WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 20

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Meeting with the Winners (2)

Neither a short nor a long time passed. Airen Farreira, having finished speaking, lowered his gaze once again.

Watching him, the Hall Master stayed silent for quite a while.

He stroked his chin, fiddled with his empty teacup.

He kept turning the thought over, and finally spoke.

"So, to summarize, you're asking for advice on how to make peace with another trainee. Is that it?"

"Yes."

"And that trainee is none other than Miss Illia Lindsay?"

"That's correct."

"Hmm."

"I'm sorry if it was a rude request. It's just... there's no one else I could say this to, so this was the only way I could think of... I really am sorry."

"No, that's not it. Truly."

The Hall Master waved his hand as if to say that wasn't the case at all.

Hadn't he been the one to say it didn't matter what Airen wished for, that he should speak freely?

Being that sort of person himself, there was no way he'd secretly drawn a line between a fine request and a rude one.

Still.

"Still, this old man was a bit surprised, that's all. That's what it was."

And it was true.

The master of Krono Fencing Hall had met with a prospective trainee of Krono Fencing Hall.

Naturally, one would expect the reward to concern swordsmanship, or the sword itself.

But trainee Airen had asked for something entirely unexpected, and even Ian, for all his years, couldn't help but be thrown off.

Yet the surprise lasted only a moment before something far stronger, curiosity, bloomed in the old man's chest.

He smiled and went on.

"So you knew that girl Illia. I hadn't realized."

"It's not quite like that."

"Oh? Really? Then did you two grow close inside the Hall? That's surprising too. I know her personally, and she's not an easy person to get close to..."

"We're not that close either. We've just talked a few times during personal training..."

"Hmm. I understand less and less."

The Hall Master murmured, still wearing that look of amusement.

They hadn't known each other before. They weren't particularly close.

And yet there had been a falling out, and the boy was trying to fix it.

Baffled by the whole situation, Ian pressed Airen to go on.

"Let's hear more of the story first. I don't have a feel for what to tell you without knowing the situation."

"What should I talk about?"

"Just tell me everything. How you two started talking, what happened, why feelings got hurt, and why you want to make peace now. I'll do my best to give you advice, poor as it may be."

"Thank you. Then..."

Airen Farreira bowed his head and began.

He wasn't much of a talker. His account wandered here and there at times, and the Hall Master had to work to follow the thread.

But it wasn't beyond understanding. Even in the clumsy telling, certain things came through clearly.

Every trainee at the Fencing Hall had looked down on the boy in front of him.

Illia Lindsay hadn't.

While every trainee at the Fencing Hall held their prejudices against the boy.

Illia Lindsay hadn't.

Ian closed his eyes and nodded.

'Now I understand a little better why he made such an absurd request.'

He hadn't known before, but he understood now, what kind of upbringing had shaped this strange boy.

For someone who had spent most of his childhood cut off from the world, the goodwill Illia Lindsay had shown must have landed far heavier than it would on anyone else.

'Though there are still parts of this that leave me uneasy...'

The Hall Master opened his eyes a crack.

An expressionless face.

But the boy's gaze, when it met his, was deep.

Well, let's handle this troubled boy's counseling session first.

Murmuring to himself, he clapped his hands together.

"Alright. Shall we begin the consultation for a boy with a lot on his mind?"

* * *

Some time passed, and the conversation wrapped up smoothly.

The Hall Master's advice had been nothing extraordinary, but for Airen, it was enough.

For someone who'd lost his entire childhood, even that much felt like more than he deserved.

The once-lazy young lord bowed his head and said, "Thank you, Hall Master."

"Thank me for what? Just an old man rambling whatever came to mind."

"No. It really helped a great deal."

"Well, if it helped, I'm glad, but it's still nothing special, I promise you that. I've got plenty of confidence when it comes to handling weapons, so there's a lot I could tell you there... heh. I can't even remember the last time I gave advice on something other than the sword."

The Hall Master closed his eyes, lost in thought, and Airen waited quietly.

After a moment, Ian cleared his throat with a small cough and continued.

"Right. That's enough about Illia. Let's move on to the main matter."

"Sir? The main matter, what do you..."

"I haven't given you anything yet, have I?"

Hadn't the advice he'd just given been the reward itself?

Airen looked at him with that question in his eyes.

The Hall Master shook his head, his expression serious.

"Didn't I tell you? My field of confidence is the sword and swordsmanship, not how to deal with people. My conscience won't let me count a few words in a field I'm not even good at as your reward."

As he spoke, a pressure rolled off his body.

The weighty air that only a master of a single discipline could produce.

Even Airen Farreira, still far from skilled, could feel it.

It wasn't painful or oppressive.

It simply made him realize, all over again, just how remarkable the small, frail-looking old man before him truly was.

"Let me be more specific. I'll give you instruction on the sword. Whatever you ask, I'll answer with everything I have, sincerely, to the best of my ability. So if there's something you've been holding onto, don't hesitate. Speak it."

The pressure thickened further.

It pressed on him, and yet somehow it felt trustworthy too, an atmosphere that made him want to spill his innermost thoughts without meaning to. In the middle of it, Airen stayed silent for a long while. The old man's eyes, fixed on the boy, grew deeper still.

