WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 110

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My Combat Power, Well (1)

Twenty years ago, around the time Airen Farreira had just been born, a wandering knight roamed the continent.

True to his word that he wanted to help promising juniors along their path, he'd offered guidance sparring to all kinds of swordsmen.

That was when the title of the 101st strongest swordsman, Zet Frost, had first been coined.

"Incredible skill... if we fought with swordsmanship alone, no Aura Sword involved, I couldn't guarantee I'd win."

The highest praise a Sword Master could give.

At the time this praise had been spoken, Zet Frost had been thirty five years old, remarkably young for the honor, except for once-in-an-era geniuses like Ian and Julius Hyul.

Thanks to that, he'd earned the reputation that no one but a Sword Master could beat him, in other words, "the strongest Sword Expert alive," and the whole world's attention had turned to him.

"Hadn't heard anything about him in a while, wondered what he was up to. Turns out he's been in Partisan."

"So where in Partisan is he? Will he take a challenge? I mean, what's the point of just living here if he won't take challenges? You checked that too, right? Kubharu, you're good at this, gathering local info! So come on, tell us, tell us..."

"You're gonna pass out at this rate. I'll tell you, don't rush me..."

Kubharu scolded Judith, then kept going.

"Two days from now, nine in the morning, he's giving guidance sparring. Apparently he usually shuts himself in, but every so often he does this sort of thing, sharing his talent with others."

"Great. We're going, right?"

"Of course."

Brett answered instantly, and Airen nodded along.

The sparring match with Hyram had been useful too, but facing someone strong felt better all the same.

The three swordsmen spent time speculating about Zet Frost's skill and pumping Kubharu for information, then split off to their own rooms.

"Hm."

"What's wrong?"

Lulu asked, watching Airen sit in a chair instead of on the bed, lost in thought.

Airen shook his head and said it was nothing. The black cat tilted her head, then sank back into her Sorcery training.

Airen was much the same.

He closed his eyes quietly, and the noise of drunks from the first floor hall, along with Lulu's breathing, slowly faded away.

Before long, the 101st strongest swordsman, Zet Frost, rose up in his mind.

'Not exactly a welcome title.'

Being ranked 101st strongest was an incredible thing.

Especially considering that most swordsmen's whole ambition was to reach Sword Expert.

Wasn't the title basically saying he was the best among all Sword Experts?

But Airen Farreira, who had come to understand competitiveness and the will to win, found his focus drawn to something other than sheer skill.

Twenty years.

His heart went out to that long, brutal stretch of time, standing one step short of Master and never crossing over.

'He must have felt crushing pressure, and self loathing too. Maybe he still does, even now.'

He wouldn't have understood that before.

But he understood it now.

Just two weeks ago, he'd felt something like it himself.

The thought that he might never catch up to Brett Lloyd and Judith, both pulling ahead of him, had left him briefly, quietly miserable.

'Of course, I shook it off quick enough...'

But that was only because his own growth had been fast enough to see with his own eyes. No one could say what would happen to a person stuck in Zet Frost's position for so long.

Thinking about it, Kun's story came back to him, one he'd heard before.

So did the image of the man who still appeared in his dreams.

The one who'd reached Sword Master at seventy, and hadn't stopped there, climbing to the continent's peak at ninety.

The mysterious man who had swung a sword every single day for decades.

All of them felt impossibly far beyond anything he could compare himself to.

And somehow, he had to bend one of those wills to fit his own heart.

Or else grow large enough to hold it whole.

'...I want to see him soon.'

The 101st strongest swordsman, Zet Frost.

His sword mattered, sure, but learning the mindset behind it would matter just as much.

With that thought turning over in his head, Airen sat by the chair for a long while, looking out the window.

* * *

Two days later, the three swordsmen finished their preparations and headed for Zet Frost's estate.

They didn't get lost along the way.

Judith, who'd been buzzing with excitement ever since hearing Kubharu's news, had already scouted the location.

The estate was as large as most fencing halls in its own right.

The real problem lay elsewhere.

"...That's an awful lot of people, isn't it?"

"Are we even gonna get our sparring session today?"

"..."

Airen's face stiffened right along with Judith's.

The wide courtyard was packed with swordsmen.

More people than Krono Fencing Hall's Guest Reception had ever drawn.

Enough that it seemed impossible for one man to handle them all.

Not that it was hard to understand why.

"Well, I suppose this is normal when someone of that caliber offers to spar with anyone who shows up..."

"Guess word's spread pretty far in this region."

"So what do we do? We're basically the last ones here... does that mean we're out of luck?"

"What? Absolutely not!"

"Hm? What's absolutely not, now?"

A calm voice answered Judith's shrill outburst. Airen and Brett turned at the familiar sound.

Hyram, the fencing hall master, was walking up with his usual warm smile.

Startled, Judith asked.

"Wh, what? Why are you here, Hall Master?"

"What other reason would bring me here, at this time, to this place? I'm here for the guidance sparring, obviously."

"...You're literally the head of a fencing hall. Is it really okay for you to shuffle over here and take lessons from someone else like this?"

"What's the problem with that? If there's something to learn even from someone lesser than me, I should learn it. And Zet Frost is far above my level. Nothing to feel awkward about there."

"..."

"Ah, come to think of it, I never got the chance to tell you all about Zet Frost two days ago. My apologies. He's such a lazy man that days like this, where he actually offers guidance sparring, are close to nonexistent. I figured he'd spend your whole stay in Partisan doing nothing but sleeping at home. Or drinking himself silly."

Hyram kept piling on the insults about Zet Frost.

But there was clear warmth in his tone. Curious, Airen asked.

"You know Zet Frost personally, sir?"

"That I do. He's been in Partisan about ten years now, so calling us friends of a decade wouldn't be an exaggeration."

"If you're that close, why are you standing out here with everyone else...?"

Couldn't he just ask for a private lesson?

That was Judith's thought, and everyone else's too.

But Zet Frost turned out to be nothing like what they'd pictured.

"I got turned down."

"Why would he do that?"

"The man's got a lot of things he finds troublesome."

"...Wait, if a friend's request is too much trouble, then what exactly is he doing right now?"

"Zet's personal philosophy is that you've got to do the troublesome thing every once in a while. Says it makes lazing around afterward taste all the sweeter..."

"..."

'The real lazy lord here wasn't Airen Farreira. It was Zet Frost.'

The exact same thought struck Judith and Brett Lloyd at once.

"Don't try to make sense of him. He's a strange one, through and through."

Hyram shook his head and clicked his tongue.

Friendship aside, he genuinely seemed to think the man was odd.

But from where the three of them stood, Hyram himself counted as an oddball among oddballs.

No matter how easygoing and free spirited a person might be, for the head of a fencing hall, an Expert swordsman no less, to care this little about appearances was something else.

'Maybe that's exactly why they get along so well? Two peas in a pod?'

Judith was still frowning over the two men's friendship when the inner doors of the great estate opened, and a bald man stepped out.

The chaos, loud as a marketplace, gradually quieted down.

Once the crowd had gone still, the bald man spoke.

"Pleased to meet you all. I serve as steward here. I've come to relay a message from Master Zet Frost."

"..."

"I apologize, but far more people have come than expected, and it's put my master in a difficult spot. He'd love nothing more than to spend time and cross blades with every single one of you, but he only has one body..."

"Ha, well then he ought to just take two days, three days, four days to get through everyone. Lazy man, through and through."

Hyram clicked his tongue again, badmouthing Zet Frost once more.

The three of them, having no such friendship to lean on, couldn't do the same. They just watched the bald steward with a look that said, so what are you going to do about it.

A moment later, the steward got to the point.

"...For that reason, we'll be giving priority to those who pass a simple test. As for the rest, I'm sorry, but we'll have to ask you to try again another time."

"What! How is that fair!"

"Exactly! I've been staying in Partisan for three whole weeks just to meet Master Zet Frost!"

