Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble - Chapter 175

WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 175

──────

Brett Lloyd (1)

House Lloyd's eldest son, Brett Lloyd.

A high-ranking noble of Gerbera Kingdom, born with brilliant potential fit for his bloodline. That was him.

Sure enough, Brett had shown talent in multiple fields since childhood, and in swordsmanship above all, he'd stood on a completely different level from his peers back in the kingdom.

Krono Fencing Hall, a place even the continent's brightest prodigies struggled to enter, had felt almost like a formality to him.

The moment he arrived at the fencing hall's front gate, Brett had taken his first step in, determined to claim first place no matter what.

"And then I met you two."

It had been a shock.

He'd known House Lindsay's reputation well enough. But he hadn't known it would be like this. Stamina, power, technique. Illia Lindsay had been on a level he couldn't even compare himself to.

Even more absurd was the fact that Judith, a commoner who'd never learned any formal swordsmanship, had been pulling ahead of him too.

Of course, Brett was still Brett. After the Mid-Term Evaluation ended, he'd been reborn as a new person through the Hall Master's advice.

Having set his narrow-mindedness aside, House Lloyd's prodigy leaped forward once more and planted himself at the center of the trainees.

Confidence bloomed in his heart all over again.

This time, he'd thought, he could surpass Judith, surpass even Illia Lindsay, and climb to the very top himself.

"A damn stupid delusion."

"....."

Watching Brett Lloyd speak with even sharper conviction, Airen Farreira couldn't get a word out.

Even back then, when he'd been far more oblivious than he was now, Airen could have guessed what Brett must have felt after the Final Evaluation.

The inferiority and emptiness born from losing a competition, and the endless self-loathing that followed.

Whatever he himself felt now was probably a tenth of what had tormented Brett back then.

Which was exactly why he wanted to know.

How had Brett actually overcome that pain?

Was it thanks to Judith's words?

Had her punches and provocations lit a fire under him, pushed him back to the fencing hall? Was that the whole reason?

The answer came right away.

"It wasn't because of Judith. Well, no, that's not quite fair to say either. She played some part in it, no question. Even after I went back to the fencing hall, I got plenty of help from her. But what actually snapped me out of it was my father's advice."

The day he'd returned home carrying that sense of defeat and emptiness.

Brett Lloyd had told his father everything.

He hadn't opened up to a single soul since the Final Evaluation, but Douglas Lloyd, head of House Lloyd, was the one person who could see through Brett's closed-off heart.

His father had listened to his son's story with a calm face.

The joy and delight his son had felt, and then the deprivation and despair that followed, all of it.

And then, what came out of his mouth wasn't a scolding, and it wasn't encouragement either.

It was a simple question.

'Are you learning the sword to become the greatest swordsman there is, or to become a good lord?'

'.....'

Brett hadn't answered right away.

He'd more or less understood the intent. You don't have to be first in swordsmanship.

You can become a fine lord without obsessing over that, so don't torment yourself over some meaningless feeling. That was roughly what his father meant.

But he couldn't accept it. He couldn't just nod along and let it go.

Not when the sight of his classmates climbing over his crushed head felt so unbearably enviable.

And the sight of himself, trampled down and falling behind, felt so pathetic by comparison.

To a Brett like that, his father asked another question.

'You are Douglas Lloyd's proud son.'

'You are Gerard Lloyd's admirable older brother.'

'You are a friend to many children, the young lord of House Fried among them.'

'And you are also the one who will one day become House Lloyd's fine lord.'

'I'll ask you again. Someone's son, someone's brother, someone's friend, and a future lord, Brett Lloyd. Do you value your identity as a swordsman more than everything I've just named?'

'......No, I don't.'

'Then think again. Think about what all those things you value more than swordsmanship have in common. You're a clever child, you'll understand right away.'

With those words, Douglas Lloyd left his son's room, and Brett, left alone, turned his father's words over carefully in his mind.

No, it hadn't even taken that long to work through.

The answer came right away.

"Right. Swordsmanship matters too, but... in every part I valued more than that, competing against others was never actually necessary."

It really was true.

There could be a good son, but there was no such thing as a "first-place son."

He could become a good older brother, but never a "first-place older brother."

Being someone's brother, to begin with, wasn't a position you competed for.

The same went for being someone's friend, and for being House Lloyd's lord.

He could always become better than his past self, but comparing himself to others wasn't necessary at all. Nothing could be more hollow and pointless than that.

Once his thoughts had drifted that far, his view of swordsmanship naturally began to shift too.

'Swordsmanship really does matter. But there are things in the world that matter even more.'

'And none of those things require competing against others. They only require competing against yourself.'

'So wouldn't the same be true for swordsmanship? Instead of suffering because you're falling behind someone else, put the effort into competing with yourself.'

'Keep pushing past your own limits, over and over.'

'Wouldn't that alone be meaningful enough?'

"Of course, that doesn't mean competing with others is completely meaningless."

