WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 154

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What Do You Do (3)

Frederick, a low-level employee of a merchant company, had been born and raised in the northwestern continent, and unlike most of his coworkers, he took a keen interest in rumors from other regions.

He was stuck hauling cargo in some backwater right now, sure, but his real goal was to one day build a company big enough to shake the whole continent, one that carried his own name.

A good merchant needed to stay sharp about information, and the most important information of all was information about people. That was just how it worked.

He'd heard it a thousand times, told over and over to stop overthinking and just focus on the job in front of him, but Frederick couldn't quite shake his habit of chasing down gossip wherever he found it.

Which was exactly why.

"Whoa!"

It didn't take him long to realize something.

Illia. Airen. Brett. Judith.

He finally understood just how enormous those four names actually were.

"What, all of a sudden?"

Kenzal, the senior hand, scowled at his assistant's sudden outburst.

The kid had a habit of drifting off into odd thoughts and messing up because of it, so Kenzal usually kept him on a short leash.

But instead of his usual nervous, deferential self, Frederick pressed right up against him, still wearing a look of pure shock.

Then, as though about to share something truly important, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Kenzal."

"What, gross, get off me."

"This is important, that's why. Do you know who those people over there are?"

"No. How would I know that?"

"Those people. They're incredible swordsmen."

"What?"

"Haven't you heard about it? The Golden Generation of Krono Fencing Hall, tearing it up at the Proof Land lately?"

"I think I heard something about that... wait, why? Don't tell me you think those are the same people?"

"They are! The names match exactly! There's even a Sword Master among them, Illia Lindsay!"

Frederick hadn't yet heard that Airen had reached Sword Master himself.

But what he already knew was more than enough.

Barely containing his excitement, he tried to pour out everything he knew about the 27th Cohort of Krono, Airen Farreira, and Sword Master Illia Lindsay.

But he never got the chance.

Kenzal flicked him hard on the forehead with a sharp crack and said,

Thwack.

"Ow! Why would you..."

"Quit talking nonsense and get back to work."

"It's not nonsense, the names match up exactly!"

"You idiot, matching names mean anything? If I change my name to Julius right now, does that make me the White Knight Commander of the Holy Kingdom?"

"But their ages look about right too..."

"Then tell me this. Why would people that important come all the way out to some backwater corner of the continent, and why would they be tagging along with our caravan? People like that should be out there earning massive purses fighting in the arenas."

"That's..."

Frederick had nothing to say to that.

He genuinely couldn't argue with it.

Watching him fumble for a response, Kenzal sighed.

"Ugh, use your head for once. Obviously they don't want their names getting out. Sure, they've got that noble sheen to them, so maybe they are nobles, but... let's just drop this."

Clicking his tongue, Kenzal walked on ahead.

Watching his back, Frederick, low-level employee that he was, pouted.

'If it's not them, fine, it's not them. Why'd you have to hit me for it?'

Besides, wasn't there still a chance he was right?

Something in the young clerk's heart stiffened with stubbornness.

Logically, Kenzal's argument made more sense, sure, but Frederick was always the one getting scolded, and he wasn't about to just roll over and agree this time.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

A strange, hard-to-place presence, the kind you never saw out in a backwater like this.

And on top of that, a party that included an orc fortune-teller and a talking cat, of all things. If a group like that had no secrets to hide, that in itself would be the strange thing.

'I'll uncover that secret myself!'

Eyes gleaming with resolve, Frederick made up his mind.

And so began the low-level employee's investigation.

* * *

'...This is really hard to pin down.'

It had been three days since Airen's group joined the caravan.

In that time, Frederick had run all sorts of small errands, hovering around them, picking up bits and pieces of their conversations.

His idea was simple. If he could figure out what they talked about, maybe he could work out who they really were.

'They're incredible swordsmen, so surely they're discussing something impressive. Especially Brett Lloyd and Illia Lindsay, they're high nobility, so maybe they talk about continental politics or diplomatic matters.'

But that wasn't what happened at all.

Frederick ran back through everything he'd overheard the last three days.

