WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 145

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Airen Farreira's Sword (2)

The Sky Sword. House Lindsay's exclusive swordsmanship, famous for having cut down the great demon of four hundred years ago, the Dragon King.

Among the countless sword houses and fencing halls scattered across the continent, it stood as one of the truly exceptional styles, and swordsmen who'd witnessed it firsthand often compared it to a butterfly with wings of steel.

An unbending resolve that never lost its strength even before a great demon like the Dragon King.

A resilience that pressed forward gracefully, unshaken, even through the fiercest winds.

It was, perhaps, the phrase that best captured how the hero Dion Lindsay had forged his miracle.

'In practice, the Sky Sword performs quite well against opponents stronger than the wielder.'

Sword Master Joseph found himself thinking of House Lindsay's head, Joshua Lindsay.

These days Joshua's skill sat well above his, but twenty years ago that hadn't been true.

Back then Joseph had been at the peak of his prime, while Joshua had only just reached Master.

Which was exactly why the fight Joshua had put up in their sparring match had burned itself into Joseph's memory.

Standing your ground and fully expressing your own swordsmanship even while outmatched was never an easy thing to do.

Of course...

"That's not even the true value of House Lindsay's swordsmanship," Joseph said.

Karisa Floyd, seated beside him, nodded.

The Sky Sword wasn't a style that only worked against stronger opponents.

If anything, it turned far more terrifying against a relatively weaker one.

Knowing this well, the two of them fixed their eyes on the stage.

Kwaaang!

Kwaang!

Kwaaaaang!

A series of brutal, thunderous impacts rang out one after another.

The champion kept her tempo steady while ramping up her destructive force to an absurd degree, and the challenger's face twisted at the assault.

But this was only the beginning.

After catching a single breath, Illia Lindsay poured out her strikes even faster than before.

Kwang! Kwaang! Kwang!

Kwawaang!

This was no longer the shape of a butterfly.

Wings unfurled not to protect herself but to crush her opponent, and they whipped up a violent wind.

The wind, born out of thin air, seized the space around it and swelled with startling speed, soon becoming a storm that ruled the sky.

Steel Storm.

Illia's sword poured down as if it meant to grind her opponent to dust, merciless and relentless, and Airen's frame rocked back and forth under the onslaught.

The center of balance that hadn't wavered against any other duelist.

The presence that had stood as solid and heavy as a mountain began, little by little, to crack.

Right now he looked like he might be torn out by the roots at any moment, precarious and in real danger.

Watching this, Judith muttered without meaning to.

"Shit, is he struggling..."

She'd figured it wouldn't be easy.

But she hadn't thought the odds were hopeless either.

She'd spent the last two months watching Airen more closely than anyone, so she knew.

That guy was genuinely absurd.

But Illia's skill was overwhelming even Airen's swordsmanship by a wide margin.

Power, speed, precision, she led in every single category.

Focused entirely on her Aura Sword, Illia had given up the uncanny footwork she'd shown earlier, but it hardly mattered given how devastating her offense had become regardless.

Five more minutes.

Maybe even less than that, and Airen Farreira's defense would collapse.

Judith's expression darkened by the second.

"No."

Just then.

The cat Sorcerer perched on Kubharu's shoulder spoke, her voice quiet.

It was unexpected. Lulu had come along to watch matches at the arena a few times before, but she'd never once stated her opinion this plainly.

And on top of that, the current flow of the match was obviously turning against Airen, wasn't it, no matter who was watching?

Was she just saying it out of frustration? Just venting her own hopes as a way of cheering on her Sorcery disciple?

That was what Judith assumed. She was wrong.

Lulu the Sorcerer could see it. She could see it clearly.

Because this involved her most precious friend, Airen Farreira, she could read the hearts of the swordsmen on stage with even sharper clarity than usual.

The challenger still had reserves left.

And the champion knew it too.

Which was exactly why Illia Lindsay was the one growing impatient.

Having grasped that much, Lulu spoke to Judith.

"He's still fine. I think we can keep watching a little longer."

"...Really?"

"Yeah. Let's trust him and wait."

With that, Lulu closed her mouth again. She turned her sharp eyes back to the match.

Judith watched her for a moment, then let her gaze drift toward Brett.

He'd been sketching something incomprehensible at breakneck speed in the sketchbook he always carried these days, his expression deadly serious.

'...Damn it.'

She didn't get it.

She really didn't understand any of this.

That fact handed Judith yet another layer of discomfort.

She wasn't even the one fighting, and yet an overwhelming exhaustion had suddenly washed over her.

Pushing that uneasy feeling aside, she forced her focus back to the stage.

The situation hadn't changed. The champion kept hammering, and the challenger kept holding on.

No matter how you looked at it, it felt less like a question of if and more a question of when the defense would finally break.

And then, a moment later.

Hummmmmm!

The silver Aura Sword wrapped around Illia Lindsay's blade grew even larger.

The stands, quiet until now, erupted into something close to screaming.

"Whoa! It got even bigger!"

"She wasn't even going all out?"

"Insane... this is insane. Actually insane!"

"There's no way the challenger holds up against this!"

Everyone, without exception, let loose the thought they'd been holding in.

With so many people shouting at once, you'd expect a scatter of different opinions, but that wasn't what happened.

As if they'd all rehearsed it, everyone predicted Illia Lindsay's victory. Even the King-level duelists.

Even the two Sword Masters, Joseph and Karisa Floyd, found themselves agreeing with the majority opinion.

But a thread of doubt still lingered on their faces.

'The pace she had going before was more than fine as it was...'

'Why push the tempo up now? There was no need for that.'

Of all people, she should have been the one with room to spare, yet she was acting like someone being chased.

Turning over what variable might explain that, the two Sword Masters kept watching the match.

And once again, Illia's offensive resumed.

* * *

Kwaang!

The sword came down.

Kwaaang!

Harder this time.

Kwaaang!

Kwang!

Kwaaaang!

Harder, and harder still, swinging and striking as if trying to break something apart.

And still, the opponent in front of her refused to bend.

He clung stubbornly to his balance, reset his stance, and kept pace with her movement.

Even half a beat behind, he somehow always caught up.

Ten minutes had passed like that.

The flame inside Illia Lindsay's heart was growing beyond her control.

'This won't do!'

The rude eyes and mouths of the crowd burned inside her.

Her obsession with Ignet Crescentia burned inside her.

The pressure that came at her without warning, again and again, burned inside her.

To overcome all of it, she'd cut back on sleep, cut back on rest, even cut back on time with people who mattered to her, training relentlessly, but the loneliness that followed from all of that burned inside her too.

Every part of it, honestly, had been eating away at her.

Fortunately, it had paid off.

The strength she'd built by burning through "herself" in the truest sense had carried Illia into the realm of a great Master, and that fact had given her confidence.

It had given her a little more strength to endure, a little more room to chase after Ignet, even with the flame already licking up to her throat.

And yet...

'What am I even doing right now?'

Thud!

Hearing the dull sound of blade meeting blade, Illia's face twisted hard.

The strike hadn't landed with proper force. Airen had thrown off her timing and scattered her point of impact.

Granted, it only happened maybe once in ten strikes, but even that was intolerable to her.

Her eyes turned ferocious, almost feral, as she pulled up even greater strength.

'I have to end this fast, no matter what!'

'I should have finished this ages ago. Putting on such a pathetic showing against an Expert!'

'People are definitely going to talk about this. Faster, somehow, faster...'

Faster, even faster.

Stronger, even stronger!

Her body, obeying her heart, picked up even more speed.

The crowd had reached a point where they could barely breathe.

Sensing that the finish was about to arrive at any moment, every eye in the stands seemed to get pulled straight into the stage.

But Airen, absorbing the onslaught, didn't see it the same way at all.

Watching Illia's precision slip further and further, watching her come apart at her own hands, he gritted his teeth.

'I have to hold on.'

Why she was glaring at him with eyes like that.

Why he was facing someone so changed from before.

Where the figure who once shone like a star had gone, and why she now showed a flame as precarious as a candle burning down to its last inch. He had no way to know, not right now.

What he did know for certain was this: if he broke here, Illia wouldn't change either.

She'd keep burning herself down, and at some point, darkness would come for her.

Airen refused, absolutely refused, to let his precious friend end up that way.

And that resolve, more than anything else, was the force letting Airen Farreira hold back Illia Lindsay's sword.

Hmmm

Hmmmmm

A faint tremor ran through Airen's Sorcery Greatsword, and with it came a low, ringing hum, like a blade crying out.

No one had noticed it yet. Not even the champion and the challenger locked in combat with each other.

But as time passed, the sound grew louder, and the black cat, sharper in her senses than anyone else in the arena, picked up on it first.

Lulu spoke.

"Something's coming."

"What?"

"Hm? What's coming..."

"Shh."

When the cat Sorcerer looked down at the stage with such deadly seriousness, Judith, Kubharu, and even Brett Lloyd, who'd been buried in his sketch since the match began, all turned curious eyes toward Lulu.

But as a little more time passed, they too came to understand clearly that something had changed.

Kwaang!

Illia Lindsay's sword flew in.

Kwaang!

Airen Farreira blocked it.

And blocking it, he felt something. The darkness held in her heart, and the will of the man in the dream responding to it.

A vast will, one that raged against evil and hated wickedness, stirred and tried to seize control of his body.

But Airen wasn't swept up by it.

Nor did he reject it, either.

With a will larger and wider than that, he took the man in the dream's intent and held it inside himself.

In that instant, a fire rising up from within him began to beat furiously against that heart of steel.

Kang!

Kwaaang!

Kwaang!

Heat poured into the lump of iron.

It already looked like enough of a sword to be called one, but as if that weren't good enough, an even fiercer heat kept pouring in.

As Illia Lindsay's sword kept falling upon it, the once crude steel blade began taking on a sharper, more refined shape.

From an ordinary sword to a master craftsman's sword.

From a master craftsman's sword to a great sword that lit up the world.

And it wasn't only a shift happening in the mind.

Hummmmmmmm!

"Huh?"

"What is that?"

"There's suddenly light..."

"What is that sound?"

A resonance deep enough to fill the entire arena.

And along with it, a beam of golden light spreading outward.

It wasn't an Aura Sword.

Something far more radiant and brilliant swept through the stadium before being drawn into Airen's greatsword.

"....."

"....."

Then came the silence that followed.

In a hush so heavy you could have heard a needle drop.

Airen Farreira looked down at the sword now gripped in his hand.

The crude, worn, dull Sorcery Greatsword, one that might as well have been called an iron club before.

Not anymore.

A blade sat sharp and elegant atop a gorgeous golden hilt.

The challenger swallowed hard and lifted his gaze forward.

What met his eyes was the champion's expression, more flustered than it had ever been.

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