WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 142

──────

The Unbreaking Sword (2)

Things weren't like this now, but back in the day, gladiators of the Proof Land had frequently died or suffered injuries that ended their careers for good.

Without quality potions or priests standing by at all times, matches held in such rough conditions were bound to end in accidents sooner or later.

To prevent this, some gladiators had established a rule called "weapon breaking."

The goal was to target only the sword, not the body, so a match could be decided without either side getting hurt.

Ricardo Pinto, the former champion of the Proof Land, remembered this and smiled thinly.

His white teeth gave off a savage air, like the fangs of a beast.

'He dares challenge me to a weapon breaking match?'

Of course, the outcome of a weapon breaking match wasn't decided by the quality of the blade alone.

Even a legendary masterwork sword became worse than a wooden training blade in the hands of some rural farmer, and even a cheap iron sword could cut through solid rock in the hands of a Sword Master.

But if someone asked Ricardo Pinto whether sword quality had zero effect on the outcome, he'd have shaken his head hard.

'The reason I even see a chance against Illia Lindsay in the first place is because of this sword.'

The value of a masterwork blade was genuinely immense.

It let you hold your ground against someone two ranks above you, fight an even match against someone one rank above, and completely dominate the flow against someone of similar skill.

So what did that mean for the situation right now?

That kid, whose swordsmanship fell short of his own.

That kid, wielding a blade of lower quality than his own.

What in the world was he thinking, proposing a match like this?

Ricardo couldn't figure it out.

But still...

'Fine. I'll take you up on it!'

Ricardo Pinto decided to accept the challenge.

Wiping the grin from his face, he let out a shout and swung his sword.

"Hyaah!"

Whoosh!

Kwaaang!

The two massive swords collided violently in midair.

The ear splitting crash made most of the crowd wince.

But that wasn't the end of it. Once, twice, three times... the two gladiators' swords kept clashing against each other, over and over.

As if neither of them had any interest at all in the other's body.

A few of the gladiators watching wore looks of astonishment.

They'd realized it too. They understood exactly what direction this match was heading.

"Is he out of his mind? Does he actually think he's got a shot?"

"Guess he must, crazy as that sounds. Even with a Sorcery sword, going up against a Vulcanus Numbering Sword like that..."

"Maybe he figured a straightforward fight wouldn't cut it. If that's the thinking, then..."

Some reacted like he'd lost his mind. Others seemed to understand.

Honestly, it made sense either way.

Ricardo Pinto's swordsmanship was said to rival that of a Master, so it was easy to assume a head on fight offered no chance of winning.

Of course, even more renowned than Ricardo's own reputation was the fame of the Numbering Sword.

'People backed into a corner sometimes make bad decisions.'

That was it, then.

The outcome had been decided from the very start.

Ordinary spectators talked Airen up for the sake of a good show, but the veteran swordsmen who'd spent long years walking the path of the blade knew better.

They knew exactly what happened when Ricardo Pinto and a Numbering Sword came together. Just how devastating that synergy could be.

He might really do it. He might actually beat a Sword Master.

Because of that, the gladiators' attention had already begun drifting toward the next match.

But not everyone felt the same way.

"....."

There were people who had known Airen Farreira long before his name meant anything.

People who knew, better than anyone, exactly what training he'd gone through, what talent he carried, and with what mindset he'd walked onto this stage.

Judith and Brett Lloyd held an entirely different view from the rest of the swordsmen.

They kept watching the stage with serious expressions.

It didn't matter that the people around them criticized Airen's foolishness or lamented his judgment.

Watching the two of them, a few people muttered again about how thick the bond ran among people from Krono. There was a hint of mockery in their voices.

But Judith and Brett didn't waver, and neither did Airen Farreira, their fellow Krono trainee.

Time passed.

By the time ten minutes had gone by since the match began...

The spectators, veteran swordsmen included, began to sense the mood shifting in a strange direction.

Kwaang!

The swords collided.

Kwaang!

Kwaaang!

They collided again. And again, without stopping.

The sound of metal striking metal rang out endlessly, as relentless as hammer blows in a forge.

It was the kind of racket that would've made a small child burst into tears from the noise alone.

But not a single person in the crowd complained.

Someone muttered to themselves, without quite meaning to.

"When is it finally going to break?"

It was a mutter, but it wasn't just a mutter. It spoke for the thoughts of everyone watching the match.

There was no helping it. What they were watching right now was that legendary Vulcanus Numbering Sword, wasn't it?

And the one wielding it was Ricardo Pinto.

Meaning that, save for Zet Frost, there was no Expert alive who could stand against him.

And yet, the other blade was still holding up?

Crude and unimpressive as it looked, even if it had been forged through Sorcery?

But that wasn't all.

There was more.

A swordsman who noticed a heat haze like glow rising off Ricardo Pinto's sword shouted out, his voice nearly cracking with shock.

"Ricardo's losing ground!"

It was undeniably true.

Drawing aura out from the body through Manifestation, then keeping it from scattering into the air through Concentration.

The result was that shimmering glow now blooming across Ricardo Pinto's blade, an advanced technique that most Sword Experts wouldn't even dream of attempting.

But it was a technique that looked flashy on the surface and nothing more, poorly suited for actual combat.

The waste of power was far too great compared to the benefit it offered.