A strange tension hung in the air.

What finally broke through from Airen was, honestly, a bit of a letdown.

"I'm sorry. I truly don't know what I should even ask."

"Hmm."

The old man stroked his chin. Airen kept talking.

"You may already know this, but I only trained with a sword for one month before entering the Fencing Hall. And even that wasn't under anyone's instruction. I just swung it on my own, however I felt like."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that's right. So... it's embarrassing to admit, but I don't even know what to ask, or what I want."

It wasn't just words. Airen looked genuinely embarrassed, bowing his head even lower.

He continued, meaning every word.

"I'm sorry. I know full well what a huge opportunity it is to receive instruction directly from you, Hall Master, and how much it's worth. Knowing that and still giving such a poor answer, I'm sorry."

"Lift your head."

"Sir? Ah, yes!"

Airen raised his bowed head. Their eyes met naturally.

Eyes like a blue lake, so deep he couldn't tell where the bottom lay. He couldn't tear his gaze away. Forgetting even that it was rude, the boy simply stared at the old man, dazed.

A brief moment passed like that.

Clap!

"Ah!"

Ian clapped his hands together sharply.

Airen Farreira, who had been staring blankly as though spellbound, snapped back to himself.

Belatedly, he said, "S-sorry."

"What's there to be sorry about? Don't apologize so much. A good swordsman should carry himself with confidence."

Not that you should be rude about it, of course. The Hall Master added quietly, then took a sip of his cold tea.

In that moment he looked like nothing more than an ordinary old man wandering a country village with his hands behind his back.

The weight that had filled the room had vanished, cleanly, as if it had never been there.

While Airen was still gathering himself, Ian went on.

"Understood. Then I'll hold the reward for later."

"Sir?"

"It means you can come find me later, whenever you feel you're lacking something."

"Ah..."

"Or I might offer the teaching first, whenever I decide the time is right. Any complaints?"

"No, sir. Thank you!"

Airen stood and bowed deeply.

The Hall Master smiled faintly and said, "Alright. You can head out now."

"Understood. Thank you!"

Airen bowed once more and left the room, still not quite himself.

Ian watched the boy go, smiling the whole while.

His expression changed only after the door had closed completely.

'Truly, truly an unusual child.'

Bewildering.

It had been so before, but it was even more so now.

He shook his head and thought, 'A boy set on the path of the sword, turning down my teaching not once but twice, does that even make sense?'

No. It didn't.

His own instruction carried tremendous value.

Not self-flattery, simple fact.

Among the countless swordsmen scattered across the continent like stars in the night sky, how many could claim the title of Sword Master?

And among those, how much would instruction from someone like himself, whose skill stood beyond comparison, be worth?

There was no need to even weigh it.

'And yet the boy turned down that chance twice.'

Strictly speaking, he hadn't turned it down.

The first time, he'd simply asked something unrelated to the sword. The second time, he'd only deferred his answer.

But even that made no sense to Ian.

The attitude Airen Farreira had just shown was too strange, too foreign, to belong to an ordinary aspiring swordsman.

Yes, it was almost as if...

'As if he was already receiving fine instruction from somewhere else, and had no need for anyone else's teaching.'

"...heh, what am I even thinking."

The Hall Master let out a laugh, as if the thought itself were absurd.

A ridiculous guess. He shook his head again and drained his tea.

Whatever the truth, the boy was fun to watch.

His individual potential wasn't something to dismiss, and the effect he had on the other trainees was fascinating in its own right.

A good eighty percent of the reason he was still staying at this branch was that boy.

'Come to think of it... there was another one like him, that unusual, once before.'

Ian rose from his seat and looked out the window.

And he thought of a trainee who had passed through his life eight years ago.

Overwhelming talent, boundless confidence, a temperament impossible to pin down...

"Well, the color of it is completely different, though."

Having finished muttering to himself, the Hall Master gazed out the window for a long while after.

* * *

The day after the interviews with the Mid-Term Evaluation winners.

Around a hundred prospective trainees gathered in the auditorium. The children looked toward the stage with eyes full of anticipation, and soon Instructor Ahmed appeared.

"As you all know, sword instruction begins today."

"...!"

Every face lit up.

It couldn't have been otherwise.

Every trainee except Airen Farreira had trained with a sword before entering the Fencing Hall.

For them, the past four months of pure physical conditioning had been an unbearably dull, grinding stretch of time.

Some, unable to hide their joy, clenched their fists tight. Others couldn't stop the corners of their mouths from creeping upward.

And remarkably, even Instructor Ahmed, who always wore a stern expression, gave a broad grin.

"Excited? I'm excited too."

"..."

"As you all know, the same swordsmanship produces completely different results depending on who's swinging the blade. A frail scholar's Diagonal Strike, a sturdy woodcutter's Diagonal Strike, and a royal guard knight's Diagonal Strike are worlds apart in power."

Ahmed swept his eyes across the prospective trainees, one by one, missing no one.

At the end of that sweep stood Airen Farreira.

Meeting the boy's eyes, the instructor's smile deepened, and he continued.

"Everyone, move to the main training grounds. Go and feel the results of the past four months, to your heart's content."

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