WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 13

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Growth (2)

Dawn.

Waking earlier than usual, Airen Farreira stared blankly at the ceiling.

He lay there a long while before finally rising to look out the window at the view beyond.

The familiar ceiling.

The room he'd known so long.

The scenery still holding its place, the friendly smell of grass, the birdsong, all the tedious yet dear little things.

Everything that reached the boy's eyes was the same as yesterday.

But he himself, his own inner heart at least, was not the same.

He quietly turned over the dream he'd had the night before.

It's been a while.

A dream he hadn't had at all recently.

But before the mysterious man had started appearing in his dreams, it used to come at least once a week.

That place had been sweet as a dream itself.

Dark all through, yet it felt cozy. Something filled it completely, yet there was no sense of being smothered.

If anything it felt warm, even nostalgic, so much so that as a child Airen used to force himself to sleep just to have that dream again.

Because it gave him the illusion of being held in his dead mother's arms.

...Yes.

Nothing but an illusion.

Even the boy had known for a long time that the place wasn't really his mother's embrace.

But Airen couldn't leave it behind.

The anxiety that crept over him whenever his eyes were open, the weight of the stares that settled on him the moment he stepped outside his bed, those things terrified him. He couldn't bear them.

So the boy, having lived through his misfortune, sank further and further into himself, and grew more and more obsessed with the time he spent in that dark place in his dreams.

But.

Not today, though.

A silver gray sword had lit up the pitch darkness where he couldn't make out anything even an arm's length away.

The instant it appeared before him, looking almost like a pillar of light, Airen had no choice but to reach for it.

He hadn't held a sword in months, after all.

So the boy gripped the light and swung it hard, tracing the exact same sword path the mysterious man had swung countless times.

The black curtain veiling his sight split apart, and radiant light poured through.

Bright, warmer still, a pure white energy carrying a strange sense of clarity.

Airen Farreira, freed at last from the egg that had confined him, basked in that light for a long moment.

Eyes closed. His mind clearer and sharper than it had ever been.

And the afterglow of it lingered even now, after he'd woken, leaving the boy sunk in quiet emotion.

"...I suppose it was time to move on," Airen murmured under his breath.

He already knew.

That the dream his past self had clung to hadn't been his birth mother's embrace. That as familiar and comfortable as it felt, it had actually been an obstacle blocking his own path forward.

And today, the boy had finally stepped past that obstacle.

He opened the window, drew in a deep breath of the outside air, and said with strength in his voice.

"Time to put it away now."

He wouldn't forget it.

The memories of the past had weighed on him for a long time, but they had also been precious to him in their own way.

Even now, ten years later, they still made his chest ache, made him wistful, made him a little melancholy.

But he wouldn't let himself be bound by them anymore.

Never again.

With that thought settled, Airen Farreira left his room and strode briskly off toward his morning training.

To spend a day just like yesterday, just like tomorrow would be.

Nothing seemed to have changed.

But that wasn't true.

Inside the lazy lord, a change far bigger than anything before was taking place.

* * *

"You probably already know roughly what I'm about to say."

After finishing the usual brutal round of training, every prospective trainee at Krono Fencing Hall gathered in the auditorium.

Instructor Ahmed had said there was an important announcement.

Naturally, the kids already knew what he was going to say.

Three months and twenty days since they'd entered the hall.

It was about time for that particular topic to come up.

"All right, let's talk about the Mid-Term Evaluation."

A silence fell over the hall, dead as a mouse. The prospective trainees wore identical tense expressions as they looked at Instructor Ahmed.

The Mid-Term Evaluation carried a completely different weight than the Physical Ability Test they'd taken on their first day, or the casual end-of-month tests held every month since.

Unlike those earlier tests, which had no bearing on their standing in the dorms, trainees who scored poorly here would have to pack their bags.

I absolutely cannot fail. Do you know how hard I worked just to get in here?

I endured four months of that hellish schedule, and now they want me to just go home? No! I'm only seeing my parents again after I pass both the Mid-Term and the Final Evaluation and earn some leave!

I'm not leaving even if it kills me. I refuse!

A wave of fierce stares gathered and poured toward the instructor.

They were only twelve or thirteen on average, but these were kids who had already endured months of hellish training.

The pressure they gave off couldn't simply be brushed aside, and it pressed in on Ahmed from every direction.

Of course, it had no effect at all on someone who had already reached his level.

If anything, the instructor's mouth curled up slightly, as if he found them endearing.

Not bad. This batch is clearly a cut above the last one.

Watching these kids, who might one day become his juniors, grit their teeth and steel their resolve out of sheer spite, filled him with a swelling, almost meddlesome pride.

That feeling grew even stronger when he looked at certain particular kids.

...Roughly thirty of them, give or take.

Trainees who kept a composed look despite the pressure the test brought with it.

They shared a few things in common.

They'd scored well on the last end-of-month evaluation.

Even in the brutal heat, they'd kept up some measure of independent training.

They knew where they stood, and so they didn't doubt for even a moment that they'd fail the Mid-Term Evaluation.

In other words, they had room to spare.

Makes sense. The Mid-Term Evaluation isn't a relative ranking, it's an absolute one. If you trust your own skill, there's no reason to worry.

That's about right, Ahmed muttered to himself. He disliked cocky little brats, but he wasn't so much of an old fogey that he'd resent confidence when it was actually earned.

Still, he wasn't nearly saintly enough to just sit back and let them enjoy their composure unbothered.

Snickering, he clapped his hands together sharply.

A spell activated at the front of the auditorium.

A rectangular screen appeared, showing the course map for the Mid-Term Evaluation along with detailed information on each test event.

Every prospective trainee's eyes shot toward it, and the already quiet hall fell into a silence so complete you could have heard a pin drop.

