WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 135

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The Third Storm (2)

Who was Airen Farreira?

That question had been floating around, quietly persistent, ever since before he'd even stepped onto the Queen-level stage.

There was simply too little known about him relative to the skill he'd shown.

Take his fellow trainees, Brett Lloyd and Judith, as an example.

Neither of them had ever shown their faces at Krono Fencing Hall either, yet their names had spread across the entire continent long before, purely on the strength of how exceptional they were.

Brett, the finest genius Gerbera Kingdom had produced. Judith, a commoner-born genius swordswoman said to walk in Ignet's footsteps.

They'd even earned praise from Hall Master Ian, a man famous for being stingy with his evaluations, which only drove expectations for them higher.

But Airen Farreira?

There was nothing. No information at all.

Even the fact that he'd been classmates with Brett and Judith had only just come to light. Hall Master Ian had never once mentioned him.

And yet his skill stood shoulder to shoulder with theirs.

No, by now, plenty were saying he'd surpassed both of them by a wide margin.

With curiosity already running that high, another provocative interview had gone off like a bomb, and every resident of Aienmarc found themselves talking about Airen whether they wanted to or not.

The dueling magazines had gleefully rushed out articles stitched together from every wild guess imaginable.

But the next day.

The moment an article from Senior Reporter Hints, one of Aienmarc's finest journalists, hit the stands, every bit of attention swung straight to Weekly Arena.

And no wonder. This time, Weekly Arena's "Airen Farreira Special Feature" was built entirely on verified fact, unlike everything else on the racks.

"Wait, so Airen Farreira... during his probationary trainee days, he was on par with Illia Lindsay?"

"That's the implication, isn't it? Says right there, in the Final Evaluation for a formal trainee spot, the two of them were too close to call in the first round, so they had to do a rematch. Lindsay barely edged him out for first place, and Farreira came in a painfully close second."

"You expect me to believe that? Come on..."

"What choice do you have? The one vouching for the article is Brett Lloyd himself."

"A hidden runner-up... where in the world has he been all this time, if the rumor never even leaked?"

"You didn't finish reading it, did you? It's right there at the end! He's been keeping out of sight because of family business."

"Sorry, I got so shocked at the headline I never made it that far..."

Talent to rival Illia Lindsay!

The residents were floored.

The man who'd barely turned heads when he first showed up on Proof Land had, apparently, carried the kind of potential that belonged in the history books all along.

There wasn't even room for doubt.

The eldest son of House Lloyd, a man whose credibility needed no defense, had personally vouched for it. Who was going to argue with that?

Of course, that didn't mean there was nothing left to pick apart.

"Hmph! Being close in skill as kids doesn't mean there's no gap now. That's a ridiculous leap."

"Exactly. And think about it. Illia Lindsay was barely into her teens back then, and Airen Farreira was mid-teens. Three years older, and people are calling it a rival match, a painfully close loss? Doesn't add up."

"Fair, but... he's still earned the right to challenge the champion, hasn't he?"

"That part, well... we'll see. Depends on what level he's actually at now."

That was the shape of it.

The residents still stood firmly behind Illia Lindsay, the pride of the west, the one who'd already proven herself.

And they couldn't help watching Airen with a critical eye, since he still hadn't shown his true best.

Not that the scrutiny troubled him in the slightest.

The next match.

Then another.

And then, in his third Queen-level bout, Airen Farreira claimed another overwhelming victory.

"Match over! Airen Farreira wins!"

"He won again! Again!"

"That's King-level now! Only three matches and he's already climbing to King-level..."

"How could they not promote him? Everyone's just waiting for the Illia Lindsay versus Airen Farreira matchup at this point. They've got to move him up fast."

"Makes sense, honestly. It's not like he lacks the skill. Looking at him now, there's basically nobody left to challenge him outside the King-level high rankers."

"Right. Like you said, beat one high ranker and he could probably go straight up against the champion."

"Man, this generation is something else. Ignet, Illia, and now Airen Farreira on top of it..."

Three weeks since he'd dropped that provocative interview on the world.

In just three weeks, Airen Farreira had grown into enough of a name to win over even the notoriously hard-to-please residents of the continent's west.

Weekly Arena's weekly stream of exclusives had played no small part in that.

[Airen Farreira is the finest talent I've ever taught. Honestly, "taught" doesn't even feel like the right word anymore.]

An interview with John Drew, Aienmarc's top-tier instructor.

[Airen Farreira, this generation's finest prospect, matching his talent with equally staggering effort.]

An interview with Zet Frost, a man not quite what he once was but still widely regarded as an elite swordsman.

And that wasn't even the end of it.

A legendary blade said to be attainable only by Sword Masters, or those destined to become one.

Once word spread that Airen Farreira owned the tenth Vulcanus Numbering Sword, even people who disliked him had nothing left to complain about.

Two months from now.

Or perhaps sooner.

The clash between Illia and Airen would happen.

If anything, people would be sorely disappointed if Airen Farreira lost to anyone else before that meeting could take place.

The residents of Aienmarc prayed, again and again, that no such disaster would come to pass.

Of course, even with a storm like that wrapped around the entire city.

"....."

Airen Farreira stayed untouched by it all, focused purely on what he needed to do.

He woke before dawn, while darkness still clung to the sky, and threw himself straight into mental imagery training.

The iron stake was still just as unyielding, but it had lost its crudeness.

The flame, grown far larger since meeting Illia Lindsay, glowed the whole mass of metal a deep red, and onto it fell Airen's will, harder now than even the man in the dream's had been.

Clang!

Clang!

The result of that forging could, by now, be called a sword without embarrassment.

But it still wasn't at the level that satisfied him.

'More refined. Even out the blade's surface, sharpen the edge...'

Not just something shaped like a sword. A true masterwork, one he could put anywhere without shame.

That, at minimum, was what it would take to cross blades with Illia Lindsay.

With that thought driving him, Airen focused and refined the sword in his mind, then ate a solid meal before heading off to find John Drew.

"In a situation like that, using the terrain to your advantage would..."

"You think so? Wouldn't responding this way work better?"

"...In that case, hm."

John Drew's lessons on swordsmanship had, by now, turned into something closer to a debate than instruction.

Airen had, through his unconventional swordsmanship, fully established his own standing.

Which meant he could offer opinions as an equal, and every so often he'd fire off a question sharp enough to catch even John Drew off guard.

Of course, John Drew was no pushover either, and whenever he hit a wall, he'd find some outlandish way to break through it.

Then Airen would turn around and interpret that from his own angle, adding flesh to the fundamentals, working out how to absorb the unconventional in a way that fit his own style.

'No good. This won't do. Look how much money I've taken from him... and already I'm running out of things to teach! I've got to earn my keep somehow, no matter what...'

"Sword teacher, why the long face? Want a little extra on top of your fee?"

"Eek, n, no, I'm fine! You don't need to give me any more!"

"Huh? Why all of a sudden? I dug through my things yesterday and found a pretty wristwatch, set it aside just for you..."

"Aaah! Aaaaaah!"

'...What's gotten into him?'

John Drew fled, crushed under the weight of all that money, while Lulu chased after him, clueless to his thoughts, eager to press an encouragement bonus into his hands.

Watching the two of them, Airen felt a flicker of confusion.

He couldn't quite understand why John Drew kept reacting like that.

All he felt was gratitude toward the man for pouring his best effort into helping him.

'Still, there's a limit to what this alone can accomplish.'

Once the debate with John Drew wrapped up, Airen moved into solo training, sharpening his swordsmanship further, and nodded to himself.

He was growing stronger by the day.

Between the influence of Sorcery, the guidance of a fine swordsmanship teacher, and the momentum steadily building in his mental imagery training, he'd reached a level nowhere near comparable to where he'd stood the day he first set foot in Aienmarc.

But he still fell short against a Master.

Master aside, he'd surely lose even against Zet Frost.

That fact didn't discourage him, though.

After a quick wash and lunch, Airen headed for Glory Land, the third arena of Proof Land.

* * *

"Wh, whoa?"

"It's Airen Farreira!"

"Wait, does he even have a match today? No, that's not right. So why..."

"Idiot. Haven't you heard? Word is he's been going around lately watching King-level duelist matches."

"Oh, really? I guess the high rankers make him nervous in more ways than one. Scouting ahead like this..."

"Of course he'd be on edge, don't be dense. Anyway, quit acting like some hick and stay quiet."

"You think he'd sign something if I asked later..."

Spotting Airen Farreira in the premium seats of the arena, the spectators whispered to each other, faces bright with excitement.

A familiar sight by now. He'd become famous enough that a crowd gathered wherever he went in the city.

'At least I'm safe for now. Doesn't look like anyone's going to talk to me during the match.'

Excitable as they were, ready to spit fire over every little outcome, the residents of Aienmarc still knew where to draw the line in situations like this.

Grateful for that much, Airen felt a flicker of surprise cross his face.

Off in the distance, sitting right across from him, was Brett Lloyd.

'Thought he'd lost interest in dueling lately. Guess he still comes to watch matches.'

Airen, working himself to the bone night and day to overcome Illia Lindsay. Judith, burning with rivalry against him.

Unlike the two of them, Brett had lost interest in the dueling matches about three weeks after arriving in the city.

He'd been drinking here and there with Kubharu, or sinking his attention into pastimes that had nothing to do with swords.

Honestly, even that much Airen only knew secondhand.

Ever since hiring John Drew as his swordsmanship teacher, Brett had moved into the man's estate.

If it weren't for Lulu drifting back and forth between everyone, Airen wouldn't have known even this much.

'Good to see him, though. Same city and all, but I think it's been over ten days since I last saw him...'

Airen smiled faintly and half raised a hand to wave at Brett Lloyd, then thought better of it.

Too many eyes were tracking his every move, and besides, now that he'd spotted Brett after so long, he found himself wanting to quietly watch how the man took in the match.

With that thought, he kept his gaze on the opposite seats without drawing attention, and then another familiar face dropped into the seat beside him.

Judith.

Airen's expression brightened further. It had been a while since he'd seen her too.

"...?"

But something about the mood felt off.

Nothing he could point to exactly.

Brett sat looking down at the arena with his usual aristocratic air, and Judith wore the same sulky expression as always, muttering something under her breath.

In other words, nothing much had changed from any other day.

And yet, with his senses sharpened to a razor's edge by Sorcery, Airen could feel it.

Something, something about the mood between them was different from before...

"Ooooh!"

"It's starting!"

But his thoughts about the two of them didn't get to run any further.

Just as his musing was about to deepen, the duel began.

After a moment's hesitation, Airen pulled his gaze from the stands and turned his full attention to the fight between the two high rankers.

'There's bound to be something to learn here too.'

Unlike what the other spectators had guessed, he hadn't come to the arena to scout out rivals.

The reason Airen had planted himself here leaned closer to a hunger for learning than anything else.

How did his own established swordsmanship differ from someone else's?

What should he add, what should he cut? What would it take to push further?

Armed with that single-minded focus, Airen fixed his burning gaze on the stage.

Before long, his sharp eyes began tracking the two duelists' every move, down to the smallest detail.

The motion of their swords.

The motion of their bodies.

Further still, how each muscle group worked, where their eyes moved, how their breathing fell into rhythm...

Deploying the absolute limit of his concentration, he broke down and analyzed every motion of the two high rankers, piece by piece.

And then, something else began to show itself in Airen Farreira's eyes.

'...Aura?'

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