Brett, who'd been staring off into empty air, turned his gaze toward Airen and spoke.

"I've said all that, but I still want to get ahead of Judith. It killed me with envy that Illia got the title of youngest Sword Master ever, and I fully intend to grind myself into the ground training my sword just to keep up with you and however strong you keep getting."

"....."

"But I won't let myself get so buried in that thinking that I lose my center."

Competition leads to defeat, defeat leads to inferiority, and that inferiority leads to emptiness and self-loathing.

It's a pain everyone goes through. Brett, who'd met monsters at such a young age, understood that feeling better than most.

But it was fine now. Even if he wavered for a moment, he had the strength to find his footing again.

Because he'd realized what actually mattered.

"There's no ranking among heroes. There's no first-place hero, no second-place hero. Just carrying a good intention in your heart is already something remarkable."

"....."

"So drop the pointless comparisons and walk the path you're meant to walk. Whether you're good at it or bad at it doesn't matter. Just walking that road steadily, putting in the effort, that alone makes it a road worth walking."

Got it?

Having said his piece, Brett Lloyd let out a short laugh. His blue eyes were deep and calm as a lake.

Airen looked into his friend's eyes with a Sorcerer's senses.

A far larger heart than anything he'd seen before was holding up Brett's body.

'It's real. Brett's... been living with that kind of heart every day since that day, all the way up to now.'

None of it was actually anything special.

Zet Frost had said something similar once already.

That if you cared too much about competing with others, comparing yourself to others, you'd end up losing yourself. That what really mattered lay somewhere else.

But Brett's words landed far deeper than Zet's had.

There's no ranking among heroes.

There's a road worth walking just by walking it steadily.

Feeling those two sentences carve themselves deep into his chest, Airen tried to express his gratitude to his friend.

Or rather, he tried to.

But Brett beat him to it. Wearing a strange smile, he turned his head to look up at the sky and spoke.

"Of course... there are people none of this talk works on at all."

"....."

"Someone with a completely different goal from ours. Someone who doesn't feel fulfilled just walking a chosen path, unlike people like us. Someone whose dream only settles when they've climbed over everyone else."

"You mean Judith?"

"Who else would it be. You saw it too. Speaking her mind even in front of Zet Frost like that."

Brett pulled something out from inside his coat. Wine.

He popped the cork and drank straight from the bottle, and even that thoroughly un-noble gesture somehow carried a strange elegance. It was a curious sight.

Not that Brett cared what Airen thought of it, of course.

Having emptied half the bottle in an instant, he kept talking.

"Judith and I are walking completely different roads. She's aiming to be the greatest swordsman on the continent, so unless she reaches first place, she's got nothing left. That's the road she's walking."

"...Yeah."

Airen nodded.

Brett was right. The road she walked was nothing like his own.

A thorny path filled with nothing but suffering and despair, offering no fulfillment at all until she reached her goal.

A brutal, punishing journey that most of history's greatest figures never even managed to complete.

Airen actually knew a few people who'd been thrown off that kind of race and fallen into ruin.

Charlot and Victor had been like that, and Grayson had barely pulled through a massive crisis of his own.

John Drew's case, where he'd redirected his effort toward establishing his own style of swordsmanship, had turned out well, but there were probably far more people out there sunk in despair than people like him.

'That's exactly why it worries me. That Judith might end up like that too.'

A worry he hadn't spoken to anyone yet.

But Brett's thinking was different from Airen's.

"Still, Judith'll be fine."

"....."

"Sometimes she feels pitiful, ridiculous, and honestly like a stubborn pain in the ass who drives people up the wall."

"Um....."

"But nobody puts their whole heart into effort the way she does. She practically shines with it."

That much was true.

Her talent might not be enough to argue she was the continent's best.

But when it came to grit and sheer stubbornness, she yielded to no one.

Aside from the man in the dream, there probably wasn't a single person who'd kept up that kind of relentless, unwavering effort the way she had.

While Airen was thinking that over, Brett Lloyd's tone started to shift, growing strange.

"It'll hurt, it'll sting. She'll feel like her insides are burning up. But that girl never gives up."

"....."

"The way she keeps running forward no matter how much it hurts, refusing to give up. The way she can't stay detached from competition, clinging to it, obsessing over it harder than anyone else. The way she gives everything she's got... I think it's pretty amazing. I think it's pretty. I think it's beautiful."

Airen's brow furrowed slightly.

The mood had turned strange.

This wasn't just praising a friend, wasn't just wishing well for a classmate's future. Not even close.

Even someone as hopelessly oblivious as him could tell something was off, there was too much feeling soaked into the way Brett was talking.

Airen looked at Brett.

Brett looked back at Airen.

Two grown men holding eye contact for that long should have felt awkward, but Brett didn't look away.

After a moment, Brett let his feelings out.

"I like Judith."

".....!"

Airen Farreira stumbled a step back in shock.

Watching him, Brett Lloyd let out a short laugh and finally shared what had actually been troubling him.