Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble - Chapter 147

WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 147

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Airen Farreira's Sword (4)

"A little disappointing."

He said "a little," but there was more than a little emotion in the priest's eyes.

Only ten months of direct contact, but the indirect influence had stretched back years already.

After investing so much time toward this harvest, to see it collapse this cleanly.

'Not even a crack left to work with.'

Strange, really.

The priest's gaze, which had been fixed on Illia Lindsay, drifted sideways.

Toward the young man standing on the stage with astonishing skill and an awkward, sheepish smile that didn't match it at all.

Watching the presence that had single-handedly turned Aienmarc upside down these past few months, the priest murmured again.

"That one's a lost cause."

If it were even possible, the thrill would be far greater, but honestly, he had the feeling his teeth wouldn't even find purchase.

That, despite the boy not even being a finished existence yet.

Nothing to be done about it. Better to focus on what he could still work with.

Thinking that to himself, the priest shook off the disappointment and rose from his seat.

"Ack, hey!"

"Oi, you there! You knocked into someone and just..."

Pushing quickly through the packed crowd made collisions unavoidable.

A few burly men actually hurled threats at the priest's back.

But it lasted only a moment.

Watching the priest vanish from sight with blank expressions, they turned back to the stage as though they'd never been angry at all, and picked their cheering right back up.

"Airen Farreira!"

"Airen Farreira! The new champion!"

It wasn't just the ordinary spectators either.

Veteran reporters who'd covered sword duels for over a decade and grown numb to the spectacle of it.

Top-level duelists who lived the Land of Proof more fiercely than anyone.

Even those who'd suffered humiliating defeats at Airen Farreira's hands poured out heartfelt congratulations.

Even former champion Ricardo Pinto did the same, though from his position, that made perfect sense.

The higher Airen climbed, the more his own reputation felt restored along with it.

'That light at the end was definitely an Aura Sword. I suppose that young man counts as a Sword Master now.'

That was right.

He hadn't lost to an Expert. He'd lost to a Sword Master.

What was strange about an Expert losing to a Sword Master?

What was strange was those two brats reaching that level at such an absurd age.

'One was twenty two, the other nineteen, wasn't it...'

Ricardo let out a sigh without meaning to.

But what worried him more was what kind of scolding he'd get from his father.

'If I want to pay off the cost of that broken sword, I'll have to train like a madman and reach Master rank. Otherwise...'

He might get beaten within an inch of his life.

Thinking of Harrison Pinto, the still-vigorous Sword Master well past seventy, Ricardo Pinto clapped again.

Whatever the case, today was a joyous day. A new Sword Master had been born.

Amid his tangled emotions, his hands came together hard enough to nearly burst.

And there was one more.

Judith, who had watched Airen Farreira's training more closely and for longer than anyone, felt an emotion just as complicated as Ricardo Pinto's.

'I don't feel... all that good.'

Strange, really.

Back when Airen Farreira had been getting pushed around, she'd genuinely been on the edge of her seat, cheering for him.

She'd screamed in her heart for him to hold on somehow, to endure and endure until he found his opening, until he could turn the tide.

But then golden light had burst from the Sorcery Greatsword, been pulled back in, and reborn in an entirely different shape.

And with it, Airen himself had changed into someone completely different, someone who defeated Illia Lindsay, and something unnamed had started raising its head inside her chest.

...The truth was, she already knew.

This wasn't the first time. It was a feeling she'd had every time she watched him lately.

"Waah! He won! He won! Airen won!"

"Heh, to think he actually beat a real Sword Master..."

"What? Kubharu! Don't tell me you thought Airen would lose? You've been saying he'd win no matter what for four months! Did you actually not believe it?"

"No, ahem..."

"You idiot! Blockhead! Sea anemone!"

"Ugh, stop..."

Lulu, raining down a flurry of attacks with her front paws, and Kubharu, taking them with a laughing face, both looked pleased.

But Judith couldn't bring herself to smile so freely.

The way Airen Farreira had moved, almost mystically, as if he'd become one with his blade.

The golden aura that had flickered briefly when he shattered Illia Lindsay's sword.

Turning that over in her mind for a long while, a thought suddenly occurred to her, and she turned her head. She looked at Brett.

"..."

Unaware of her gaze, he was sketching furiously, like a man possessed by something.

Judith's heart wavered again.

What in the world was he drawing.

What had that guy felt, to wear that kind of focused expression.

A hollow feeling crept over her out of nowhere, and Lulu popped up in front of her and spoke.

"Judith? What's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"You look kind of down. Are you sick?"

"...No."

"Or do you need to pee?"

"No. Just spaced out for a second. I don't look down, I feel great!"

Judith smiled wide.

Or tried to. It didn't quite work.

She grabbed her cheeks with both hands to force her trembling lips upward, and Brett Lloyd, who had closed his sketchbook by then, watched and said.

"That's ugly. Stop."

Thwack!

"Ugh?"

Brett flinched, letting out a startled groan after taking a hit to the upper arm.

He'd figured he'd get hit for that, but not this hard.

He made a face of disbelief, and Judith, catching his gaze, stood up.

The heavy expression from a moment ago had mostly cleared, replaced by a much brighter look.

She spoke cheerfully.

"Let's go! Let's go get the party ready!"

"Party?"

"Yeah! Airen became champion, we can't just let that pass. Mr. John Drew, can you lend us a venue?"

"Huh? Ah, sure, I suppose."

John Drew, who had been staring blankly at the stage this whole time, nodded belatedly.

In terms of raw strength he didn't even measure up to a King-level duelist, but when it came to analyzing and understanding swordsmanship, he'd always been confident that he didn't fall behind anyone.

For someone like him, this match had offered a wealth of insight.

Enough that he thought it would give real momentum to the John Drew style of swordsmanship he'd been stuck developing for a while now.

'I started out as the one teaching. Somewhere along the way, I ended up learning more than I taught.'

A party?

Of course he could do that.

Didn't matter how much it cost. He'd throw a celebration lavish enough to make eyes pop!

While he was thinking that, a shower of glittering objects landed on his lap.

Jingle jingle!

"Thanks, teacher! Special bonus! Use this for the party!"

"..."

Watching the black cat endlessly spilling gold and treasure, John Drew felt an inexplicable chill of fear.

* * *

Two days after the championship match between Illia Lindsay and Airen Farreira.

Aienmarc was still overflowing with people rehashing the fight.

It couldn't be helped.

One of them had reached Sword Master faster than anyone on the continent. The other had crossed into Sword Master territory mid match.

His age alone, twenty two, put him three years ahead of the pace set by the great master of Krono himself.

How could anyone wrap up a clash between swordsmen of that caliber in a day or two?

The townsfolk kept the story alive from morning until late at night.

Those who'd watched the match in person got treated to endless rounds of free drinks as they retold every detail, while those who'd missed it lamented not being there and gasped in awe at every turn.

But not everyone looked on the duel between the two Sword Masters with pure approval.

One dueling-focused weekly ran a piece arguing the match had been unfair.

[Airen Farreira's Rise to Champion, Was It Truly Legitimate]

[Banning Magic Swords While Permitting a Sorcery Sword Makes No Sense]

[Had They Swapped Blades, the Outcome Would Have Differed... The Case for a Rematch]

The Land of Proof allowed duelists to use their own swords, carried from before, rather than equipment provided by the organizers.

The reasoning was simple: no one could hand-fit a sword to every duelist's grip. The only rule had always been that anything went, as long as it wasn't an "artifact that surpassed a sword's natural performance."

Shooting flames or lightning from a blade, for instance, wasn't allowed, but hardness or sharpness had never been restricted.

That was exactly why Airen's Sorcery Greatsword had been permitted in the first place.

But the sudden burst of light mid match. And the blade's transformation into an entirely different shape right after.

To some observers, that was bound to raise suspicion.

And regardless of whether it was fair or not, an overwhelming number of people sympathized with the idea that a rematch was needed, which kept the topic burning in everyone's mouth.

The organizers took it seriously enough to consider investigating the sword and weighing whether to push for a rematch.

But that never happened.

Illia Lindsay, who hadn't engaged with the press even once since arriving in Aienmarc, finally spoke her mind through a representative for the first time.

[The match was fair. The outcome had nothing to do with the sword's performance. I accept my defeat.]

Everyone in town felt a pang of disappointment at those words, but with the person herself saying so, there was no room left to keep pushing.

And so Airen Farreira was safely crowned the new champion of the Land of Proof, and the once feverish Aienmarc settled back into a calmer mood than before.

Fwaaash!

"I'm declining all interviews."

"Eek!"

Of course, not everywhere calmed down.

Maybe it was because she'd finally spoken for the first time.

Reporters hoping to land a follow-up interview began sneaking their way toward former champion Illia Lindsay's residence.

Which meant her bodyguard, Emma Garcia, kept getting called out at all hours to deliver the refusal, and along with it, unleashed enough of a fierce presence to leave lasting trauma in every reporter's mind.

Still, a handful of leech-like ones kept coming back, which wore on her more than she cared to admit.

'Should I break something on the ones who've come back more than three times?'

Or maybe she should've just been rougher with them from the start.

She was mulling over thoughts that would have made the reporters flee on the spot when someone else showed up.

But this time, she couldn't respond with her usual cold, brutal efficiency.

Someone she couldn't afford to treat carelessly.

Her lady's friend, and the one who'd defeated her lady... which left Emma with no idea how she was even supposed to act around him.

At the sight of Airen Farreira, Emma Garcia swallowed and spoke.

"...What brings you here."

"I'm here to see Illia Lindsay."

"Not permitted."

"You won't even tell her I came?"

"I will. But my lady said beforehand that she doesn't want to see anyone for a week. That includes you, Airen Farreira."

"Then there's nothing to be done."

Airen Farreira nodded easily.

He understood completely.

He'd confirmed that the darkness that had been coiled inside her heart was gone, but that didn't mean she could just switch back to acting cheerful as if nothing had happened.

She probably had a lot to think over, a lot to work through. She needed time alone.

Of course, he couldn't come all this way and leave with nothing at all.

Airen pulled something out from inside his coat, and Emma Garcia asked, looking at it.

"What is that?"

"A gift and a letter."

"..."

The bodyguard's eyes went to the envelope.

Impossibly thick.

He must have poured a full day, maybe more, into that alone.

'...So he really is a friend.'

Her eyes softened just slightly as Emma Garcia took the letter.

"I'll pass it along."