WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 118

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Illia Lindsay (2)

Hmmmm.......

A strange resonance seemed to come from Illia Lindsay's sword.

No, not really. The stands and the stage stood far enough apart that nothing could actually be heard.

But to the ears of Brett Lloyd, watching his old classmate, it felt like he could hear the blade sing.

A brilliant silver light streamed out, and it felt like it was drawing closer, inch by inch.

Aura Sword.

The finest technique a swordsman could possess, wielded only by those who had reached the rank of Master.

An overwhelming power capable of cutting through anything and blocking anything, the kind of ability shown only by heroes out of myth.

'Illia... reached that level?'

"Haha......"

Brett Lloyd let out a hollow laugh. There was nothing else he could say. He was too stunned for words.

Hall Master Ian, called a genius among geniuses, had reached Sword Master at twenty-five. Ignet Crescentia, praised as the greatest genius in history, had become a Master at twenty.

And Illia Lindsay was currently eighteen years old.

'Close the gap, huh?'

Brett gave a bitter smile.

There was no need to say any more about how absurd that thought had been.

But even what he felt didn't come close to the shock Judith was going through.

"......."

Judith's face showed no change in expression as she watched the stage.

Eyes wide open, not moving an inch, staring at the stage.

Her gaze was fixed on the brilliant light streaming from Illia Lindsay's blade.

She watched, breath held, as it moved with fluid grace, bearing down on her opponent.

Grind.

She clenched her jaw hard enough that her back teeth threatened to crack.

Clench.

Her fist tightened so hard her nails dug into her palm.

Even so, it didn't make her feel any better.

She couldn't even tell whether this feeling was envy, anger, self-loathing, or maybe all of it at once.

She'd thought she had a shot.

Over the past two months, she'd grown at a terrifying pace.

Trading sword techniques with Airen had refined her footwork, and Zet Frost's sparring instruction had taught her the finer points of thrusting.

She'd also learned plenty about how to fight opponents stronger than herself.

If she pushed forward with momentum and anger, accepting the cost, she'd figured she could manage maybe a three-in-ten chance even against a swordsman above her level, even against Illia Lindsay.

That wasn't the case at all.

Whoosh!

Whooosh!

Illia Lindsay's sword danced.

A blade that floated lightly, then dropped heavy and sudden at some unseen moment.

Her opponent, Cedric Cooper, had no choice but to keep stepping back.

The instant his sword met the Aura Sword, it would shatter, plain and simple.

Illia made full use of that advantage.

She claimed space bit by bit, pressed her opponent bit by bit. It wore him down, made him impatient.

"Haaap!"

Cedric Cooper finally couldn't hold back and went on the offensive, betting everything on a single decisive strike, but Illia stayed composed to the very end.

Slash!

Sidestepping his thrust, she brought her blade down in a light, easy motion.

His blade snapped off and dropped to the floor with a dull thud.

The referee below the stage announced the outcome of the duel.

"Winner! The Champion, Lady Illia Lindsay!"

"Waaaaaaah!"

"Illia Lindsay! Illia Lindsay!"

"That's a Sword Master for you! How do you even beat a Sword Master!"

"Right! Not unless another Sword Master shows up!"

"Youngest Sword Master ever, long live Illia Lindsay! Long live!"

Before the announcer could even finish showering Illia Lindsay with flowery praise, the stands had already erupted.

It couldn't be helped.

Even in a place like the Land of Proof, where skilled swordsmen gathered from everywhere, seeing an actual Sword Master wasn't something that happened every day.

And she wasn't just any Sword Master. She was the prodigy of the storied House Lindsay, the one who'd rewritten the record for youngest Sword Master ever, and on top of all that, stunningly beautiful.

The crowd kept chanting her name long after Illia Lindsay left the stage without a single interview and departed the Land of Proof.

And.......

In the middle of all that excitement and heat, three people sat frozen in their seats.

"...I'm heading out first."

Judith stood and walked off without looking back.

The last glimpse of her face had carried an expression so tangled it looked like it might burst into every emotion at once if anyone so much as touched it.

She wasn't the only one.

Brett Lloyd let out a sigh and rose from his seat too.

He said.