Even so, the fact that he'd resorted to it meant Ricardo Pinto was clearly on the defensive now.

But something even more surprising happened next.

Airen Farreira glanced at Ricardo Pinto's sword, and instead of falling back to force him to waste more power, kept swinging his blade exactly as he had been.

Kwaaaaang!

The loudest sound yet, louder than anything that had come before!

Of course, that wasn't the end of it either.

A thunderous crash rang out. It kept ringing out. It didn't stop, echoing again and again without pause.

Not even bothering to cover their ears, the crowd stared blankly at the stage where the two swordsmen fought.

No, that wasn't quite right either.

This wasn't a duet anymore.

At this moment, only one figure filled the spectators' eyes: Airen Farreira, and Airen Farreira alone.

And then, a moment later.

Crack!

"....!"

With a sound utterly different from anything before it, the match came to an end.

All that bold confidence from the start had vanished without a trace. Ricardo Pinto stood frozen, stunned, gripping his broken sword.

Airen Farreira gave him a quiet bow of respect, then turned his gaze toward somewhere else entirely.

There was no need for the referee to call the end of the match.

No need for the tournament host to run an interview either.

The crowd, swept up in excitement, cried out the winner's name as one voice.

"Airen Farreira!"

"Airen Farreira!"

"Airen Farreira!"

The arena had become an absolute frenzy.

Of course, this was only the beginning.

The real match that mattered would be held next month, in April: the championship decider.

Illia Lindsay versus Airen Farreira!

While people shouted themselves hoarse over the dream matchup finally set in stone...

"....."

The current champion of the Proof Land, avoiding Airen Farreira's gaze, quietly slipped out of the arena.

* * *

A day after the match between Airen Farreira and Ricardo Pinto, the schedule for the championship decider that everyone had been waiting for was finally announced.

About two weeks out, on April 13th, marking four months since Airen's group had arrived in Aienmarc.

As always, people split into camps and argued over who would win.

Some said Illia Lindsay, a Sword Master, would obviously come out on top. Others argued that the owner of the Sorcery sword, the one that had even broken a Vulcanus Numbering Sword, might just pull off an upset.

Naturally, there were plenty who pushed back against that idea too.

But there was one thing everyone agreed on.

That Airen Farreira's sword could stand up to an Aura Sword.

"Maybe something real is actually going to happen this time."

"Exactly. Didn't you hear what Ricardo Pinto said? He said the sword was incredible, sure, but the swordsmanship wasn't beneath his own either. Doesn't that mean there's an actual chance against a real Master?"

"One thing's for sure, he's got way better odds than anyone who's challenged her so far. I'm selling everything I own if that's what it takes to get a ticket."

"Same here!"

"Me too!"

It looked like every last resident of Aienmarc was about to flood into the arena.

In the middle of that fever pitch atmosphere...

Bwoong!

Illia Lindsay kept honing her sword at her estate, same as she always had.

The only one watching was her bodyguard, Emma Garcia.

But Emma's expression wasn't a good one.

Because the young lady she cherished so deeply wore an expression of pure agony.

"Hahh, hahh, huhk..."

Was it exhaustion from grueling training?

No, that wasn't it. Her mistress, Illia Lindsay, wasn't weak enough to tire out from something like this.

Of course not. Who would dare describe the youngest Sword Master on record, the current champion of the Proof Land, that way?

But in one particular sense, the young lady standing here now looked weaker than an ordinary farmer.

Compulsion. Anxiety.

Recalling the emotions tormenting Illia Lindsay, Emma Garcia felt her heart ache as if it might tear apart.

'There's no need to push yourself this hard...'

Ever since returning from Krono Fencing Hall, the young lady had always been like this.

No matter how hard she worked, harder than anyone, she was never satisfied, never at ease.

She ground down her mind and body every single day to meet the expectations of people who ran their mouths however they pleased, and that tendency grew even more extreme whenever an important day was coming.

There was no talking her out of it. After seeing her mistress once forced into taking a rest, Emma never suggested it again.

'She suffered several times worse than this back then...'

"Hah, kheuh, whew..."

Illia Lindsay swung her sword again.

Her breathing was still ragged, her body trembling in fits. She looked pitiful enough that it was hard to believe she was a Sword Master.

But as time passed, that image began to fade.

Bwoong!

"Whew."

Bwooong!

"Whooo..."

Illia Lindsay sharpened herself, sharper and sharper still, as if honing a blade.

The process repeated itself countless times until she'd worn herself down thin enough to shatter at a touch, but she paid it no mind.

It meant she'd grown that much sharper. All she had to do was strike before she broke.

Nodding, Illia continued her sword training.

Her bodyguard kept watching her the whole time, for as long as it took.

* * *

April 12th.

The championship decider everyone had been waiting for was now just a day away.

It would have been natural to feel some tension over that, but Airen Farreira, focused entirely on his sword, remained just as calm as ever.

Accumulation, Reinforcement, Hardening, Blooming, Concentration, Manifestation.

After running through the basic concepts of Aura control, he closed his eyes.

He was about to take another crack at the Aura Sword, something he'd failed at countless times already, when a voice called out from behind him.

"Meditating again?"

A strange sense of deja vu washed over him.

Airen opened his eyes, thinking that something like this had happened before, back when he was still a probationary trainee.

Turning his head, he spoke with a faint, quiet smile, so different from back then.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried