WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 191

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Trial of the Dungeon (2)

"Yes, at first I didn't even realize it was... an illusion. I didn't think to doubt any of it. I just got swept along by whatever appeared in front of me, moving here and there..."

Standing before Calven's knight commander, Gregory Griffin, one of the knights explained the situation in detail.

This was one of the people who'd returned with Airen Farreira, someone who'd nearly been trapped in the trial of the gods if things had gone wrong.

"I see. Understood."

Having heard the full account, the knight commander moved on and asked the same question of another. A faint bitterness stirred in his chest.

Calven had brought the fewest people of the three kingdoms, and yet it had the most who'd nearly fallen behind.

Realizing anew just how weak Calven's national strength really was, his expression hardened.

But something even stronger than that bitterness took hold of him: astonishment at Airen Farreira.

'A presence strong enough to intervene in the trial of the gods.'

Every one of Calven's knights told the same story.

Struggling against despair, hearts filling with anxiety and torment as the darkness pressed closer, they'd spotted a flame far off in the distance.

A warmth, a sense of relief, they said.

Thanks to that, those on the verge of being left behind had never lost hope, and had made it safely out of the trial.

Airen's golden Aura Sword had served as their lighthouse.

'Not just a lighthouse. Seems to work like a hearth fire too.'

Gregory Griffin studied the young swordsman's greatsword.

A mysterious light, comforting the instant it entered view.

He felt an energy he'd never sensed from any Sword Master's aura before, lifting his own spirits.

Amira Shelton, meanwhile, wasn't bothering to keep up appearances, watching from close by.

"Whoa, whoa!"

Her reaction looked like that of an overexcited kid.

Shaking his head, the knight commander walked over and said, "Have some sense, you scatterbrain. Think about your age and rank."

"Huh? Oh! Right..."

Embarrassed, Amira scurried back a step.

She quickly tried to compose her expression and project some dignity befitting a vice commander, but her flushed face still made her look like a kid caught misbehaving.

Clicking his tongue, Gregory turned his gaze toward Perry Martinez, head of the First Expedition Team.

'He looks like he's in a foul mood.'

Understandably so.

A place they'd assumed, with over ninety percent certainty, to be a mana-warded dungeon had turned out to be an ancient temple.

On top of that, a young man not even half his age had pulled off an incredible feat, saving nearly twenty people.

Thanks to that, the expedition's center of gravity had shifted entirely onto Airen Farreira.

From Perry's position, that was bound to sting his pride.

'I shouldn't assume the trial just now was everything, though.'

Gregory Griffin thought.

The "grace of the gods" obtainable from the ancient temple was said to bestow power and abilities beyond human imagination.

The reason so little information existed about it was that the ordeal required to obtain it was brutally harsh.

Given that, having the leader's judgment warped and the expedition's mood ruined was never a good thing.

Finishing his train of thought, Gregory approached Perry Martinez.

"Lord Martinez."

"...You called?"

"Calven's side will get itself sorted out soon enough. Once the expedition leader gives the order, we'll follow at once."

"Hm."

Gregory's remark, one that upheld Perry's authority as overall commander, softened Perry Martinez's expression a little.

After a moment of thought, he spoke.

"Our mages will scout ahead with detection magic. Sevion, pick out a few quick ones to serve as escort..."

The chaotic mood settled.

Once he confirmed that those who'd been deeply mired in the trial had come back to their senses, and that the stir Airen had caused had quieted down, Perry spoke up.

"This way."

"Understood."

"We're counting on you, Lord Martinez."

The expedition members set out again under the guidance of Lavath, Phalanke, and Calven's representatives.

A thick darkness trailed behind them as they walked down the long stretching corridor.

* * *

Every dungeon has a guardian that protects it.

Sometimes monsters shaped by mana's influence appear. Sometimes something mysterious, born from the lingering will of a hero, shows itself.

Temples were no different.

Sacred creatures guarded the dungeon to keep the wicked and the unworthy from claiming its power.

But even the gods' formidable guardians couldn't push back the expedition team Perry commanded.

Kwaaaang!

Kwaang!

