WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 16

──────

What’s so good about hitting people and hurting them?

Then again, what’s so good about getting beaten until your nose breaks and your lip splits?

Well, some kids only enjoy hitting others. I’m different.

There’s something knotted up in here. In my chest. When I let it burst, I feel a little better. And whenever I feel myself improving, it’s like something empty inside me is being filled.

Yeah. Fulfillment.

You feel that too, don’t you?

I don’t know if you’d understand, but trading blows with someone feels a lot like having a deep conversation.

Even without speaking, you can tell everything. Ah, this bastard’s trash. Ah, this one’s not bad.

Still, fighting means there’s an opponent, and I can’t win every time. Losing feels unfair and frustrating, but I trained hard because I thought I’d win next time.

But there were people I could never beat, no matter how hard I tried.

Were they born with it? What exactly were they born with? Why could they do so easily what I could never manage?

They say that once you can feel mana and use it, an entirely different world opens up before you.

Well, I can’t feel anything from people like that. They’re just walls. Walls that never answer back.

So, you know, I’m going to quit training.

For some reason, Volka remembered something he had said long ago. He could not remember who he had said it to.

His ex-girlfriend, perhaps?

When Volka woke that morning, he lay there lost in thought before getting up. For some reason, his chest felt strangely ticklish.

Naturally, he began thinking about the things Ricart had taught him. As he went over them one by one, all his attention turned toward them.

Pay attention to distance before throwing a punch. Secure the distance he was comfortable with first. Kicks mattered just as much as punches.

In truth, these were only basics. At the academy, all they taught were stances and the professor’s personal know-how. Beyond that, students had to fight and improve on their own.

But Volka was busy with work. Incidents kept happening, and as the leader, he had to deal with them. He could not focus entirely on training.

On top of that, every student’s body developed differently, making it even harder to find a suitable sparring partner.

Volka thought back on the fights he had lost before Ricart came along. Now, he could see rather clearly why he had lost. His past self seemed incredibly stupid.

After a good night’s sleep, Volka threw himself into practice alone, though his body had not fully recovered yet.

He kept thinking about distance, trying to make the movements that followed from it part of his body.

And although he had not seen all of it, Ricart’s strikes, beautiful in their precision, became something for him to strive toward.

Ricart hung from the pull-up bar and quietly watched Volka practice. Every so often, he corrected Volka’s stance or shared another piece of advice.

Two days passed, and it was time for unarmed combat class.

Around fifty students attended, with boys outnumbering girls by about three to one. Volka’s ex-girlfriend was among them.

As usual, the professor separated the less experienced group and taught them himself. The rest formed groups among themselves, becoming each other’s practice partners as they honed their skills.

Some friends simply giggled and played around.

Volka, however, was striking a dummy alone, as though he had been excluded. Perhaps because of what had happened with Ricart, the other children were looking at him strangely.

“Hey, Volka.”

Someone called to him.

When Volka turned around, it was a student above him in the pecking order, one who spent more time in the city than in the dormitory.

“What?”

“I heard you got beaten by the new kid.”

“So?”

“You’re supposed to be the leader. How are you going to look after the others like that?”

“Since when did you care about the others?”

“I don’t. I care about improving my own skills. It’s not like I lack talent, unlike you.”

“......”

“You only gave up because you had no talent and decided to play leader for the little kids, right? But that’s over now too, so what are you going to do? Shine shoes?”

Snickering broke out at the mention of shining shoes.

The Adventurer Academy was a cruel place.

People enjoyed watching someone fall and did not hesitate to mock them. They thought nothing of tormenting those weaker than themselves.

Then, the professor noticed the students who were playing around.

“You brats. I told you to practice, and you’re already fooling around. No matter how little I care about you, I told you that playing during class means you’re disrespecting me.”

The children tensed at the professor’s words.

He might make them undergo training that was nearly torture under the pretense of physical conditioning.

But the professor smirked.

“Still, it is boring. Let’s liven things up. Pankration.”

The children widened their eyes and shouted together.

“Pankration! Pankration!”

Hearing their chant, the professor briefly remembered his own academy days.

“Anyone confident enough, come out.”

The student who had been mocking Volka raised a hand.

“Can I choose someone?”

“If the person you choose does not refuse.”

At the professor’s words, the student turned to Volka.

“Are you going to refuse?”

Volka fell silent for a moment.

To the others, it looked as though he was debating whether to swallow his pride or fight anyway.

But that was not it.

Volka was not calculating his chances. He was reviewing everything he had practiced over the past few days.

Once he finished thinking, he raised his head.

“No. You come out.”

He walked toward the sand pit, and murmurs of excitement rose around him.

Volka paid no attention to anything around him. He kept repeating to himself.

Measure the distance. Measure the distance. Measure the distance...

Fight at the distance I want, and avoid the distance I do not want. Once I’m at the distance I want, my fists will come out on their own. So measure the distance.

What could really change after only two days of practice?

Still, sometimes small changes led to great things.

Volka felt his heart pounding.

It was neither fear of defeat nor a desire for victory. It was simply anticipation that something within him had changed.

“Let’s not make this an ugly wrestling match. The people watching should enjoy it too.”

The student facing Volka in the sand pit spoke.

They were about the same age, though by age alone, the other student was already an adult.

They had entered the academy around the same time, and there had been days when they spent time together.

How had their relationship become like this?