But that atmosphere didn't last long.

Sighs, groans, and eventually muttered curses started slipping out of the kids' mouths without them meaning to.

"What the hell..."

"No way. How is anyone supposed to finish that in that amount of time..."

"Something's off. No matter how I look at this, it feels like way too much."

"Is the time limit wrong? Or maybe the repetition count..."

"Nothing's wrong."

Instructor Ahmed's blunt interjection shut the prospective trainees up. They stared ahead with faces on the verge of tears.

He kept going with his explanation regardless.

"As you can see, there's nothing special about it. The first set of repeated drills are all things you've learned over the past four months, and running and swimming go without saying. All you have to do is finish within the given time limit. Rank doesn't matter."

Ahmed's explanation made it sound easy.

It absolutely was not.

The repeated drills, which tested strength, muscular endurance, agility, coordination, and overall physical ability, called for a number of repetitions that bordered on absurd, and the running course that followed wasn't a flat one either. It had elevation changes, and worse, sand underfoot that drained every last ounce of stamina.

The swimming course at the end was relatively normal, at least, but even that covered no small distance.

As proof, even the roughly thirty top-ranked trainees, who up to now had kept their easy composure, felt their expressions harden.

Seeing this, Ahmed grinned.

That's the stuff.

He muttered to himself and continued.

"The Final Evaluation begins exactly ten days from now, at nine in the morning on the last day of the month. Since it's graded on an absolute standard, I sincerely hope as many of you pass as possible."

"..."

"Oh, and just so you know, the trainees who place in the top five will receive a reward directly from the Hall Master himself. That should give even the ones who feel comfortable about passing a little extra motivation."

He'd meant it as good news, in a way, but the kids barely reacted.

Given that most of them couldn't even guarantee they'd pass at all, talk of prizes or the Hall Master personally showing up wasn't likely to register.

Ahmed had expected as much, of course.

Smiling once more, he said, "There will be no classes for the next ten days. Aside from mealtimes, the rest of your time is your own. Rest if you want, train if you want... good luck to you all."

With that, Instructor Ahmed and the assistant instructors left the auditorium.

The kids stared blankly after their retreating backs for a long moment. In silence.

Of course, that only lasted briefly.

Once the reality of the situation finally sank in, the kids let out despairing wails.

"Argh! Isn't this a little much?"

"Exactly! I knew fewer than twenty of us would end up formally enrolled in the end, but starting the squeeze this hard from the Mid-Term Evaluation..."

"At this rate, will even twenty people make it in within the time limit?"

"Generously speaking, I doubt it'll even hit thirty... haah."

"Shouldn't we file a complaint about this?"

"Damn it... I can't go back home without even learning a sword properly..."

The atmosphere looked like something out of a battlefield.

There was no helping it. They weren't old, but most of these kids had already resolved to dedicate their entire lives to the sword.

So when a wall far bigger than they'd expected suddenly loomed up in front of them, they couldn't help but shudder with a deep sense of despair.

Even amid all that chaos, though, there was still someone who stayed calm.

"Lord Lloyd! We'll be fine, right?"

"Of course I'll be fine! Do you really think you're on the same level as me? Passing is a given, and getting a reward from the Hall Master is basically confirmed too."

"No, that part goes without saying like you said, we're worried about ourselves..."

"Don't worry. You lot can handle this too."

"R, really?"

"Yeah. It'll be close, sure, but if you push yourselves to your absolute limit, you'll make it in for sure. You don't trust me or something?"

No way! We trust you completely! and other equally loud declarations burst out in response.

Having offhandedly answered his underlings' resolve, Brett Lloyd scanned a few of the kids around him.

Among the thirty top-tier trainees, these were the ones whose skill stood out even further.

Illia Lindsay, Judith, a handful of others...

No matter how conservatively he thought about it, none of them posed any real risk.

He himself would definitely place in the top five, no question.

Nodding, he finally turned his gaze to one last boy.

...Something's off about him.

A kid whose sheer stubbornness in training was enough to make even Brett shake his head in disbelief.

And yet the kid still hadn't managed to climb out of the middle tier. Airen Farreira.

That guy is definitely going to fail this time.

Unlike his first impression, the guy did have a certain amount of noble pride to him, but pride alone couldn't overcome the gap in training time between them.

And yet...

Why, why do I keep looking at him?

He couldn't understand it.

Airen had always been a strange guy in his own way, but today felt even stranger somehow.

Same appearance, same blank expression, and yet something about him felt different.

Today's Airen was stirring something in Brett's chest even more than Judith, the one he'd marked as his rival.

It's not just me who's noticed, either.

Everyone except Illia Lindsay.

Judith at the very top, his own family in the upper ranks, and most of the trainees scattered through the middle and lower ranks were all sneaking glances at Airen Farreira.

Brett Lloyd didn't like that one bit.

Forcing his gaze away, he spoke to his followers.

"...Let's start by walking the course slowly. Just to get a feel for it."

"Yes!"

"Yes, Lord Lloyd!"

"Understood!"

The Lloyd family took off, and the other kids left the auditorium too, breaking off into little clusters here and there.

Some, like Illia Lindsay and Judith, went off alone.

Airen Farreira was one of the latter.

Stroking his sword pendant, he closed his eyes and sank into thought for a while before finally starting to walk.

No matter how he thought about it, there was really only one thing he could do.

The lazy lord resolved to give his absolute best for the remaining ten days. Regardless of whether he had any real chance of passing.

And a week later.

"Hmph, seeing it in person really is better than just hearing about it."

Three days before the Mid-Term Evaluation that would decide the prospective trainees' fates was set to begin.

The pinnacle of Krono Fencing Hall, whose reputation had spread across the entire continent, appeared at the branch.

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