"A lot of people say wine is the king of fermented drinks. Well, I'll give them that much credit. There's a saying that the gods gave humanity grapes, and the devil gave humanity the recipe for turning them into wine. But if you ask me, when it comes to bringing happiness to the widest number of people, having the biggest universal impact, that honor really belongs to beer, I think..."

"Hmm, isn't it better to just drink whatever you feel like? Speaking of which, apparently there's a fermented rice drink out in the eastern continent too. Two kinds, cloudy and clear, and the taste is..."

Brett Lloyd and the orc fortune-teller, endlessly going on about alcohol.

"Illia, what's wrong? Head all tangled up again?"

"Ah, mm. A little..."

"I told you! When that happens, it's best to just go blank for a while. You can do it while walking too, no problem."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. Here, try it with me. Blaaaank..."

"Blaaaank..."

Illia Lindsay and the talking cat, slipping off into blank stares at random moments for reasons Frederick couldn't fathom.

"Hey. Hey."

"...What."

"I'm bored, say something. Something funny."

"...Do you know what it's called when sand cries? Dirt-tears."

"..."

"...Uh, so, when sand cries it gets damp, and dirt's damper than sand, so I called it dirt-tears, because it kind of sounds like crying..."

"Did Kubharu teach you that?"

"Yeah..."

"Just be quiet. I'd rather listen to the alcohol talk."

"Sorry."

Airen Farreira and Judith, endlessly cracking dumb jokes back and forth.

It was, without question, an absolute mess of a conversation, nothing at all like what you'd expect from swordsmen destined to carry the next generation of the continent.

And yet, just when he was ready to write off all his suspicions, the talk they had every meal turned out to be something else entirely.

"About mixing Manifestation into your footwork. If you use it right, couldn't you change direction even mid-air?"

"Theoretically, sure. If you release it sharply, like a burst..."

"Mm, in an emergency, or... actually, you could deliberately float up and turn it into a trap."

"Speaking of which, Kubharu, do orc warriors mix in Spirit Magic when they fight? Anything like that?"

"There is. Some use Spirit Magic directly like I do, and some weave the principles of the five spirits straight into their Aura control. We call it the 'Five Elements Divine Technique'..."

"So that man too, does he use that... the Five Elements Divine Technique?"

"He uses Spirit Magic as well. Both, actually. Why, are you interested?"

"Yes. I'd like to see the flow of it with my own eyes."

"Hey, don't hog it, watch it and explain it to the rest of us after."

'...Hearing stuff like that, they really do seem like incredible swordsmen.'

Frederick didn't know much about swordsmanship.

But he could tell the difference between something that just sounded impressive and something that actually was.

He'd dealt with plenty of mercenaries in his time, after all.

By his judgment, there was clearly something to these people.

But still...

'Compared to how they act the rest of the time, the gap's just too big.'

"Hmm..."

Frederick studied the four swordsmen closely.

His eyes sharp as a detective's.

Of course, Kenzal wasn't about to let that slide.

Whap.

"Ow! What was that for!"

"Quit spacing out and get dinner ready."

"I would've handled it fine on my own, did you really have to hit me..."

"Yeah, exactly like you said, you only move when I hit you, that's why I raise my hand. Get moving before you earn another one!"

With that, Kenzal hurried off to find his own tasks.

Frederick found him thoroughly aggravating, but since he really had been slacking off, he just puffed out his cheeks and got to work on dinner.

A while later, the merchants and mercenaries finished their evening meal, wearing satisfied smiles as they talked.

"Ah, that hit the spot."

"Surprisingly good for food made out here."

"Weather's nice and cool too. Not bad for a job heading north around summer."

"Just hope we don't run into any bandits along the way."

"Hey, if we do, you'd better be ready to beat them senseless, right?"

"I'd rather things just go smooth without any trouble, that's all I'm saying. Anyway, forget it, how about a little sparring to help digest?"

"Hm, why not. Still got daylight left..."

Two mercenaries got up, drew their weapons, and stepped off to the side of the dinner spot.

Normally they pushed on until the sky went dark, then ate, chatted a bit, and went straight to sleep, but tonight they'd made camp early, so there was time to spare.

"Hmph, should we loosen up too?"

"Sure. Ten days straight with nothing happening, I was getting restless."

"True, haven't seen so much as an ant, let alone bandits or monsters."

