Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble - Chapter 157

WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 157

──────

The Great Clash (3)

Who were the Continent's Ten Strongest Swordsmen?

That question had long carried the same weight as another: who were the continent's ten strongest, period?

There wasn't really much distinction between the two anymore.

Sorcerers, whose power resisted objective measurement, and mages, whose abilities demanded too much time to invoke, simply didn't fit the mold of "strongest."

But ever since the name of Karakum, the orc great chieftain of the Durkali tribe, spread across the continent, the answers to both questions changed.

He had reached the level of Master, not with a sword but with an axe.

And backing that up was Spirit Magic on a staggering scale.

He was a warrior and a spirit mage, but not a swordsman.

Still, he was more than strong enough to claim a place among the continent's top ten.

"........."

Faced with the appearance of such a monstrous existence, the merchants couldn't get out a single word.

They weren't alone.

Even the bandits, who hadn't lost their composure despite losing two comrades, now stared at Karakum with faces gone pale with fear.

That was when the bandit leader, sent flying moments earlier, let out a feral roar and charged back in.

"Uwoooaaaaargh!"

Boom boom boom boom!

His feet, now over one and a half times their normal size thanks to the Blood Rite, shook the ground with every step.

He tore off his own mangled, dangling forearm by force, then reached back and pulled the greatsword from his back.

A monstrous size, fitting for his monstrous frame.

Karakum didn't flinch. Watching his opponent steadily, he raised his axe with a powerful motion.

Hummmmmm!

Aura the color of near-black ash gathered along the entire blade.

By then the leader had closed the distance and swung his greatsword in a horizontal arc.

A devastating blow, thick with the force of his massive frame and the momentum behind it.

But it never reached Karakum.

KWAAAAAANG!

It looked like what happened to a soldier struck by a catapult stone.

The orc bandit leader crumpled to the ground in a wretched heap.

A massive crater tore open in the middle of the plain from the impact.

His body, smashed apart along with his greatsword, looked as though it had been hit by a club rather than an axe blade.

Watching their leader reduced to something like a crushed insect, the frozen orc bandits scattered in every direction.

"Wnrjfk! Ehakdci!"

"Dmdkdkdkdkdkr!"

Crack!

Whoosh, whoosh!

Karakum recovered his axe with a motion that was neither slow nor fast, and shook off the gore clinging to it.

Through the whole motion, his gaze never once turned toward the fleeing bandits. It stayed fixed elsewhere.

The one receiving that stare head on was none other than the orc fortune-teller, Kubharu.

Facing the father he hadn't seen in seventeen years, the son, now well into middle age, offered a greeting in the orc tongue.

"It's been a long time, Father."

"...Leave."

Karakum showed no warmth. His gaze was as cold as the axe in his hands, and he added one more line.

"This is the last mercy I can offer you as your father. Leave. Never set foot here again."

Karakum meant every word.

Not a single day had passed, in the seventeen years since his eldest son left the tribe with nothing but a letter, that he hadn't thought of him.

He'd resented him at times, agonized over it at others, but more than anything, sorrow and longing had weighed heaviest on his heart.

Still, after long deliberation, the conclusion he'd reached was this.

Kubharu's choice had, in its own roundabout way, kept the worst outcomes from ever coming to pass.

And because of that.

Kubharu could not come back.

The son he still loved, the son he'd missed for so long, stood right in front of him now, but he couldn't let it show.

He had to be colder, harsher, had to drive him away so thoroughly that he'd never think of setting foot here again.

Having settled his thoughts, Karakum hardened his expression further.

And just as he was about to level another warning at his still unmoving son.

"That, I cannot do."

Kubharu spoke first.

His voice trembled, carrying no small weight of feeling, but his eyes didn't waver at all.

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"I still don't know if that choice, back then, was right or wrong. Every time I heard word that Durkali was safe, I told myself I'd made the right call, but there were nights I couldn't sleep, wondering if there might have been a better way. The thought kept circling back on itself, over and over. And then I realized something."

"........."

"Before I ever get around to deciding whether it was right or wrong, my heart had already been regretting that choice all along."

"Kuba..."

"Father. I want to speak with you, and with Tarakhan."

Kubharu cut off his father's words.

The anger in his father's eyes deepened.

But he knew.

Underneath it lay something far more complicated.

Steadying his breath again, Kubharu opened his eyes wide and spoke plainly.

"I won't run from this just because it's heavy, just because it scares me. Late as it is, I'm going to be greedy about it. I'll find a way that doesn't hurt Father, or my brother, or me, or the tribe. No, I'll find it together with you."

"........."

"That's why I've come back to find you."

"...Can that frail body of yours even carry through on your resolve?"

Fwoooosh!

Karakum's presence surged.

He wasn't using his full strength.

But it was more than enough to bear down on his eldest son, who had no talent for combat at all.

Just as expected, Kubharu's face twisted in strain, and he began stumbling backward step by step.

Trying to hold his ground did nothing. Even as blood ran from the corner of his mouth from the effort, Karakum didn't ease off at all.

