WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 119

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Illia Lindsay (3)

"Guh!"

Crash!

The scarred man went down under Airen Farreira's fist.

He didn't just crumple where he stood. He flew backward, close enough to that word to be accurate, plowing through tables and chairs behind him.

The onlookers watching the bet held their breath at the spectacle.

A few of them, startled, actually got to their feet.

Airen, of course, paid it no mind.

He walked over to the scarred man with steady steps and knelt on one knee.

Then he spoke.

"Your turn."

"........."

"I know you're not unconscious. Get up."

"Hgh, hurk!"

The scarred man's eyes flew open at the cold voice next to his ear.

The blond young man's expressionless face came into view.

He didn't know what to say, and the words stumbled out of him.

"Uh, uh, ah......."

"Or would you like to give up? If so......."

He was about to say, "Would you tell me where I can find Illia Lindsay?" when the sound of chairs scraping against the floor rose up from all around.

People were getting to their feet.

Airen stood as well, looking at the men who had somehow surrounded him.

"You son of a bitch! You have any idea who we are?"

"Crazy bastard causing trouble in here... he's begging to die."

"Guess you were somebody back wherever you came from, but nobody's ever heard your name here... you think this place is some soft little corner like the others?"

Curses and threats poured out all at once.

Airen Farreira swept his eyes across the tavern, his face still blank.

His bad feeling had been right.

Every single patron in the place was connected to the scarred man somehow.

No, more than that. This place itself seemed to be something like their den.

Even so, Airen hadn't avoided coming here, because he'd been too anxious to care.

If he could get the information he wanted, it didn't matter whether the place was dangerous or not.

Honestly, it didn't even feel all that dangerous to him.

'Oppa, don't wander around looking so spaced out.'

Kiril's words suddenly surfaced in his mind.

That his mild-mannered face might invite trouble from all kinds of people.

That for everyone's sake, he should carry himself with a bit more edge.

It hadn't struck him as particularly convincing advice at the time, but right now, he decided to follow his sister's words.

It seemed like it would work out better for everyone involved.

Once he'd finished the thought, Airen moved.

A few men tried to block his path, but some inexplicable pressure kept their feet rooted where they stood.

The blond young man arrived in front of a man seated in a chair.

A massive man with a skull tattoo on the back of his hand.

A brief silence.

A strange tension built between the two of them.

Cutting through that tension, Airen Farreira spoke first.

"Will you make a bet with me?"

"......!"

"Same rules as before. We trade punches, one each. What do you say? Needless to say, I want the same thing as last time."

"Why, you little punk........."

The skull-tattooed man, who had been sitting there at ease, finally spoke. His voice sounded like a growling beast.

Everyone else stayed silent. He was the leader of this crowd.

Airen knew that too, of course. He just knew. Instinct.

And that instinct was telling him something else.

This man wasn't someone he needed to fight.

Airen opened his mouth again.

This time, he let his presence surge up hard.

Fwooosh!

"......!"

"If you don't want to make the bet, you don't have to. I don't particularly want to fight. Once I get the information I want, I'll leave quietly and never come back. I'll pay for it, too."

The mood in the tavern sank heavy.

This time it wasn't because of the skull-tattooed man.

Airen Farreira's presence, spreading in every direction, was pressing down hard on every man in the room.

A force strong enough that even the dullest, least perceptive person there could feel it clearly.

While they stood there, sweat beading on their skin under a weight like a mountain bearing down, staring at the blond young man,

The tavern door swung open with a clatter.

A handsome man with pointed ears stepped inside.

"Whew, what is this? Really warm in here. Too much fire in the hearth, or is that just the hot friendship between men?"

"........."

"Ah, not really the mood for jokes, I see. Sorry about that. My apologies."

The man took off his hat and bowed politely.

Something about it felt faintly irritating, but nobody called him out on it.

Even the pointed-eared man himself seemed to take that as a given.

Finishing his greeting, he strode over to Airen with a light, bouncy step.

Then he said,

"Swordsman, sir? What's your name?"

"...Airen Farreira."

"Airen Farreira, Farreira, Farreira... doesn't sound like you're from the west. Looks like this is your first time in Aienmarc, too."

"That's right."

"Ah! My apologies. I wasn't trying to pick a fight, please don't misunderstand... it's just, I happened to overhear you asking about something here... ah, as for how I heard your voice from outside the door........."

As he spoke, he pointed to his own ear.

The pointed ear twitched in response, and only then did Airen realize the man wasn't human.

'An Elf!'

Elves.

A race that gathered in the eastern part of the continent, known for their beauty beyond that of ordinary people, their bright pointed ears, and slender builds.

He'd heard they had even less contact with humans than dwarves or orcs, so he hadn't even considered the possibility, but the man in front of him was unmistakably an elf.

"Anyway, if you've got something you want to know, why don't you talk it over with me?"

"........."

"Staying here, all you'll get is a rough time. Getting what you actually want is a different story, whatever that might be."

"Do you know?"

Airen Farreira asked.

The man's slick attitude and expression grated on him a little, but there was an odd honesty in his eyes that made it hard to pin down what kind of person he really was.

Maybe to hide his own confusion,

his tone came out gruffer than usual.

The elf, unbothered, smiled at ease and pulled out an ID plate bearing his own portrait from inside his coat.

No, looking closer, it wasn't a portrait. It was a photograph taken with some kind of magical device.

Beneath the photo of the elf, grinning with his white teeth showing, was his name along with his affiliation and position.

[Senior Reporter, Weekly Arena, Hints]

"Senior reporter covering the news for a weekly paper called Weekly Arena. Name's Hints. I know most of what goes on in Aienmarc, especially anything to do with the arenas. I'd bet I can give you far more useful information than anyone else here........."

"........."

Caught off guard by the stranger's occupation, Airen fell silent and turned it over in his mind.

Newspapers. Reporters.

Unfamiliar words, but not entirely new to him.

A regular publication meant to deliver news quickly and accurately. And the person who gathered the stories that went into it.

He'd never actually seen a newspaper or met a reporter before. He only knew such things existed, in the vaguest sense.

But even someone like Airen had heard, secondhand, that getting tangled up with reporters tended to be exhausting.

The problem was that right now, he was too anxious to care about any of that.

"Oh! Just in case, let me be clear... I'm not doing this hoping to get something out of you, please understand that."

"........."

"Of course, it's not like I have absolutely, truly, completely zero ulterior motives here... hah, but since getting an interview through someone is the most effective way to build up a reputation anyway, I figured, well, if it comes to that, maybe you'd remember my name for a line or two........."

Words of persuasion kept spilling smoothly out of Hints's mouth.

Strangely enough, even with him talking this long, nobody stepped in to stop him.

It wasn't because of the presence Airen had shown earlier. This elf reporter himself seemed like the kind of person nobody wanted to mess with.

'He probably does know a lot.'

Airen let out a breath.

He had zero interest in reputation or interviews.

But if it meant getting his question answered right now, he figured that was a price worth paying.

He nodded, focused his gaze, and stared straight at Hints.

The elf flinched, pulling his head back slightly at the strange pressure, and Airen finally spoke his real request.

"Do you know where Illia Lindsay is staying?"

"...Excuse me?"

"I asked where I could go to see Illia Lindsay, the Proof Land Champion and a Sword Master."

"........."

Hearing this, Hints took a step back. No, half a step.

His face was still smiling. But anyone perceptive enough could tell his expression had gone stiff underneath.

To him, Airen Farreira spoke again.

"If you know, then lead the way. To Illia Lindsay's residence."

* * *

'Well, this is awkward.'

Reporter Hints glanced back at the mysterious young man following him, Airen Farreira, and let out a small sigh.

When he'd first spotted him, he'd actually been in a pretty good mood.

That was only natural.

The people of Aienmarc were, by nature, addicted to fighting and gambling, which meant the appearance of a new strong contender was always welcome.

Even for someone like him, hardened by over fifteen years in the business, the emergence of a young talent he'd never even heard of was interesting news all on its own.

So he'd approached with a light heart, meaning to get acquainted first and secure an edge in whatever interview competition followed later...

'Turns out the guy's just insane enough to walk straight up to the champion.'

Of course, it wasn't as if he didn't know where Illia Lindsay was staying.

Any reporter, or really anyone who'd lived here a few months, knew that much.

But despite holding the glorious title of Champion, she had a pathological aversion to public exposure.

After a few reporters who'd tried to get an interview with the gifted daughter of House Lindsay got thoroughly worked over by her guard knight, Hints had completely erased the idea of ever meeting the Champion from his mind.

He had zero interest in chasing something with less than a 0.01 percent chance of happening.

'...Even the lord of Aienmarc gets turned away when he comes calling. No way some random swordsman gets to meet her.'

Sighing quietly again, Hints thought to himself.

He'd just point this politely insane young man toward her residence, then make himself scarce.

No point sticking around and getting caught up in whatever came next.

Sure, they probably wouldn't treat someone of a different race too harshly, but...

'Still, no point poking a hornet's nest.'

While he was thinking that, the two of them arrived in front of a large mansion.

Among the mostly plain, blocky buildings of Aienmarc, this was one of the more elegant sights around, and a gatekeeper stood posted in front of the main gate.

Hints pointed toward it with a needlessly elegant flourish.

"That's the mansion where the Champion is staying."

"...I see. Thank you."

"Hah, don't mention it. Glad I could help. Well, I'll be on my way now... ah! Hints, of Weekly Arena, Hints! Don't forget the name, now, I really am heading off this time."

"........."

Watching Airen walk toward the gate without a word, Hints turned around without a second thought.

Just as he'd resolved earlier, there was no reason to linger here.

Better to go check out that rumor about a promising up-and-comer spotted near the northern plaza.

But that thought vanished the instant the blond young man's voice rang out behind him.

"Here, the Lindsay House emblem plate."

"........."

"I've come as a guest of House Lindsay, wishing to meet Miss Illia Lindsay."

'What did he just say?'

The Lindsay House emblem plate.

Hearing the words he never expected, Reporter Hints spun around with a look of pure shock on his face.

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