They weren't the only ones.

One after another, the mercenaries who'd finished eating found their spots and drew their weapons.

Then, with sharp shouts, they clashed blades against each other.

Watching the scene, Judith murmured,

"Is it really okay for everyone to do this all at once?"

"Well, the mercenary captain's letting it happen, so it must be fine. Plenty of daylight left, no visibility issues, and they've got someone on watch separately anyway."

"Is that so? Then..."

She was just about to say let's do it too, when.

Airen Farreira shot to his feet.

And right behind him, Illia Lindsay stood up as well.

Not a single word passed between them, just a shared glance, and somehow they understood each other perfectly. Watching this, Judith shook her head.

'At this point aren't they basically married?'

Of course, she kept that thought to herself.

If Illia somehow heard it, she might unleash some kind of retaliation Judith wouldn't know how to handle, the same way she had that one time they'd all been drinking.

Glancing over at Brett, she said,

"Once those two finish, want to go a round?"

"Sure. Let's watch for now, though."

Brett said, and Judith nodded.

A fight between two swordsmen who'd both reached the rank of Master.

Sure, it was just a sparring match, so neither would draw an Aura Sword, but that didn't mean there was nothing to learn from it.

Her eyes burned hotter than either of the actual combatants, while beside her, Brett's gaze stayed calm and still as a lake as he waited for the match to begin.

"What's this?"

"Even the young nobles are sparring, huh."

"Should we watch too?"

"Sure, I'm curious how good they are."

It wasn't just Judith and Brett. A few of the mercenaries and merchants took an interest in the match as well.

They'd all be parting ways soon enough, so nobody had bothered building close ties, but three days of traveling together was still enough to stir up some curiosity.

Of course, Airen and Illia paid no attention to any of the eyes on them.

The two of them drew their swords, standing at a distance that struck everyone else as strangely far apart.

Well, to be precise, in Airen's case, he summoned his sword rather than drawing it.

As the caravan members watched, flinching slightly at the sight, Illia Lindsay's body moved.

Whip!

Most of them didn't even register the moment she appeared at Airen's side.

It wasn't just the merchants either. Even the skilled mercenaries missed it, because there had been no telegraphing motion whatsoever.

Jumping, sprinting, even something as simple as a single step forward, all of it normally required a complex sequence of movement. A swing of the arm, a bend of the knee.

A swordsman reads an opponent's blade by catching those little tells in advance.

But Illia's charge just now had stripped away almost all reliance on muscle, achieved instead entirely through the manipulation of Aura, a technique in its purest form.

Which was exactly why the mercenaries only spotted her after her sword had already swung.

Kwaaang!

Airen, of course, was a different story.

The countless experiences he'd stacked up in Aienmarc, combined with his Eyes That See Aura.

Together, they'd refined his defensive technique into something bordering on miraculous.

He blocked Illia's opening strike cleanly and stepped forward, and Illia, like a wild animal startled by fire, immediately leapt back.

But a moment later, she came surging back in, far faster than before.

Airen's eyes went wide. He'd been sure she was fully retreating.

Kwaang!

Kwang!

Kwaaang!

Illia's sword rained down from every direction, robbing him of the chance to even breathe. A genuine storm of steel.

A strike plunging down at his shin suddenly leapt upward like a salmon, one aimed left instead flew in from the upper right.

A cutting arc shifted into a near-diagonal curve before converting mid-motion into a thrust.

It felt like facing three or four swordsmen at once.

"Taahap!"

Fwooooosh!

Getting pushed back again and again, Airen finally unleashed a powerful mid-level horizontal strike.

Force enough to send even a mountain flying, timed for the instant Illia drew breath.

Of course, she dodged it without much trouble.

But it bought Airen a moment to catch his breath.

Unlike a second ago, this wasn't a feint. The silver-haired swordswoman genuinely fell back.

The blond swordsman watched her with deep, searching eyes.

"..."

"..."

The whole area went dead silent.

The sparring had started with several pairs going at once, but by now, the only fight still going was between Airen Farreira and Illia Lindsay.

Feeling the sharp intensity radiating off the two of them, the mercenaries all thought the same thing.

'What in the world are these people?'

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