Projectiles bloomed in midair with each incantation, swelling larger through the magitech devices channeling them.

Grey orbs, launched with a wave of the archmage's hand, struck down golems made of some unidentifiable mineral.

"Haaap!"

Skang!

Sevion Brooks, skillfully seizing the opening, destroyed the core of one golem.

The mages' detection magic made it possible.

Immediately turning his body, he shot toward the red mark on another golem, and the other knights focused just as hard on dismantling cores so the golems couldn't reassemble themselves.

The fifth battle inside the dungeon wrapped up smoothly.

Despite facing opponents who were anything but easy, over that short stretch, not a single person suffered serious injury.

It was a situation where "The dungeon run is going smoothly" would have gone unchallenged by anyone.

And yet the mood among the expedition members, even being generous, could not be called good.

"Tch."

"Tch? Was that aimed at me?"

"No. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? You clearly meant that at me. Didn't you?"

"Ugh, then quit dragging everyone down and move properly."

"You little..."

Mistakes that would normally have been shrugged off got called out bluntly now, and words that would usually be met with a quiet apology sparked open anger instead.

"No good... at this level, all I'll do is drag the expedition down."

"I'd have been better off staying trapped in the trial. At least then I wouldn't have been dead weight..."

"I'm going to mess up again next time. I know I will. My luck can't hold out forever..."

The smallest things sent them spiraling, stripping away their confidence.

And as the anxiety kept growing, it spread fear and dread to everyone else around them too.

Watching the situation unfold, Perry Martinez's expression hardened.

The guardians protecting the temple weren't the real problem.

The trial, still unresolved, was the thing the expedition truly needed to settle before moving forward.

"What should we do?"

"Any ideas, Lord Martinez?"

Recognizing the seriousness of the situation, Sevion Brooks and Gregory Griffin turned to the expedition leader.

But even with three seasoned veterans gathered together, no clear solution came to mind.

'This is far worse than I thought.'

Watching the members resting quietly under the current controls, Perry Martinez stroked his beard.

Not the whole expedition was suffering from the trial's effects.

Most of those showing symptoms were the ones who'd nearly fallen behind during the first trial. The rest of the members still looked to be in high spirits.

The problem was that the anxious, doubt-ridden members kept dragging down the ones who were still mentally sound.

If someone nearby kept venting complaints and irritation, kept acting listless and sunk in despair.

And if that wasn't a one-time thing but went on and on, without end, what would happen to the people exposed to it?

Even someone perfectly fine would likely end up gradually swallowed by that same negativity.

That was exactly what was happening to the expedition now.

The dead weight harming the whole party would only keep growing as time passed.

The burden from that growth would fall on whoever remained standing, and those who couldn't bear it would break down one by one, becoming dead weight themselves.

'At this rate, eventually... it might come down to me, Sevion, and the three mercenaries from Calven carrying everyone else. To avoid that, we may have to cut loose whoever's dragging the group down.'

The problem was that people, unlike objects, couldn't be discarded that coldly.

Letting out a long sigh, Perry Martinez brought up an old tale.

"It reminds me of the story of the one-eyed man and the ninety-nine blind men."

Sevion Brooks and Gregory Griffin both nodded at the same time.

They knew the story too.

Instead of killing a hundred prisoners of war, you blind ninety-nine of them and take one eye from the hundredth.

When the released soldiers made their way back, the enemy nation would be forced to burn through considerable resources and mental strength just to care for that mass of blinded dead weight.

An ancient tyrant, taught this method by a demon, was said to have delighted in using it.

Truly ironic.

That the demon's utterly vile method and the trial handed down by a merciful god should share such a similar nature.

'God, why such a merciless trial.'

They couldn't abandon those who'd fallen behind.

But they couldn't just carry them along forever, either. The anxiety and doubt spreading like a plague were too strong to be soothed by faith and trust alone.

That was when it happened.

The blond young man who'd been quietly holding his position this whole time, Airen Farreira, summoned his greatsword.

And drew out that familiar golden Aura Sword.

"Oooh..."

The expedition members' faces visibly brightened.

Perry Martinez, feeling both irritation and relief in the same breath, watched Airen's aura.

He didn't know how or why, but that young man's energy clearly had the power to dissolve a bad atmosphere.

But that wasn't why Airen had summoned his Aura Sword.

Turning his head toward Perry Martinez, he spoke.

"I know the story of the one-eyed man and the ninety-nine blind men too."

"..."

"And I know the true identity of the demon who taught that method to the ancient tyrant."

"What are you talking about all of a sudden?"

Sevion Brooks asked the question, but Airen didn't answer.

He closed his eyes and concentrated harder, again and again.

Something had felt off to him.

Trial or not, this method was far too cruel.

Dragging people down to the very bottom without a shred of mercy, this energy felt far too dark and clammy to be called the will of a god.

And then he understood.

How something this disgusting, this bone-chilling, could have hidden its foul aura so well all this time.

Having finally grasped the true identity of what they were dealing with, Airen Farreira clenched his teeth.

'Of course it could. This thing's spent its whole life hiding behind a mask.'

Wooooom!

Airen Farreira's sword blazed with even fiercer light.

Its shape changed too. The Aura Sword, once a smooth curved blade, now rippled like flame, beginning to scorch the space around it.

Crackle, crackle...

The darkness was cut apart.

The shadow woven from lies, deceit, and hypocrisy split open, and a new space revealed itself.

Everyone realized it at once. The entire dungeon they'd been wandering through this whole time had been nothing but an illusion.

That everything they'd firmly believed to be the trial of the gods had been nothing but a demonoid's cruel game.

'No, not a demonoid!'

Perry Martinez swallowed hard.

On a stage built from human bone and flesh, a figure in flamboyant dress came into view.

More eye catching than the small, frail body was a cracked mask, the kind a clown might wear.

The moment their eyes met, he knew instantly.

Something as trivial as a demonoid could never summon this kind of terror.

Every hair on his body standing on end, he was about to shout a warning to the expedition when it happened.

Swish!

The clown's hand moved.

And the fifteen members who'd been in the worst condition were transported onto the stage.

Realizing what had happened to them only after the fact, they tried to scream, but vines shot up out of nowhere and bound their bodies, leaving them unable to move at all.

Watching them, the Jester Demon clutched its belly and laughed, then turned to address the rest of the group.

"Hehe, heehee, huhuhee, now, applause!"

Clap clap clap clap clap!

Only the demon's own clapping rang out through the vast cavern. Naturally so.

With their companions taken hostage, not a single soul among the expedition was deranged enough to clap along.

Eyes full of fear and fury poured toward the demon on the stage.

At that, the clown's laughter, which had been coaxing along its cheerful little performance, cut off abruptly.

As though time itself had stopped, it looked down at its audience for a moment, then snapped its fingers.

A slicing sound followed, and one prisoner's head was cleanly severed.

"Now, applause!"

Clap clap clap clap clap!

The Jester Demon demanded applause again before the expedition could even vent their rage.

Fury settled onto every face.

But no one charged forward.

Instead, a few, afraid of what the clown might do next, began to clap, and the cavern filled with a far more varied chorus of sound than before.

Lulu, who had already shifted into her Sorceress form, looked at her friend with a worried expression.

'What do I do? What do I do?'

Lulu understood Airen Farreira better than anyone.

Which was exactly why she knew. This, right now, was the situation he found hardest to bear.

A moment where harm would follow no matter which choice he made.

A moment where any decision would leave a wound behind.

More than the demon's overwhelming presence, more than the terrifyingly vast power he himself carried, this was the kind of situation that tormented Airen the most.

Stronger than anyone, but with a heart kinder than anyone's too. For him, no harder situation than this could exist.

Just as that thought crossed her mind.

Pang!

Perry Martinez, leader of the expedition.

Sevion Brooks, Phalanke's finest knight.

Even the Jester Demon itself was startled by how fast Airen Farreira had already closed the distance, teeth grinding.

This wasn't like the southern Subjugation Campaign, where he'd charged in recklessly, consumed by the rage of his past life.

Entirely of his own will, shouldering the full weight of his choice, he swung his sword, tears streaming from his eyes.

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