Perhaps it was envy over talent. Or perhaps there was some unspoken resentment. Volka did not know.

“Are you both ready?”

The professor asked.

Volka nodded, while his opponent grabbed his opposite shoulder and rotated his arm.

“Good. Everything is allowed except biting and groin strikes. Death or surrender. Pankration begins!”

The moment the professor called the start, Volka took his stance.

Unlike before, the right-handed Volka held his left hand forward, drew back his right, and stepped his left foot slightly ahead.

More than anything, he kept his upper body upright and moved lightly on his feet. His left hand extended slightly forward, measuring distance while keeping his opponent in check.

Then, at some point, his opponent lowered his body and rushed in first.

He threw a hard left, pulled it back quickly, then brought up his right fist.

Huh? Wait.

Volka extended his arm, leaned his head slightly back, and widened the distance between them. More than anything else, his opponent’s attacks looked far too slow.

Was he testing him?

“Haha, have you become a coward, Volka? Let’s make this more exciting.”

His opponent spoke while bouncing loosely in place as though warming up.

Then he took his stance again and charged in boldly once more.

Again, Volka could see every attack.

If he just reached out, the other student would practically run into his fist.

Was this really all right?

After facing Ricart’s lightning-fast attacks from his blind angles, his opponent’s attacks felt like a joke. Before any lesson or advice, the difference between the person in front of him and Ricart was painfully clear.

His opponent kept pressing him until Volka was driven to the edge of the sand pit.

Sand scattered beneath the students’ rough footwork, and the watching children became increasingly interested.

Someone’s nose would break or lip would split. Blood would drip onto the sand.

And everyone expected it to be Volka’s blood.

Then, in an instant, his opponent swung a powerful fist. But his head suddenly snapped aside, and he fell heavily to the ground.

Volka had slipped to the side and struck him in the face.

Smack!

The blow had not landed squarely on his jaw, but on his cheekbone. His opponent caught himself with one hand outside the sand pit.

If the strike had landed cleanly on his jaw and knocked him out, he would have planted his face in the ground instead of his hand.

Even so, his vision spun, and he could not gather his senses for a moment. He scrambled to his feet with a shocked expression.

Everyone’s eyes widened at the unexpected result.

The students who held no particular ill will toward either Volka or his opponent found the unexpected outcome interesting.

After taking one hit, Volka’s opponent seemed to lose all his confidence. He stumbled back with a dazed expression.

But then he realized that around fifty people were watching. Out of shame and an unwillingness to acknowledge what had happened, he attacked recklessly.

Volka widened the distance again. Then, using the back foot as Ricart had taught him, he suddenly closed the gap and threw a punch.

Crunch!

The blow must have landed cleanly. His opponent’s lip split, and broken teeth scattered across the sand.

Then he simply planted his face in the ground.

He was out cold.

“Oh? What’s this? You can fight pretty well.”

The professor spoke without caring that a student had collapsed unconscious.

In truth, he was only a high-ranking adventurer from the guild. As a professor, he was somewhat lacking in character.

“Just two hits. Very clean. Striking like that could be useful in a real fight. Now you have to decide. This is Pankration.”

Unarmed combat mattered because weapons often broke or slipped from one’s hand in real combat.

That was why wrestling techniques were especially important, though striking techniques mattered just as much.

They were good for self-defense in ordinary situations as well. More than anything, being able to fight well without a weapon gave a person confidence.

It meant knowing there was always a final option, no matter the situation.

In any case, it was death or surrender.

A match did not end simply because someone was knocked unconscious.

Volka’s opponent soon regained consciousness, but his body did not seem to obey him as he writhed on the ground.

Volka pressed a foot firmly against his chest and looked down at him.

“What will it be?”

“......I, I surrender.”

Clap clap clap clap clap.

Applause broke out from all around.

“What? He can fight.”

“Volka’s pretty good. You might lose too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But then what is that new kid?”

The students who had only heard rumors while living in the city tossed out comments one after another.

And Volka’s overwhelming victory naturally drew their attention to Ricart.

They had just seen Volka’s skill with their own eyes, and they had heard that Ricart had knocked him down on his first day. They could not help being curious.

Meanwhile, the students close to Volka’s opponent could not shake their shock.

A loss might happen if only one or two places separated them in the pecking order. But Volka was twentieth, while their friend was fifteenth.

Five whole places separated them in the pecking order.

It was absurd, unbelievable, and hard to accept. But since it had ended in only two blows, they could not call it luck.

Volka himself was also slightly dazed.

He could not tell whether he had grown stronger or whether his opponent had grown weaker.

Still, he definitely felt good.

The desire to improve, which he had abandoned at some point, seemed to flare back to life like a flame.

His heart raced.

After class, as he left the Inner Castle, children who had subtly kept their distance from him approached and acted friendly.

Even his ex-girlfriend, who had dumped him, came over.

“Looks like you’ve started training again?”

Volka found himself laughing at her deliberately casual tone.

His heart was occupied by something else now. His ex-girlfriend felt like nothing to him.

He did not have the slightest lingering feeling for her.

So he did not get angry or resent her. He simply said this.

“Hey, don’t talk to me. I’m busy.”

His ex-girlfriend’s face turned bright red.

Leaving her behind, Volka headed for the dormitory. Then he took Ricart and Boribori into the city.

The students high in the pecking order who had stopped by the academy dormitory for class watched the boy in the red cloak from afar.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried