WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 127

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Super Rookies (3)

Monday, the start of the week, held a fairly special meaning in Aienmarc.

That was the day Weekly Arena, Weekly Valhalla, and every other dueling magazine hit the stands.

Once more, worth repeating: the people of this city loved gambling second best. What they loved most was watching a good fight.

Even those too busy with work to attend matches in person still found real joy in reading up on the latest and greatest, keeping tabs on every strong swordsman they could.

"Oh, look, Krono Fencing Hall trainees showed up?"

And this week's dueling magazines had plenty of substance to offer.

More precisely, there were quite a few figures worth paying attention to among the newly revealed prospects.

Official trainees of Krono, holed up inside their fencing hall for nearly six years, had finally stepped out into the wider world.

"Brett Lloyd, Judith... those names ring a bell. Aren't they supposed to be the most promising ones out of the Golden 27th Cohort?"

"That's right. Hall Master Ian apparently praised them in public. Given the man's personality, that's saying something."

"Could these be future Sword Masters we're looking at?"

"Come on. Bit early to say that. If everyone called promising turned into a Master, we'd have over a thousand of them running around the continent by now."

"Fair point. Still, they'll probably climb pretty high, don't you think?"

"Maybe."

Shopkeepers sweeping in front of their stores had naturally started guessing at the 27th cohort's prospects.

Predicting how far these newly surfaced swordsmen would rise was one of Aienmarc's favorite pastimes.

The first to speak was a man with a big nose.

"Still, they're the top prospects out of the central region. Think they could make it all the way to Queen-level?"

Queen-level.

The tier that granted entry into the Proof Land's third arena, the Glory Land, reserved only for genuine powerhouses.

Maybe it was because he'd heard so much about the Krono 27th cohort.

The big-nosed man figured they had a shot at reaching that glorious stage.

But the other two didn't agree.

The mustached man in particular scrunched up his face and shook his head.

"Nah, Queen-level's a stretch."

"Exactly. Used to be easier, maybe, but these days you basically need to be an Expert to get up there."

"But couldn't the 27th cohort trainees already be Experts?"

"Come on, they just stepped out into the continent. What are the odds..."

"Still, though..."

The pushback came fast, and the big-nosed man bristled a little.

These two always found something to argue about, no matter what he said.

Still, the mustached man's next point was fairly solid.

"You know the average age Sword Masters across the continent reach Expert rank?"

"Huh? Not really..."

"Early twenties. Sure, some are slower, some faster, but that's the average. And Brett Lloyd and Judith aren't even twenty yet."

"Ah..."

"See? Now you get why I said it's a stretch."

The big-nosed man nodded, looking convinced.

Put that way, comparing them to how young Sword Masters usually were really drove the point home.

Hearing that even the continent's greatest geniuses rarely reached Expert in their teens made it seem like even Krono's top contenders for the 27th cohort would have a hard time of it.

"Still, it's not completely impossible."

The short man, who'd stayed quiet until now, spoke up, and both the mustached man and the big-nosed man nodded at once.

They'd seen it twice already, after all.

Swordsmen with talent so overwhelming it made even Sword Masters look dim by comparison.

"With talent like Ignet Crescentia becoming a Master at twenty, or like the current champion Illia Lindsay, sure, Queen-level's nothing, King-level's possible too."

"Didn't Sir Julius Hyul reach Expert at fourteen? And Hall Master Ian was, what, fifteen? Right. With that kind of monster talent, sure, maybe it's possible."

"True enough."

Of course, none of the three men talking looked especially serious.

It couldn't be helped.

However impressive the Krono 27th cohort trainees were, they were still just prospects for now.

Comparing them to the continent's strongest swordsmen, the greatest talents in history, was simply too much of a stretch.

For that reason, Krono's third trainee, Airen Farreira, hadn't earned people's trust.

His ambitions sounded far too outlandish next to the reputation he actually had.

'Maybe he could pull it off at Bishop-level. But the swordsmen at Rook-level are no joke. Sounds like he talked big just to build up some buzz. That's a bit much, though.'

'Still, I like a cocky character better than a quiet one. Should I go catch one of his matches? Weekly Arena rated him pretty high, though I can't exactly trust that a hundred percent.'

'Give it about a month and things should shake out. If he's still being talked about by then, I'll go take a look. Until then, I should catch Judith's matches. Something about a commoner background just makes you want to root for them more.'

The merchants paused their conversation for a moment, mulling over Krono's three prospects.

But that pause didn't last long.

They still had plenty left to talk about.

"Enough about the rookies, what's this week's King-level lineup look like?"

"The newly risen sword master Kroshu against the fourth-ranked, Grayson King."

"Ooh, I have to see Kroshu's match no matter what. Damn it, unless I dip into my emergency stash, I've got no spare cash for that."

"Why? Isn't Kroshu from the east?"

"It's not about where he's from. You should've seen it yourself, I mean, the level of it..."

Every generation had its share of prodigies, child geniuses, once-in-a-decade talents, prospects showered with every praise imaginable.

But not all of them bloomed.

Only those who survived the long, brutal thorn-strewn path could shed the "prospect" label and become true swordsmen.

The people of Aienmarc knew this all too well, which was why they never gave young swordsmen quite the same attention as the veterans.

It had been three days since Airen Farreira's group arrived in the city.

The world, it seemed, still wasn't ready to welcome its third genius.

* * *

At that same hour.

Having composed herself, Illia Lindsay stood before the priest, pouring out the thoughts tangled inside her heart without much order.

She'd always been someone who spoke her mind freely, holding nothing back, but today she had even more to say than usual.

A precious bond who'd come to visit her after so long.

Airen Farreira, the reason for all of it.

'Trapped by other people's gazes?'

'I've spent all this time chasing someone else's back?'

'Meaningless? He wants me to stop?'

'Was every bit of effort I've made, every level I've reached, all for nothing?'

For nearly six years now, Illia Lindsay had walked her chosen path without a shred of doubt.

It wasn't as if there'd been no setbacks.

Countless eyes and mouths had mocked her struggle, jeered at her, worn her down.

But she'd been able to overcome all of it, thanks to one thought: that those people were nothing but wretched things, waiting for any excuse to tear down her, her house, her brother.

'I can't let myself fall because of people who are just waiting for me to fail.'

'Even if it hurts, I have to push through. Even if it's agonizing, I have to overcome it.'

'Burn hotter. Fight harder.'

'Turn this anger into fuel and climb even higher!'

But this time, this time alone, she couldn't do that at all.

Because the one who'd shaken her heart wasn't some stranger. It was Airen Farreira, her most precious friend.

'It's embarrassing to say, but you're my most precious friend. See you next time.'

She remembered Airen's last words before he left her room.

The expression on his face, the mood of that moment, every last detail of it, still lingered.

That was exactly why she knew. He'd meant every word, truly wishing the best for her.

...And if someone like that, someone who genuinely cared for her, said the path she'd walked was wrong...

'Then maybe something really is wrong with me right now.'

Illia Lindsay poured out these thoughts of hers without holding anything back, her breathing coming a little ragged.

Her usual cold expression had long since cracked.

Her eyes, faintly glistening with tears, stayed fixed on the priest's pure white robes.

She couldn't bring herself to lift her gaze.

Head bowed slightly, Illia waited quietly for the priest to untangle her troubles for her.

A moment later.

A calm voice, the kind that settled the listener's heart, drifted out.

"Since your friend left you with something close to a Zen riddle, I think I'll offer one of my own."

"...A Zen riddle?"

"Yes. It's a short story. Would you like to hear it?"

Illia nodded, looking a little puzzled.

Until now, the priest had always eased her mind with clear, straightforward advice.

Hearing him offer a riddle instead struck her as strange, but she figured there had to be some meaning behind it.

Soon, an old story began to flow from his mouth.

"One day, a burly man was watching a flag whip violently in the wind, when an old priest approached and asked him, why do you think that flag is shaking? The man answered, it's shaking because the wind is blowing."

"..."

"And the priest said, no. It isn't the flag that's shaking. It's your heart."

"..."

"What do you think the man did after hearing that?"

"...I don't know."

Illia answered quietly.

She thought she already knew, actually. She'd heard this story before.

The meaning was that what truly mattered wasn't your surroundings but your own heart, and applied to her situation, there was plenty of room to read it as, don't worry about what others say, just walk your own path.

So did that mean even the priest thought Airen was right?

While she was caught up in that thought, the priest continued in his gentle voice.

"The furious man punched the old priest right in the face."

"..."

"And he said, I don't know whether it's the heart shaking or the flag, but your teeth sure look like they're shaking all over the place now."

"Are you joking with me right now?"

"Not at all. What I mean is, words that only give you a headache and do nothing to actually help should just go in one ear and out the other. Sister, please lift your head."

The priest's voice reached her. Illia raised the head she'd bowed.

There, she saw his eyes, clear and transparent. Eyes like a deep, calm lake that settled the heart just looking into them.

"The priest in that story must have thought, the wind blows no matter what, so the flag has no choice but to shake. So let's at least keep the heart from being affected. But that's nothing more than an excuse from someone without the ability to do otherwise."

"..."

"Isn't that so? Sister, you've silenced every wind that's ever blown your way, all this time. You became an official knight of the Moonlight Knights and made the nobles around you lower their eyes. You became champion of the Proof Land and shut the mouths of the ignorant masses. And now, having become the youngest Sword Master on record, how does it feel?"

"The people who put me beneath Ignet... they've started going quiet."

"Exactly. That's what matters."

The priest rose from his seat and gently patted Illia's back.

Illia accepted the touch quietly. The priest's words kept flowing.

"Keep pressing forward. Keep working hard. Until every wind in this world falls silent. Until every fool on this continent shuts their mouth."

"...Thank you. This helped me a great deal."

A moment later, Illia Lindsay rose with a determined look, a flame flickering in her eyes.

Completely different from how anxious and uncertain she'd seemed before, now burning with fierce heat.

The priest watched her with a smiling face and bowed his head, and Illia, bowing back, thanked him once more.

With the same heart as before.

A heart much like the one she'd had the first time she lost her brother.

The burning anger, rekindled once more, set her ablaze.

Whatever came later, right now, the silver-haired swordswoman who looked absolutely radiant walked out of the room.

"..."

Watching her go in silence, the priest nodded without a word.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he opened the window and looked outside.

The winter's cutting wind brushed past his skin, but he paid it no mind, standing still for a long while as though nailed in place.

* * *

The next day.

Airen Farreira, waking at his usual early hour, had a thought.

It really had been a long time since his dream had changed.

'...This isn't the first day it happened.'

That was true. He was only certain of it today, but thinking it over carefully, the change hadn't started today.

The day he'd met Illia Lindsay.

The day he'd resolved to stop her from spiraling out of control.

Ever since that day, the man in the dream had been slowly growing older.

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