WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 144

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Airen Farreira's Sword (1)

The Proof Land Champion decision match.

Whenever a match of this size was scheduled, Aienmarc turned festive the day before.

From children to the elderly, everyone kept up a running debate over who would win, throwing out opinions on how the fight would unfold.

Of course, that hadn't been true since Illia Lindsay took the champion's seat.

There was still buzz around getting to watch a Sword Master's blade in person, but interest in the actual outcome dropped off a cliff.

An Expert couldn't beat a Master. Everyone knew that.

Illia Lindsay's skill was so overwhelming that hoping for some once-in-a-lifetime underdog upset felt pointless.

But today, the strongest challenger stood ready.

Aienmarc had been buzzing with tension since morning because of it.

"Would you look at that? Every single King-level duelist showed up."

"Of course they did. What swordsman would want to miss this match? Look, it's not just duelists either. Nobles from the surrounding territories turned out in force."

"Huh? Isn't that... Zet Frost?"

"Looks like it. Wait, it's not just him, is it?"

"Hall Masters from every famous fencing hall came too. Joseph and Karisa from Latiohn are here!"

Joseph and Karisa were among the most respected Hall Masters in Latiohn, the city of swordsmanship, both of them having reached the rank of Master.

Seeing even these two, who rarely left their home turf, travel this far filled the crowd with a swelling sense of occasion.

A page in history was about to be written.

Just knowing they were here, in this place, at this moment, was enough to send adrenaline surging through them.

But no one in that crowd felt it more deeply than Hints, senior reporter for Weekly Arena.

Feeling the heat keep rising in his chest, Hints murmured quietly to himself.

"The moment I've been waiting for is finally here..."

He'd failed twice before this.

The first time, he'd let it go.

Who could have guessed a commoner-born duelist would become champion, would reach Sword Master, at twenty?

It stung, but he couldn't blame himself for failing to predict something like that.

But the second time, when the new rising star Illia Lindsay took the champion's seat, his regret ran far deeper.

Once was a mistake. Twice was inexcusable.

He'd prided himself on having sharper instincts than any other reporter, and yet here he was, marveling after the fact just like everyone else.

That had eaten at him, stung at him so badly that it still surfaced in his dreams.

But not this time.

A third chance had come to a fool like him.

And he hadn't let it slip away.

He'd watched history get written far earlier, far closer, than anyone else.

Not just watched it. He'd thrown himself into it.

And now, at the moment that would crown it all, the elf Hints felt the most electric he'd felt since setting foot in the human world.

Airen Farreira and Illia Lindsay must feel something even stronger than this, he thought, swallowing hard.

What were the two of them thinking, standing on that stage across from each other right now?

Were they nervous?

Were they enjoying it?

There was no way to know.

One thing was certain, though. They had to be feeling the same unbearable anticipation he was.

"Whoa! It's starting!"

"Hey, quiet down! It's about to begin!"

"Quiet! Quiet!"

A moment later, the crowd fell dead silent the instant the referee stepped onto the stage.

The quiet was startling.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been unthinkable. But today's two leads had made it happen.

Goosebumps ran across every spectator's skin.

Once all the procedural checks were finished, Airen Farreira summoned his signature Sorcery Greatsword.

Then he settled into his stance, ready.

Illia Lindsay did the same. After a couple of light practice swings, she dropped into her charging stance.

A razor's edge of danger, like a blade might fly loose at any second, spread all the way to the back rows.

The crowd clenched their fists, feeling as though a sword had already touched their throats.

And then.

"Match, begin!"

At the referee's call, the championship decision match began.

Bwoom!

As everyone expected, it opened with Illia Lindsay's charge.

Her attack came on like it had leaped across the distance itself, and even the King-level duelists reacted a beat late.

Airen Farreira didn't. Bringing his greatsword up like a solid shield, he heavily deflected her strike.

Clang!

Blade met blade, and Illia Lindsay retreated almost as fast as she'd come, in the opposite direction.

That wasn't the end of it, of course.

The champion's real assault was only beginning.

Bwoom!

Ka-chang!

The sound of Illia's footwork and the sound of clashing blades rang out, overlapping each other, trading places.

The intervals between them were absurdly short, as if the two were trading strikes at point-blank range.

But that wasn't what was happening.

The champion was using a startling amount of the stage, pressing the challenger from every direction, closing and retreating over distances that spanned dozens of meters at a time.

Her movement was fast beyond anything that made sense.

And it wasn't monotonous either.

She'd charge in a straight line, then stop dead as if she had no inertia at all. She'd spin faster than the eye could follow, then break free of centrifugal force like it didn't apply to her.

She even pulled off changing direction mid-air a few times, and the King-level duelists who caught it looked at her like they doubted their own eyes.

How is that even possible?

What is she doing?

A level that soared far above their own skill.

Of course, not everyone in the crowd just stood there gaping.

Among the countless swordsmen gathered at the arena, two stood apart.

Sword Master Joseph, and Karisa Floyd, were able to read the champion's technique precisely.

"She's weaving manifestation into her footwork too..." Joseph murmured quietly.

Footwork mattered just as much as swordwork, which was why swordsmen poured serious effort into it.

They reinforced their leg strength with aura to move faster, then hardened bone and muscle to withstand the strain that speed put on the body.

The resulting movement already went far beyond what an ordinary person could imagine.

But a swordsman at the highest level went a step further, blending manifestation directly into their footwork.

That was exactly what Illia Lindsay was doing now.

At the instant of her charge, she detonated aura through the soles of her feet like a burst of flame, adding to her speed.

Sometimes she pulled out a thousand needle-thin points to stop her body dead. Other times she drew out aura slick as water to absorb an opponent's counter smoothly.

Through all of it, she performed movement beyond what a human body should be able to do.

It wasn't easy, of course.

This was the highest tier of technique, one that most Experts couldn't even mimic, reserved only for those who'd pushed Expert-rank mastery to its absolute peak.

And Illia Lindsay was pulling it off with room to spare.

"Her aura control is unbelievably smooth for someone who only became a Master last year," Karisa Floyd murmured, looking baffled.

"And she's not even twenty yet. Unbelievable," said Joseph.

Both of them had talent that more than earned the label genius, but the current champion was on another level entirely.

Her potential ran a full dimension above theirs.

Their attention wasn't fixed only on Illia Lindsay, though.

There was also the young man who refused to be fooled by her nearly supernatural movement, blocking attacks pouring in from every direction like solid steel.

Airen Farreira's skill was, unbelievably, every bit her equal.

"Is this a changing of the generations?"

"Hm."

Joseph nodded at the murmur of his old friend and rival, Karisa Floyd.

She was right. A new wind was sweeping across the continent.

Ka-chang!

Clang!

Kwaaang!

Even as the two of them lingered in reflection, the two duelists kept up their fierce exchange.

Illia attacked. Airen defended.

It went on for a long stretch, like a blacksmith hammering iron without pause, but the crowd never grew bored, eyes locked on the stage.

Both fighters were simply too far above ordinary to allow for boredom.

But not being bored didn't mean they hadn't been lulled by the pattern. Without noticing, everyone had settled into the assumption that this rhythm would just keep repeating.

That was when the champion's dagger flew.

Kiiing!

A sensation like a needle boring into the ear.

An attack sharp and precise enough to wipe every prior exchange clean from memory.

What mattered was where it was aimed. Not at Airen Farreira himself.

At his sword.

Illia's strike shot straight for the greatsword that all of Aienmarc now recognized as the finest blade on the continent.

Watching a strike loaded with nothing but the intent to shatter a weapon, the King-level duelists all wore the same belated look of alarm.

But the challenger didn't flinch.

Kwaaaaang!

The loudest clash of metal yet.

Illia Lindsay leaped back, her expression souring.

It had been a serious gambit. Every attack up to this point could fairly be called setup for this single strike, this was how much care had gone into it.

She'd expected it to land.

It hadn't.

Airen Farreira responded with precision, as if he'd known exactly what was coming, and kept his sword completely intact.

No, more than that.

Even if it had landed clean, I don't think it would have broken, she thought.

What could a sword possibly be made of.

What kind of intent had gone into forging it, to make it this unbreakable.

As she turned that thought over, Airen Farreira spoke to her.

"You'd better show me the Aura Sword."

"..."

"Keep holding back and... your sword might break first."

"...!"

Illia Lindsay's eyes sharpened.

But she couldn't argue the point.

Her opponent had come prepared, sure, but she was still the one who'd come out slightly ahead.

That was only natural. There was a gap in skill between them that couldn't be waved away.

And yet Airen Farreira's greatsword was tough enough to make that gap almost irrelevant.

Tough enough that she doubted even the sword her own house had given her could have withstood it.

At that, the champion made up her mind, and her blade blazed with brilliant light.

Hummmmm!

"I, it's the Aura Sword!"

"The champion drew her Aura Sword again!"

"That's how it should be! The challenger's no ordinary challenger, she can't keep holding back forever!"

"Now it really begins!"

The Aura Sword.

The technique that defined a Sword Master, the ideal every swordsman aspired to.

Watching it, the crowd's eyes filled with fierce excitement, their breathing turning hot and ragged.

But Airen Farreira's expression, as he watched, was nothing like theirs.

It's like Grayson, he thought.

The most brilliant silver radiance imaginable.

But what he focused on wasn't the light.

It was the shadow holding its breath quietly inside it.

A darkness so deep it was hard to believe Illia Lindsay had cultivated it alone.

Even the light showing on the surface felt like it had been made by burning herself down for fuel, and Airen couldn't bring himself to feel anything good about that.

Maybe whatever's going on with Illia right now isn't only Illia's problem, he thought.

That train of thought didn't last long, though.

Watching his friend glare at him with a ferocity far beyond before, a savage intensity in her stance, Airen Farreira steadied his resolve once more.

The opponent standing before him now was a talent bound to leave her name in history.

Someone who had reached Master younger than almost anyone alive, closing in on him now with a terrifying intensity.

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