Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble - Chapter 141

WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 141

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The Unbreaking Sword (1)

Aura control could be broken down into six core concepts.

Accumulation, gathering mysterious power inside the body.

Amplification, unleashing the power that had been gathered.

Hardening, tempering the body so it could withstand that power.

Awakening, sharpening every sense to a fine edge.

Concentration, drawing aura into a single point to forge a greater force.

And last, Manifestation, projecting that internal power out into the world.

The first three were known as the Foundational Trio, and the latter three as the Advanced Trio.

Airen Farreira had already mastered all six.

That much only made sense.

If he hadn't been able to gather aura in the first place, he never would have reached the rank of Expert, never would have been able to swing his sword with any real force.

He never would have built a body that could withstand impact or senses sharp enough to keep up with it.

That said, did that mean Judith's theoretical lessons had been useless?

Not at all.

Set aside Accumulation for now, since the way it clicked differed from person to person.

But the concepts behind Amplification, Hardening, and Awakening had helped enormously.

Once his aura control, which had been running purely on instinct without any real framework of knowledge, gained a solid skeleton, the waste of power had been cut in half.

Still, more important than any of that were the remaining two concepts. Concentration and Manifestation.

'So that's what the man in the dream's strikes were built on all along. These two concepts.'

Channel the aura inside the body into the sword. Don't stop there. Hold it firm so it doesn't scatter.

Then, once that painstakingly gathered energy was fully compressed, fire it outward.

In other words, manifest it. That was the true nature of the strike Airen had been using.

Of course, Concentration and Manifestation weren't limited to that alone.

Focusing "presence" onto another person was the most basic application, and the way Brett had once sprayed out that oppressive, water-like pressure worked on a similar principle.

The sparks that used to fly off Judith's blade, and the heat-shimmer that rose off Charlot and Victor's swords, could all be traced back to the same underlying concept.

But what Airen Farreira wanted wasn't any of those.

"Whew."

Standing at the center of John Drew's training room, he quietly steadied his breathing.

Thanks to the power of his Sorcery, Airen could always keep his focus at full sharpness, but even so, he could feel his nerves honing themselves finer than usual whenever he attempted this.

Every single cell in his body.

Every single thread of energy inside him.

All of it rendered so vividly he felt he could reach out and touch it.

The instant he felt like he was gazing directly into his own inner cosmos, Airen drew his aura up.

Hmmmmm...

Not rushed, but not slow either, the energy climbing up through his greatsword kept compressing further and further.

Far more than the amount he used to summon for his old strikes.

But that was fine. Krono-style aura control had cut out the waste, and his aura had surged since the match against Grayson.

In other words, Airen had already completed enough Accumulation to challenge the realm of "Master."

Hmmmmmmm...!

Of course, having a large quantity of aura didn't mean he could manifest an Aura Sword.

That massive force had to be concentrated into a single blade.

It had to be amplified until it could cut through anything.

And in turn, hardened until nothing could break it apart.

All the while, he had to keep his senses razor sharp so his body's balance never slipped.

And while holding all of that perfectly in place, he had to manifest the aura out into the world, as if expanding the boundary of existence itself.

But.

Hmmmm... hmmmmmm...!

Even having mastered the first five processes completely, Airen still couldn't clear that final hurdle.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"Whew..."

He knew it wouldn't be easy, of course.

This was nothing like his old strikes, which fired once and were done.

An Aura Sword demanded all six aspects of aura control at once, each one tracked with far greater care, and the difficulty was, without exaggeration, brutal.

But the reason Airen felt this frustrated came from something else entirely.

'Why does it feel like the sword is sucking in the aura, right at the moment it's about to fully manifest?'

It was true. A little arrogant to think, maybe, but Airen was already confident he had enough skill to draw out an Aura Sword.

Sure, if someone asked whether he could actually use it in real combat, he'd have to tilt his head and think it over. But at least in practice, he'd reached a level where succeeding once wouldn't be strange at all.

In fact, there had been several times he'd come close to pulling it off completely.

But every single time, this strange Sorcery sword drank Airen's power dry.

Like a hungry infant greedily nursing at its mother's breast.

Each time it happened, he felt like it wasn't just his aura being drained, but his mental fortitude and his will along with it.

The one silver lining in all this was that the sword, having drunk so deeply of Airen's true strength, seemed to be giving off a different atmosphere than before.

Its appearance hadn't changed, of course.

Old, crude, its edge not quite properly honed, looking almost like a blunt instrument.

But none of that mattered.

Hmmm!

Hmmmm!

'Something about it... feels sturdier now.'

A strange sensation he couldn't quite put into words.

Not a bad feeling at all, though. Just an odd one.

After a moment lost in that feeling, Airen shook his head and refocused on the Sorcery sword.

A few days ago, he'd been tempted to pick up a different sword and try it instead.

But he hadn't. Whatever a Sorcerer's instinct was called, it kept pulling him back to this particular blade, again and again.

Of course, that kind of judgment could lead somewhere bad. But he decided to set that worry aside.

There wasn't nearly enough time left to spend doubting himself and fretting over it.

Just then, the training room door opened and two people walked in.

Judith, who had been guiding Airen for the past forty days, and Grayson.

Judith stepped closer and asked him.

"How's your condition?"

"Not bad."

"Is 'not bad' going to cut it? You're up against a former champion."

"I've got to beat the current champion eventually. Can't go getting scared of a former one."

"That's true enough, but... ah, forget it. You'll figure it out, I guess."

"Agreed. Farreira here won't fold easily. Though he's definitely not someone you can afford to underestimate..."

Judith and Grayson spoke with a touch of worry in their voices.

Which made sense.

Ricardo Pinto. The former champion of the Proof Land, who had vanished from public view for years before suddenly resurfacing a month ago.

Only by defeating him could Airen earn the right to challenge the current champion, Illia Lindsay.

'Ricardo Pinto's skill is, well, obviously top-tier Expert level.'

Grayson's expression hardened.

As the son of Sword Master Harrison Pinto, Ricardo had been known five years ago as an overwhelming talent, someone nobody but Zet Frost could handle.

He was probably even stronger now than he'd been back then.

But what worried Grayson more was the sword Ricardo had inherited from his father, a rare masterwork blade unlike almost anything else in the world.

'The First Numbering Sword of Vulcanus... said to be the most perfectly finished of all his masterpieces.'

That was probably exactly why Ricardo Pinto had come back.

A sword fine enough to take the full force of an Aura Sword and come through unscathed.

Add his own mature swordsmanship on top of that, and he probably figured he had a real shot even against a green Sword Master.

Maybe by now, Illia Lindsay was the only name left in his head.

Over the past forty days, Airen Farreira hadn't entered a single match, throwing himself entirely into training instead.

'Still, with his story and his reputation, winning just this one match should be enough to earn him a shot at the championship...'

But could he actually win?

Airen didn't think he was at a disadvantage.

Still, the truth was that Ricardo Pinto's strength wasn't something to take lightly either, not enough to guarantee a win.

Judith seemed to be thinking along similar lines, her face a little tense as she studied Airen.

"I'll win. No question. Don't worry about it."

Airen showed the two of them an expression that didn't waver in the slightest.

It wasn't just bravado.

Fwoosh.

Fwooosh!

He swung his greatsword.

His aura control had grown so much smoother that his swordsmanship had sharpened right along with it.

Grayson swallowed hard, and Judith watched with an odd look in her eyes.

Once he'd finished running through the form, Airen spoke with a faint smile.

"The First Numbering Sword of Vulcanus. Honestly, I think that's exactly the kind of opponent I need right now."

* * *

March 29th.

The long winter had finally ended, and in this warm, pleasant season, another big match had been set at the Proof Land.

Ricardo Pinto, once the strongest Expert alive, who had stepped down from the championship of his own will five years ago, had returned to the arena to try and overcome the wall of a Sword Master.

His opponent, Airen Farreira, was no ordinary swordsman either.

Twenty two years old, remarkably young for a swordsman of his caliber.

He had crushed every notable strong fighter in the west and now stood a single gate away from finally challenging the champion.

If he won this one match, he'd earn the chance to settle an old defeat he'd suffered long ago.

The crowd buzzed with excitement, everyone throwing out their own predictions for the match.

"Who do you think wins?"

"Ricardo Pinto, right? They say nobody among the Experts can touch him."

"Yeah. And on top of that, his sword's a Vulcanus Numbering Sword. He might even beat an actual Sword Master."

"But Airen Farreira's been putting on quite a show himself, hasn't he? Man's been demolishing everyone he faces on the way up."

"Hmm, still though..."

"And as far as swords go, that young man's blade is supposed to be something else too. Made through Sorcery, they say."

While the crowd argued back and forth over who was stronger, plenty of opinions flew about whose sword was the finer weapon.

Of course, most people sided with the Vulcanus Numbering Sword.

However impressive a Sorcery sword might be, the general consensus was that it couldn't possibly outshine a masterpiece from the continent's greatest blacksmith.

"Hmph. Obviously. As if you could compare that to some crude sword."

The former champion, Ricardo Pinto, was well aware of how the crowd felt.

He could hardly not be. He only had to flip through a few dueling magazines to find article after article covering exactly that opinion.

And the press, too, had thrown its weight behind him.

But from where he stood, even having his name mentioned in the same breath as Airen's felt distasteful.

Wearing a fierce grin, he waited for the referee's signal to start the match, thinking to himself.

'I'll grant you, he's a talent for the history books.'

Maybe in ten years, or even in just five, Ricardo might lose to him.

But not now. Not yet.

With the Numbering Sword he'd inherited from his father in hand, Ricardo Pinto's confidence soared sky-high.

Which was exactly why.

"Begin!"