WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 111

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My Combat Power, Well (2)

'Right now...'

'What did he say?'

'Did I hear that right?'

The swordsmen nearby went stiff at the sound of Airen Farreira's voice.

Not all of them had used a magic measurement device before.

But they'd just heard from someone who had, and they knew a score of 5,000 wasn't something to scoff at.

'Or maybe the kid's lying?'

Heads turned sharply toward the man who'd first brought up the magic measurement device.

Caught off guard by the attention, he looked flustered and mumbled quietly.

"Th, that's gotta be a lie. Or maybe... yeah. Not every measurement device uses the same scoring standard. Could be different depending on the model, right?"

"Hmm..."

"Is that so?"

"I mean, even so, double the passing score does seem like a stretch..."

The swordsmen muttered among themselves, nodding along to the man's excuse.

Hyram, of course, was different.

He believed without question that Airen Farreira had scored 11,000 points on the very same kind of device.

"I see. That's actually a bit lower than I expected."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I say that having felt your blade firsthand. Or maybe your skill's improved since then. Was that measurement a while back?"

"Not really..."

Airen trailed off.

He'd taken that measurement about four or five months ago. Not exactly a long stretch of time.

But so much had happened in between.

The Alhad Den, Derinku, the encounter with Ignet, and most recently everything that had come from meeting Brett and Judith again, all of it, he was confident, had helped him grow.

Thinking about it made him curious.

Just how far had he actually come since then?

"The scoring system's the same, right? It's bigger than the one I saw before, but..."

"If the shape and color match, it's the same."

"Then it's the same."

"Good. I might lose to the you standing here now, but I refuse to lose to even your past self. Guess I'll have to give it everything I've got."

"Judith, scrub that forehead nice and clean."

"You're the one who shouldn't cry when you lose."

The three of them bickered without a shred of self-consciousness, and Hall Master Hyram watched them with open fondness.

Meanwhile, the other swordsmen worked their way briskly through the test.

"Taha!"

Kwaang!

"6,201 points. Pass."

"Yes!"

Someone let out a whoop of joy.

"Euryaap!"

Kwang!

"4,984 points. Fail."

"Argh! Please, can I just try one more time? It's barely off..."

"Sorry. Honestly, more people have passed than expected, so we're actually considering raising the bar..."

"Hey! If you didn't clear 5,000, get lost!"

"Yeah! People are waiting behind you!"

"If the bar goes up because of you, it's a fight to the death!"

Someone slunk off in defeat, cursed at on the way out.

Time passed, and eventually only the passers who'd cleared 5,000 points remained, along with the last four, Hyram included.

They'd arrived at the estate latest, so they'd been pushed to the very end of the line.

"Alright. Guess I'll put in some effort."

Rolling his shoulders and stretching, Hall Master Hyram stepped up to the magic measurement device.

Those who knew who he really was watched with serious faces. Those who didn't glanced around, asking questions.

And when the word "Expert" came up, their expressions shifted to shock.

His mild, easygoing look hadn't led anyone to expect that kind of skill.

Was he really an Expert?

That kindly looking, graying man?

The passers watched Hall Master Hyram with the eyes of spectators.

He flashed them a grin, then swung his sword vertically with a sharp shout.

"Taha!"

Kwaaaaaaaang!

"Gah!"

"Ugh!"

"Whoa!"

A sound on a completely different level from anything before it.

A boom like actual thunder rolled through the crowd, and every face changed at once.

As if they'd rehearsed it, everyone turned toward the square score panel at the same moment.

Nobody could wait for the bald steward to read it aloud.

[12,081]

Four thousand points higher than the best score so far.

The watching swordsmen let out gasps of astonishment, and the bald steward, still perfectly composed, spoke.

"12,081 points. Pass. Your record's improved since last time, Hall Master Hyram."

"Haha, keep swinging it enough and you pick up a knack for it."

"Please don't do it too often. You'll wreck yourself."

"It's not the small device, it's the large one, so that won't happen. Well, unless these three swing it, that might be a different story..."

"Hm?"

At Hyram's words, the bald steward turned to look behind him.

Three young swordsmen came into view.

A blue haired one with an easy, relaxed look, a red haired one practically vibrating with excitement, and a blond youth who seemed just a bit tense.

All three looked barely past twenty. If that.

'Those kids are going to break the measurement device?'

Must be a joke.

The bald steward thought so.

Hall Master Hyram was serious about swordsmanship, but he was also the type to enjoy a pointless joke, much like Zet Frost.

He was probably just talking up some promising talents he'd discovered.

Having settled on that, he addressed the blond youth.

"Next. Begin whenever you're ready."

"Yes. Whew..."

Called forward by the steward, Airen Farreira stepped up in front of Hyram.