"I'm gonna take a walk too. Don't wait around for me here. I'll find my own way back to the inn."

His expression looked far steadier than Judith's had.

But he couldn't quite hide the bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kubharu and Lulu watched Brett's retreating back with looks of helpless concern.

Then they turned to look at Airen Farreira, who still sat in his seat.

"Airen."

"......."

"Airen, Airen!"

"Ah! Yes, Kubharu."

"You alright? You don't look so good......."

"You okay, Airen?"

"Ah......."

Airen Farreira lifted his head, as if only now snapping back to himself, and looked at Lulu and Kubharu.

He hesitated a moment, then put on an uncertain smile and spoke.

"I'm fine. Better than fine, really."

"Better?"

"Yeah. Honestly, when I heard about what happened to Illia's brother, I was worried sick, but seeing her reach the level of a Master......."

Airen kept talking with a smile on his face, but his voice trailed off.

His expression clouded over too, little by little. The corners of his mouth, forced up until now, sank back down, and his face hardened again.

In the end, he couldn't finish what he'd started to say and spoke different words instead.

"Sorry, Kubharu. Sorry, Lulu. I think I need to... clear my head a bit before I head back to the inn."

In the end, even Airen left the arena, leaving the cat Sorcerer and the orc spirit mage alone together.

Kubharu let out a deep sigh and spoke.

"Well, seems like all three of their pride took quite a hit."

"......."

Lulu didn't answer him.

All the usual mischief drained from her eyes, she could only think of the way Airen had looked, right before he left.

'I don't think that's really what's bothering him......'

She was worried, but there was nothing she could do to help right now.

In the end, the two of them left the Land of Proof without another word and headed back to the inn.

In the middle of all that noisy celebration, only they seemed to sink into quiet.

* * *

After leaving the arena, Airen Farreira wandered the streets of Aienmarc without any destination in mind.

Maybe it was because he was lost in thought. He kept bumping shoulders with the passersby coming the other way, again and again.

"Hey, watch where you're going."

"What's your problem? Keep your head up!"

"Hey! You little...... ugh, forget it."

He nearly got into fights with a few people, but thankfully none of it went anywhere.

It was thanks to the look in Airen's eyes.

People clicked their tongues and walked past him, treating him like a gambler who'd just lost everything he owned, hollow and empty, while the blond young man kept wandering the streets, his mind on his first friend.

'Why?'

Seeing Illia Lindsay again after five and a half years, she'd looked truly happy.

Hadn't she?

She'd broken Ignet's record for youngest Sword Master, a record no one else had ever managed to break, and swung her sword with grace amid a roar of cheers.

She was living the kind of life every swordsman could only dream of.

And yet.

That strong, that magnificent Illia Lindsay, the way she was supposed to look.

Airen had felt something fragile in her instead.

She'd looked unsteady, like she might collapse at any moment.

It was ridiculous.

Genuinely baffled by his own thoughts, Airen burst into loud laughter right in the middle of the street.

"Haha, hahahahaha!"

"What's with that guy......."

"He's lost it."

"How much money did he lose, exactly?"

"Don't make eye contact. Let's just walk around him."

He heard the passersby talking, but he didn't care.

He walked over to a bench in a quiet corner and sat down, then tried to talk himself out of everything he'd been thinking.

Right. There was nothing to worry about.

Illia's expression probably just looked off because of the tension of being on stage.

Maybe something small but irritating had happened right before the match.

Or maybe even the idea that her expression looked off was just something he'd imagined.

Maybe just being in a place she'd once called the "Land of Proof," a place she'd mentioned before, was enough to put him on edge.

Yeah, maybe he was just overreacting.

"Right, that's it. I'm just worrying over nothing."

Airen nodded and stood up from the bench.

There was no reason to keep sitting here. Better to head back to the inn and wait for Judith and Brett.

The reason he'd held his tongue earlier, when he first heard that Illia had reached the level of Master, wasn't wounded pride.

It was because he'd been thinking of Brett and Judith's feelings.

Judith's heart, especially, must have taken quite a beating.

Airen walked toward the inn, turning over the words he'd say to comfort her.

Then he stopped and turned back the other way.

'...No.'

He couldn't just let it go like that.