Complaints erupted from all sides. Understandably so.

They'd come expecting a one-on-one lesson with the strongest Sword Expert alive, and the thought of leaving without even laying eyes on him was enough to make anyone furious.

But the bald steward wasn't easily rattled.

He pointed a finger at a few of the loudest swordsmen and spoke.

"You there."

"What!"

"One more complaint out of any of you, and you're disqualified."

"...!"

"The same goes for the rest of you. Neither I nor my master are receiving anything from you for this. This is purely volunteer work. Don't whine at us about wanting more, about wanting better treatment, when you're the ones receiving a gift for nothing."

"..."

"Frankly, the test itself isn't unreasonable at all. Spending time on people who fall so far short of the mark that even a neighborhood fencing hall would be too good for them, let alone Partisan, that would be the real waste. Understood? If you understand, then keep quiet and just nod."

Nod, nod.

Hundreds of swordsmen turned into obedient sheep and nodded along.

Airen Farreira thought to himself.

'That man's probably an Expert too.'

That wasn't the kind of presence an ordinary steward could carry.

Either way, the bald steward's stern warning settled the situation in an instant.

The cowed swordsmen filed quietly into the estate under his guidance, and before long, a massive magical device came into view.

At the sight of it, Airen muttered without meaning to.

"A magic measurement device!"

"Oh ho, you know this thing?"

"Yes. It's a lot bigger than the one I saw before... but it looks exactly the same."

"That's a magic measurement device?"

"What? What's a magic measurement device. Am I the only one who doesn't know?"

Judith frowned when Hyram and Brett both showed recognition.

Being the only one who didn't know something everyone else did made her feel a little embarrassed, like it exposed some kind of ignorance.

'That bastard Brett better not say anything about this.'

Fortunately, he didn't. Hyram explained kindly, smiling.

"It's a magic device that turns the force of a swordsman's strike into a number. See that glowing square panel up top? The score shows up there."

"Ah, so you just hit that cylinder thing wrapped in leather as hard as you can with your sword?"

"That's the idea."

"Simple enough. I like it."

Brett nodded.

Convincing this many people required an objective standard, and nothing suited that better than a magic measurement device.

While he was thinking that over, the bald steward announced the passing criteria.

"A score above 5,000 is a pass."

Of course, hearing the standard didn't mean much to most of them. Since the magic measurement device wasn't a common item, nobody could tell if 5,000 points was high or low.

So the swordsmen's faces stayed tight with tension.

But Airen, Judith, and Brett were different.

"Want to make a bet?"

"A bet?"

"Yeah. Whoever scores lowest gets flicked on the forehead by whoever scores highest."

"A forehead flick... I'm in."

"You've got such a serious look on your face, I figured you'd turn that down. Didn't expect that."

"When else am I gonna get a legal excuse to flick Judith on the forehead? Can't pass that up."

"The hell. Wash your forehead and get ready, because I'm hitting hard enough to give you a concussion."

"Tch, these kids. Do they think this is child's play?"

"Right? Do they have any idea how high 5,000 points actually is?"

Watching the three young swordsmen chatting like they were on a picnic, showing not a trace of nerves, several of the other swordsmen scowled.

The ones who'd used the magic measurement device before looked especially unhappy.

Knowing just how brutally strict a bar 5,000 points really was, their attitude came off as nothing short of infuriating.

Of course, Airen and his group didn't care either way.

Neither did Hall Master Hyram.

Knowing what the three of them were actually capable of, whether they cleared 5,000 points or not wasn't the point at all.

He turned to Airen.

"Airen."

"Yes, Hall Master."

"Do you remember what score you got, the last time you were measured?"

"Hm... yes, I remember."

Maybe because of that brief, unintentional pause.

A few of the swordsmen nearby turned their attention toward Airen too.

Among them was the very man who'd been passionately explaining just how high a score 5,000 was.

A moment later, the number came out of Airen Farreira's mouth.

"I think it was around 11,000 points."

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