WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 131

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Rapid Promotion (2)

The people of Aienmarc were obsessed with dueling matches.

Over meals, they talked about who had beaten whom. Over drinks, they talked about which swordsman from where had shown up at the Proof Land.

But even so, they didn't know every swordsman in the city.

There were simply too many pouring into the arenas for that.

So what did it take to stand out among that flood of swordsmen, to pull in more of the public's attention than the rest?

First came skill with a blade.

Second came character.

And most duelists who came to the Proof Land put their focus squarely on the second.

It was simply easier to grab attention through provocative behavior and inflammatory interviews than through the slow grind of actually getting stronger.

Of course, most of them ended up badly for it.

"Heard Dario lost."

"Dario, who's that... oh, the guy who swore up and down he'd climb to Queen-level? Who beat him?"

"I only heard secondhand so I don't remember exactly, but apparently some mid-table Rook-level duelist took him down. Speaking of, wasn't there another loudmouth besides Dario? That guy..."

"Dwayne? He's a lost cause too. He won, technically, but nowhere near what he promised. Less than half the swordsman he claimed to be in that interview."

"Tch. Seems like more of these guys are running their mouths in interviews lately."

Naturally, to grab the public's attention, you needed an interview that promised more than anyone expected.

A grown adult beating up a child wasn't interesting. A master crushing someone weaker than them, no matter how loudly they announced it, only got met with indifference.

So swordsmen hungry to rise fast would throw out some grand ambition they had no real chance of living up to, then sink without ever managing to back it up.

So many had vanished that way that the crowds had reached the point where barely any interview moved them anymore.

But.

"Still, that one guy actually kept his word, didn't he?"

"Who?"

"You know, the Krono trainee. Airen Farreira."

"Ah, the one who said he'd climb straight to Queen-level with nothing but one-strike wins?"

"Yeah. Word is he cut down Dominic's sword in an instant."

In an age crawling with liars, the appearance of something real drew that much deeper interest from the locals.

"Dominic? The Dominic I'm thinking of? Upper Bishop-level?"

"Should be. Common enough name, but I've never heard of another Dominic at the Proof Land."

"Huh. Even at Bishop-level, in one strike... then he really might make it to Queen-level. How old is he again?"

"Twenty-one, was it? Or twenty-two?"

"Whoa... that's a major rookie. No, wait, he's already past rookie level."

One local, hearing the news of Airen's match, muttered in disbelief.

Once upon a time it might have been different, but these days Queen-level was a dream stage that only Expert-class fighters could reach.

Just the fact that a swordsman barely into his twenties could climb that stage was achievement enough to make a name known across the entire continent.

Of course, whether he could actually keep his word all the way through was still very much in doubt.

"That part's probably too much to ask, though."

"Right? If he's unlucky, he could run into an Expert in the promotion match, and even setting that aside, Rook-level is packed with guys who just barely missed the cut for higher. Crushing all of them in one shot, that takes King-level."

"Well, either way, this just makes me want to see Brett Lloyd and Judith's matches even more. If Airen Farreira's already at this level, how strong are the actual aces?"

The reaction was far friendlier than it used to be.

But a single match couldn't wipe out everyone's doubts, and Airen Farreira was still being sold short.

Eleven days had passed since he arrived in Aienmarc.

The world still wasn't ready to accept a genius.

* * *

"Damn it."

Not everyone underrated Airen Farreira, of course.

John Drew, at least, knew. Knew just how absurd his skill was for someone his age.

Honestly, he still wasn't sure why Airen had come looking for him.

However famous he might be around here, someone with that much talent could have found a far better master.

'No, wait, this is a place to prove your skill, not learn it. If he wanted training, he could've gone back to Krono. Why come here specifically... is he trying to mess with me or something?'

Not knowing that Airen had no time to spare, and carrying more than his share of a persecution complex since childhood, John Drew's thoughts kept drifting somewhere negative.

Still, that didn't mean he could turn the man away.

The money on offer was too good to refuse, and setting that aside, it wasn't like he had nothing to teach.

After spending a full day analyzing his client's swordsmanship and sharpening his approach, John Drew put on a serious expression.

Airen Farreira looked back at his temporary master with an equally solemn face.

What kind of teaching would he offer?

Airen couldn't wait to find out.

From what he'd heard, John Drew's own combat ability wasn't especially high, but his skill as a teacher far outstripped it.

Especially when it came to producing results in a short span of time, supposedly nobody could touch him.

Of course, expectations ran so high that some people gave up partway through because his style just didn't suit them. But Airen felt confident.

It was because of the Sorcery he'd awakened.

His senses had gotten unbelievably sharp.

It wasn't some vague impression. It wasn't a minor shift, either.

Airen's senses were now taking in and processing his surroundings at more than double their usual sharpness.

It felt like the sensation from his days as a prospective trainee, back during the Mid-Term Evaluation, had come back to him.

Airen Farreira back then had felt something similar.

All five senses, sight included, had sharpened to a razor's edge, watching and remembering everything around him.

In that strange state, as if his concentration had multiplied several times over, the boy had soaked up and absorbed every detail of the situation.

It was the same now.

However convoluted the teaching, it didn't matter.

Even a field he struggled to digest wouldn't be a problem.