Clear evidence? Solid reasoning?

None of that mattered right now.

His gut was telling him. Something about Illia Lindsay, right now, was clearly wrong.

He felt bad thinking it, given what Judith was going through, but Illia's state seemed far more serious than Judith's.

'A Sorcerer's instinct, especially when it comes to someone precious to them, can cut as sharp as prophecy.'

His sister Kiril Farreira's words suddenly surfaced in his mind.

A Sorcerer's instinct, so intense that even the word "intuition" felt too weak for it.

And feelings for someone precious only sharpened that instinct further.

Having thought this far, Airen Farreira asked himself a question.

Illia Lindsay. Was she someone precious to him?

"...Of course she is."

Airen let out a breath and lifted his head. The confusion cleared from his eyes, and something sharp flashed within them.

He had to see her. Illia Lindsay.

So how should he go about it?

As he looked around, thinking it over, a sign caught his eye.

A tavern and inn with an Adonis flower petal carved into its signboard.

'...Kubharu used to gather information from places like this, listening in.'

Airen didn't hesitate and walked straight into the tavern beneath the Adonis sign.

The moment he stepped in, every pair of eyes inside turned toward him at once.

"......."

He'd felt an atmosphere like this before.

In Alkantrea, where Krono Fencing Hall was.

It occurred to him that the people gathered here might share the same kind of interests as that crowd had.

Or maybe they were all part of the same group.

Taking a slow breath, Airen walked straight up to the counter, footsteps steady.

The feeling was similar to Alkantrea. But this place was far darker, far rougher.

Still, that wasn't enough to stop him now.

Reaching the counter, Airen spoke politely.

"This is my first time in Aienmarc, and I have something I'd like to ask. It's a small thing, but I'll pay for the answer if you're willing to give it."

"...What is it?"

"Where would I go to meet Illia Lindsay, the champion of the Land of Proof?"

"Pfft, pfahahahaha!"

"Kuhuk, kuhahahahaha!"

The moment he finished asking, laughter broke out from every corner of the room.

He'd expected as much. It had been the same in Alkantrea.

He didn't care if he became a laughingstock.

If even one person here showed him some kindness, that would be enough.

While he held onto that thought, a huge man rose from his seat and came toward Airen.

A man with a long scar running down his left cheek, sneering as he spoke.

"Hey, kid."

"Yes?"

"Want to make a bet with me?"

"What kind of bet?"

"Starting now, we take turns throwing one punch each, straight to the face. Punch, punch, punch! We keep trading hits like that until one of us goes down or says they give up. Whoever's still standing wins."

"......."

"If you win, I'll take you to Illia Lindsay's place. But if I win......."

"Deal."

"...?"

The scarred man's eyebrows knit together.

This kid was agreeing to a bet without even knowing what he'd have to give up?

"...Well, fine. I'll count that as you accepting. Don't come crying to me later. What I'm asking for isn't going to be easy."

"Hahaha, that's the spirit! That bastard's a real piece of work!"

"Total scum, too!"

"Give it your best, kid!"

"Fight on! Don't lose!"

The patrons scattered around the tavern cheered Airen on.

Of course, it wasn't real encouragement. Mockery dripped from every word and expression.

Not that Airen cared.

He just stared back at the man, his eyes cold and settled.

Whoosh!

Thwack!

Before he even registered it, the scarred man's fist came flying.

Airen's head snapped to the side, and the man who'd thrown the punch laughed loudly.

"Haha! Ever hear of home field advantage? Sorry, but I go first. I've had over five hundred drinks in this place, and I bet even the owner would back me up on that. Isn't that right?"

Chuckling, the man looked around for agreement, and a few people jeered at him.

But far more of them broke into raucous laughter.

A moment later, though, that laughter began to fade.

Because Airen Farreira, hit square by the scarred man's fist, straightened right back up immediately.

"......."

"......."

His skin had gone slightly red.

Other than that, there wasn't a single sign of anything having happened at all. The blond young man's face looked like nothing had touched him.

Cold and settled.

But something about the heat lurking in his eyes made the scarred man swallow hard.

A moment later, Airen Farreira opened his mouth.

"My turn now."

CRAAACK!

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