defensive and visibly struggling, eventually had his legs swept out from under him, landing hard on his backside. Before he could react, the tip of a wooden sword hovered at his face, a thrust halted precisely as the rules dictated. The outcome was undeniable to any observer.

Footnotes:

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