He reached a hand into the air, and a massive sword appeared.

Everyone gasped.

The bald steward. Even Hyram.

Hyram Fencing Hall used wooden practice swords for sparring, after all.

"W, wait. Magic? A magic sword? Using magic during the measurement is forbidden..."

"Ah, it's a sword made with Sorcery, but... is that not allowed? It's just hard, nothing special about it otherwise..."

"..."

"Oh, then if you have a greatsword of a similar shape, I'll use that instead."

"...Please wait a moment."

The steward vanished with a stiff expression, then returned almost instantly with a sword.

A blunt, edgeless lump of iron, more a club than a blade.

Heavy enough that most people couldn't even lift it, but Airen took it without the slightest hesitation.

He gave it a few light swings, then nodded.

"Can I start now?"

"...Yes."

The steward answered in a low voice. Tension had crept into his face without him noticing.

He wasn't the only one.

The onlookers, Hyram, even Brett and Judith, all had their eyes lit with anticipation, watching to see Airen's swing.

They knew better than anyone.

In a sparring match, maybe not, but when it came to the destructive power of a single strike, this guy was the best of the three of them.

The instant that thought crossed their minds, Airen Farreira's sword split the sky.

Then it struck the side of the massive measurement device with tremendous force.

Kwaaaaaaaaaaang!

"Ugh!"

"Guh!"

An enormous sound.

Even more astonishing than the one Hyram had produced, terrifying enough to earn that word honestly.

Some of the swordsmen lost their footing for a moment, and some clapped their hands over their ears.

Every face twisted, but every eye locked onto the score panel.

And nobody could say a word.

[18,817]

"...18,817 points. Pass."

A result shocking enough that even the steward took a long moment before he could speak.

While everyone stood there stunned, a spirited voice rang out.

"Alright. I'm next."

It was Judith's voice, her red hair swaying as she walked forward.

She spoke to the bald steward.

"Mister, I can go right away, right?"

"Huh? Yes... go ahead."

"Whew... hyup!"

Kwaaaaaaaaang!

"Ugh!"

"What!"

Another deafening roar rang out!

[16,581]

And another bizarre score flashed on the panel!

That wasn't even the end of it.

The red haired swordswoman stepped back with a disappointed look, and the young man who came up next posted an equally staggering score.

[16,601]

"Well, at least Judith beat me. Airen, don't hold back, hit me as hard as you want."

"What! No way! This can't be right! Is it broken? Ah, ahh!"

"...Ah. Right, this was a forehead flick bet."

He'd completely forgotten.

Watching Airen mutter to himself with a blank expression, everyone in the estate couldn't help but feel a wave of bewilderment.

'What exactly are these three?'

* * *

The test finally came to an end.

The passers filed one by one into the estate's inner training grounds for a supervised sparring session with Zet Frost, while those still waiting counted down the minutes with mounting excitement.

Airen's group was last again. They'd arrived right on time, but everyone else had simply arrived earlier, so there was nothing to be done about it.

Watching the still-long line ahead of them, Judith spoke.

"There's still a lot of people. Are we even getting through today?"

"There's a lot, alright."

"Maybe they should've raised the passing score to 6,000..."

Judith glanced around as she said it and quickly shut her mouth.

The swordsmen who'd barely scraped past 5,000 points were shooting her sharp looks.

Not that it mattered to them whether someone had cleared 16,000 points.

Fully understanding their feelings, she whispered quietly.

"Anyway, at this rate we'll be here till dawn before we even get a match."

"Mm..."

The faces of all four, Hyram included, darkened.

They hadn't known it before arriving, but they knew now.

Zet Frost was, by nature, an extremely lazy man.

Given that, there was a real chance he'd cut the supervised sparring short partway through instead of pushing through to every passer by the next day.

The thought made all of them anxious.

They'd spent two whole days thinking of nothing but this match with Zet Frost, holding on for exactly this!

The three of them found themselves in complete agreement. Even Hyram felt the same way.

Just then, the steward, who'd stepped inside for a moment, came back with news.

"Relaying a message from my master. It seems there are too many passers to finish today, so..."

"No!"

"...We've changed the format to supervised matches with three people at a time. We ask for your understanding."

"Whew... thank goodness."

Judith let out a sigh of relief. So did several other swordsmen whose spots in line had been hanging by a thread.

Against the strongest Expert alive, what did it matter whether it was three on one or one on one? As long as they got to be taught, nothing else mattered.

Of course, not everyone felt that way.

There was one whose skill set them far above the ordinary swordsmen, too far to be lumped in with the rest.

The Hall Master of Hyram Fencing Hall.

"Ah, Master Hyram is an exception. He'll be facing you one on one, apparently."