As he was now, he could take anything and make it his own.

Airen Farreira waited for John Drew to speak, his face brimming with confidence, and at last the man's mouth opened.

"First, to show you the direction my teaching takes, let me demonstrate a few practical techniques."

"Practical techniques?"

"I don't intend to hurt you. Don't have the skill for that anyway. But it'll be enough to catch you off guard. I'll start now, so watch out... hm?"

John Drew's calm expression turned serious as he gave the warning.

As if he'd seen something he shouldn't have. Airen's gaze swung around behind him on reflex.

There was nothing there.

"...!"

Realizing the true nature of the "practical technique," Airen spun back around in a hurry.

And he was startled.

A thick gob of John Drew's spit was flying straight at his face.

He flinched.

Fortunately, he was spared the disgusting fate. His reflexes would have been enough to dodge it on their own, but John Drew caught his own spit with his right hand first.

He spoke to a stunned Airen.

"Caught off guard twice in that short a span."

"But, this is..."

"I know, I know. Too petty and cowardly a move to even call a technique."

"..........."

"My apologies. As a gesture of apology, let's shake on it."

John Drew held out his right hand with a straight face. Airen's expression darkened in that instant.

That hand was still covered in the spit that had just been flying at him.

Startled, he reflexively shifted his body to the other side.

And that was when he felt it.

John Drew's left hand, a dagger drawn from who knew where, was already resting against his side.

He'd moved exactly the way John Drew intended, every step of it.

"Most of what I teach comes down to things like this. Of course, it's not all this petty. There's plenty that's more intricate and refined. But at the core, it all sits on the same line."

"..........."

"What do you think swordsmanship is?"

The question came out of nowhere.

Airen couldn't answer.

Watching him fumble for words, John Drew nodded.

"I understand. Even someone who handles a sword every day struggles to answer that when you actually ask them straight out. Swordsmanship is too big a concept, so it takes time to sort your thoughts."

"...You're right."

"Here's how I see it. Carrying your own intent through with the sword, and breaking the opponent's intent with the sword. Not just comparing whose strength or speed is greater, but pulling the situation to your own advantage through careful mind games and calculation, like chess."

"..........."

"That's what I consider swordsmanship."

Swordsmanship meant the art of handling a sword well, and handling a sword well usually meant overwhelming an opponent through force.

So then, what did it take to overwhelm an opponent?

Most people focused on what they could see.

They worked to swing the sword faster.

They worked to swing it harder.

Like building bigger muscles through weight training, they focused entirely on growing their own power.

That wasn't wrong, of course.

A younger John Drew had swung his sword with the same mindset once.

He'd believed his body would keep growing forever, that his Aura would keep expanding without end.

But like most swordsmen, he'd hit a wall, and from that point on, John Drew started looking at swordsmanship from a different angle.

"It's fine if the opponent's strength is greater than mine. It's fine if their sword is faster than mine. As long as the gap isn't as wide as an adult versus a child, you can overcome a certain difference in what people call weight class. How? By carrying through my own intent, and breaking the opponent's."

"..........."

"Most of my life as a swordsman has been spent wrestling with that question."

Airen nodded.

Hearing it laid out, things became clear.

John Drew's teaching was, without question, exactly suited to filling in what Airen lacked.

He'd swung a sword for a long time at the fencing hall and inside the Sorcery barrier, but compared to others his age, his real combat experience was still sorely lacking.

That weakness had shown itself more than once, even in sparring against Brett and Judith.

More than ten instances came to mind immediately, small losses from a trick or two that had snowballed into a serious crisis.

'Though nothing quite this underhanded, admittedly.'

Looking into John Drew's eyes, Airen felt sure this wasn't everything the man had to offer.

Which made sense, in a way.

The man had said it himself. Most of his life as a swordsman had been built on mind games of deceiving and being deceived, on what people called dirty tricks.

Even absorbing half, or a quarter, of those tricks would probably make him far stronger than he was now.

"I'll study hard. Thank you for teaching me."

"Good. Then let's get started right away. First..."

And so began John Drew's instruction, which handed Airen Farreira a fresh kind of realization.

Partly because the swordsmanship he'd learned and absorbed until now was so different from this teaching, and partly because the world of dirty tricks turned out to be far deeper and wider than Airen had ever imagined.

The same trick, but he learned to use it more elegantly, in ways that didn't show.

He learned how a few insignificant motions could be laid down as bait, luring an opponent into a massive trap.

Sometimes John Drew even cornered him by doing absolutely nothing at all.

Just as Airen was busy imagining every wild and outlandish trick under the sun, John Drew slipped through the one gap he'd forgotten to guard, like a ghost.

'Incredible. No wonder they call him Aienmarc's top-tier instructor.'

The more he learned, the more impressive John Drew seemed.

Feeling his respect for his temporary master deepen, Airen swung his sword with even greater diligence.

But Airen wasn't the only one left stunned by the other.

If anything, John Drew was living through days of far greater shock.

'What I'm teaching him is clearly dirty tricks, swordsmanship built entirely around creating variables, so why...'

Why was his textbook form getting better?

And at a pace that defied belief?

Ten days into the training.

The eyes John Drew turned on Airen Farreira wavered without mercy.

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