That was when a human stepped in front of Kubharu.

Fwaaaaash!

A human swordsman, exerting his own force to cancel out Karakum's pressure.

Blood stained him all over, likely from cutting down the bandits. His face was pale, as though he'd taken some deep mental shock.

But his eyes burned bright, without a trace of dimness.

Karakum spoke in the continent's common tongue.

"This is tribal business. Family business. Not something an outsider should meddle in."

"It's my Master's business. My friend's business. That makes it my business too."

"........."

Karakum looked at his son.

Meeting his father's gaze, one that demanded an explanation, Kubharu answered with a faint grin.

"Can't be helped, looking at me like that."

"........."

"A coward needs some courage. So, shameless as it might be, I decided to lean on a friend's help."

* * *

"Hah, hah, haah..."

He'd cut them down. Cut them down. Cut them down again.

Six lives lost to his own hand.

The thought hit him, and Airen Farreira doubled over, retching. What little he'd eaten that hadn't fully digested came spilling out.

Through the haze, the conversation with Brett surfaced in his mind.

'Airen! Go after them! We have to kill every last one!'

'What?'

'If you spare them just to avoid carrying the weight yourself, just to make things easier for you, that weight falls on so many more people instead!'

"........."

'Getting your hands bloody for the sake of the innocent and the weak, and shouldering that weight afterward, that's a Krono trainee's duty. Don't overthink it, just move!'

He'd been right.

But being right didn't make it any easier to actually do.

Airen shut his eyes tight in the middle of a plain filled with screams and the clash of weapons.

His resolve wasn't shaken.

It would be more accurate to say his heart felt heavy.

The weight of the lives he'd cut down pressed down on both his shoulders. Even evil beings, their lives had still been lives.

"Hah, hah."

Airen quickly steadied his breathing.

He was fine. If this had happened the moment he first set foot on the continent, maybe not, but he'd been preparing for a moment like this for a long time now.

Which was why his mind settled far faster than he would have expected.

Feeling his heartbeat calm, Airen made a new resolution.

Grow stronger. Grow harder.

Instead of forgetting this weight or looking away from it, become someone who could carry it fully and still keep moving forward.

Repeating that to himself eased his heart considerably.

He finally opened his eyes and looked ahead.

"Wnrjfk!"

"Gks shaeh tkffuenwlakfk!"

"Rmdkdkdkdkdkr!"

Orc soldiers, arrived from who knew where, were mopping up the remaining bandits.

Likely the unit Karakum led.

Here and there he spotted the merchant company's mercenaries, and Brett, Judith, Illia among them. It was, without question, a complete victory.

Of course, this wasn't over yet.

Realizing there was no room left for him here, Airen quickly made his way back to where he'd been, and found Kubharu and Karakum locked in a standoff.

It wasn't just a standoff.

A killing intent sharp enough to chill a Master's spine.

Feeling it, Airen quickly stepped in front of Kubharu and answered Karakum's words head on.

"It's my Master's business. My friend's business. That makes it my business too."

"........."

"A coward needs some courage. So, shameless as it might be, I decided to lean on a friend's help."

"........."

"He came back here having summoned real courage. Instead of turning cold on him, why not talk it through with him first."

Karakum listened to the human swordsman's words.

Listened to his son's words.

Then, listening to the human swordsman once more, he studied the man's sword steadily.

He was, honestly, surprised.

He couldn't tell what the blade had been forged from, but he felt an incredible energy radiating from it.

Strong enough that it made him think it might even surpass the axe he himself had forged by drawing out the power of all five spirits.

'Especially strong in metal energy and fire energy.'

Most weapons were metal shaped by fire, so that alone wasn't unusual, but this sword carried it especially strongly.

Of course, it wasn't only the sword that was impressive.

A sword that fine couldn't belong to a swordsman without the skill to match.

A blade beyond its wielder's ability was more dangerous than poison, and would take its own master's life in the end.

That this hadn't happened meant the swordsman's skill had to be considerable.

Even just the presence radiating from him alone was impressive.

Probably a Master.

Having sized things up this far, Karakum muttered to himself.

'So my son hasn't tied himself to some nobody.'

The corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.

But that didn't make the man his equal.

Reaching the level of Master was, without question, a remarkable feat, but Karakum himself stood among the handful who ranked highest even among monsters like that, an absolute powerhouse.

Besides, this human swordsman seemed to have nowhere near the experience his skill would suggest.

His pale face was proof of that. The classic look of someone unused to killing.

Fwaaaaash!

A fierce fighting spirit burst from Karakum's body.

Airen took a step back.

A pressure unlike anything before bore down on him, the presence of a leader overwhelming to all who stood before him.

Holding that presence steady, Karakum spoke.

"Are you prepared to shoulder your friend's burden alongside him?"

"........."

"I asked if you're confident you can handle me, the strongest warrior among the orcs."

Fwaaaaaash!

Rrrrrrrrrmble...