"Heh, quite the consideration, coming from him."

"He seems to be in a better mood than usual lately."

"Understood. I'll gratefully accept the kindness. Though calling it kindness feels a bit much..."

Hyram trailed off with an ambiguous expression, and the bald steward gave a faint smile, as if he understood exactly what he meant.

That seemed to be the end of it.

It wasn't. Brett Lloyd stepped forward and asked the steward a question.

"So, does that mean the three of us will be facing him all at once too?"

"...!"

"I counted the people left in line, and it comes out to exactly the three of us, so I'm asking. Are you really fine with all three of us at once?"

"...Give me a moment. I'll go ask."

The steward answered with a grave expression.

Thinking it over, it was a real concern. Whatever their swordsmanship was like, these were mad young swordsmen whose single strikes outdid even Hall Master Hyram.

Could anyone really face all three of them at once?

He wasn't confident either way, even knowing Zet Frost's actual skill.

But someone stopped him before he could go.

Hall Master Hyram.

"Wait."

"Sir?"

"What's the problem? It's not like they're demanding anything unreasonable. They're just asking him to do exactly what he already said he'd do."

"But..."

"You know what? That fruit wine you set aside to drink on New Year's, Zet drank it."

"...I'll proceed as planned."

The bald steward nodded gravely, and Hall Master Hyram grinned like a mischievous kid.

Airen stared at the two of them, dumbfounded, while Brett, deep in thought about something, cut in between them.

Then he said.

"Hall Master Hyram."

"Hm?"

"This might be a rude question, but... how is Sir Zet Frost as a teacher?"

"As good as his swordsmanship. If he'd ever run a fencing hall, students would've flocked to him in droves."

"So he doesn't have any students he teaches regularly?"

"None. Didn't I mention already. He's the laziest man in Partisan, bar none."

"In that case, what about this?"

Brett leaned in and whispered something, and after hearing him out, Hyram nodded with a grin.

Airen and Judith watched them with looks that said what are you two up to, and the blue haired young man walked over with a smile and spoke.

"One supervised match isn't enough, right?"

"Huh?"

"Let's turn that lazy master of ours into our personal teacher for a month."

* * *

Chang!

Clatter!

"Mm... I lost."

"Obviously. Did you think you'd actually beat me?"

"No, that's fair. But you really are consistent, aren't you, nasty as ever. I admit I lost and you're still picking a fight?"

"Never mind that, you've gotten better since last time, but..."

Once his match with Hyram ended, Zet Frost went through several points, one by one.

His expression stayed thoroughly bored throughout, but his explanations hit every key detail with precision.

Hyram nodded deeply and said.

"Thanks. That helped a lot."

"Of course it did. I taught it."

"That amazing teaching of yours, mind doing a little extra for an old friend?"

"Bring three bottles of honey wine from your fencing hall and I'll consider it."

"See you next time."

"Take care."

"Oh, right. Almost forgot something."

"What now. If it's not booze, spit it out and get lost."

"Such a temper. Well, I guess these young ones had quite a temper too."

"Young ones? What are you even talking about?"

Zet Frost frowned.

Hyram let out a low chuckle.

Then, like a man about to share the funniest thing he'd heard in ages, he told the story.

"Well, when you said you'd be facing three of them at once, some of them got upset about it. Said even so, wasn't that a bit much, being looked down on like that."

"Huh, is that right? I suppose that's fair, depending on how good they actually are..."

"But those swordsmen, from what I could tell, were barely past twenty."

"What?"

Zet Frost asked back, clearly caught off guard.

But there was an even more absurd part still to come.

"They even asked me to pass along a message. Said if you could beat all three of them at once, they'd follow you like dogs for a month, do whatever you told them."

"What?"

"But if they win, they want you to teach each of them swordsmanship individually for a month."

"Lunatics..."

Zet Frost swore under his breath.

Sure, gifted young talents weren't exactly rare in this world.

Ignet Crescentia had reached Sword Master at twenty. Illia Lindsay had a track record of putting countless Experts on their knees at eighteen.

Of course, there was no chance the three currently standing in his estate were on that level.

He let out a hollow laugh, then said.

"Fine. I accept the bet. Might as well get the estate a good deep clean out of it."

"Then I'll act as witness. Just so nobody tries to run."

"You think anyone could run from me? But sure, watch if you want. Send them in!"

"Yes, sir."

The bald steward bowed politely and went outside to call the young swordsmen in.

While he was gone, Zet Frost kept letting out disbelieving laughs, one after another.

A little while later.

"..."

Zet Frost looked at the three young swordsmen as they stepped in, their presence blazing with intensity, then turned to his old friend without a word.

Hall Master Hyram flashed him a grin and said, simply.

"No backing out now."

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