WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 22

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Sword in Hand (2)

The mood shifted in an instant.

These were prospective trainees who had lived locked inside a grueling curriculum for over four months.

Breaking from that control to act on impulse was something they could hardly imagine.

But now, that stability had shattered.

And it had shattered because of Brett Lloyd, of all people, the one who'd always followed the instructors' guidance most faithfully.

'Brett Lloyd challenged him to a duel?'

'They said we could swing our swords freely, but that's...'

'Isn't that a little dangerous?'

The children's faces went tight with concern. Slowly, their eyes drifted toward one direction.

Toward where Instructor Ahmed, the one in charge of everything here, stood.

What judgment would he make in this unexpected situation?

"..."

No. Of course not.

Ahmed and Instructor Karaka thought the same thing at the same moment.

Giving the prospective trainees free time had only ever been meant to balance out the intensity of training.

If they forgot that and started crossing lines, problems would follow. Especially with children overflowing with talent and passion.

And yet, neither of them refused the request outright.

There were two reasons.

Brett Lloyd's burning eyes, a look they'd never seen from him before.

And Airen Farreira's mysterious swordsmanship, something neither of them could even begin to guess at.

Both were clouding the judgment that instructors were supposed to keep clear-headed.

That was when it happened.

"Why not just let them?"

"...Hall Master."

Ian, the Hall Master, had appeared in the training grounds at some point, smiling warmly.

The children jumped in surprise, and Ahmed answered with a troubled expression.

But the Hall Master's decision didn't waver.

"It's fine. I know what you're worried about, but sometimes exceptions need to be made. I think this is one of those times."

He turned his head to look at Brett Lloyd.

The boy had regained his composure, head slightly bowed, waiting for the decision.

But Ian could tell.

He didn't need to meet the boy's eyes to know how hot that heart was burning right now.

'For Brett, who's always kept himself in check, today is an outlier. Might even be a chance to break out of his usual shell.'

Krono Fencing Hall existed to help talented students grow, and the hall's rules and schedules existed to smooth the path toward that goal.

There was no need to protect those rules at the cost of a child's growth.

The Hall Master nodded, then turned his gaze the other way, to the one standing across from Brett Lloyd.

And then he let out a hearty laugh.

'Still can't read him.'

At that age, most children's thoughts should have been plain as day at a glance.

The old man shook his head slightly and quietly called the boy's name.

"Airen Farreira."

"Yes, sir."

"Trainee Brett Lloyd has challenged you to a duel. What will you do? Will you accept?"

The lazy lord fell silent.

The whole training ground went quiet. Hundreds of eyes, instructors and assistants included, turned toward the one boy. It was a first for him, this kind of unfamiliar attention.

But he didn't waver.

He answered.

"I accept."

It wasn't a real sword.

But it wasn't just an ornament either. What Airen Farreira held in his hand right now was, without question, a sword.

Ever since that mysterious dream, the boy holding the sword had never once wavered.

Having spoken, Airen looked steadily at his opponent.

Then slowly, he settled into his stance.

"..."

Brett Lloyd flinched.

But he didn't back down. Taking a short breath, he too raised his sword and took his stance.

His well-balanced longsword-style wooden blade traced a graceful arc through the air, and admiration rippled through a few onlookers.

Brett Lloyd couldn't match Illia Lindsay, who came from one of the most renowned sword families around, but he too had been born with bloodline no one could dismiss.

The children felt the gap between themselves and the top-ranked trainees all over again, and their faces turned complicated.

Then they made their predictions about the outcome.

Brett would win.

They had no idea why he'd challenged Airen Farreira to a duel, but he would win. Surely.

They couldn't think otherwise. In their eyes, the Vertical Strike the lazy lord had just shown was nothing extraordinary.

Of course, not everyone thought the same way.

Judith, along with a handful of other trainees, and the instructors, withheld judgment and watched the two boys closely.

Amid all this, the Hall Master spoke, his face solemn.

"Starting now, trainee Brett Lloyd and trainee Airen Farreira will duel. As the presiding witness, I'll intervene immediately if either side appears to be in danger. Do you both agree?"

"Yes!"

"Yes, sir."

The two boys answered at the same time.

The Hall Master nodded and announced the start of the duel. Brett watched with burning eyes. Airen watched with eyes gone cold and still.

Then, a moment later.

Much sooner than anyone expected, the result came in.

* * *

Once the two hours of free time granted by the instructors ended, Krono Fencing Hall snapped right back to its usual self.

The prospective trainees had no choice but to return to the packed schedule.

Naturally, the curriculum began with a test.

Just as Karaka had run the physical ability test at the start of enrollment, the instructors once again observed the trainees' skills closely.

Posture, spacing, precision of movement, judgment, how they walked, and every other element that fell under the broad category of swordsmanship.

They evaluated everything together, ranked the trainees, and split them into four groups based on similar skill levels.

Once all of this was finished, Instructor Ahmed addressed the prospective trainees gathered in the auditorium.

"Illia Lindsay, Brett Lloyd... and eight others. The ten of you placed in A-Class will be under my instruction from now on."

Illia Lindsay, Brett Lloyd, Judith, and the rest of the top ten.

Far harsher and more grueling training awaited them than what the remaining ninety trainees would face.

But not a single one of them felt sad about it. If anything, they were delighted.

Instructors demanding something difficult and hard meant they'd recognized their ability.

It was a declaration that they deserved to gain more than the rest.

'I'll definitely pass and become a proper trainee.'

'I'll endure it no matter what.'

'I'll absorb everything the instructor teaches and become the greatest swordsman there is!'

A grand sense of pride swelled in the hearts of the children placed in A-Class.

"Next. Mark Woodruff, Alfred... Amaya Kirkland. The thirty-five trainees I just called will be in B-Class from now on. You'll be under the instruction of Branden Phillips, who's joining us today as a new instructor."

"I'm Branden Phillips. You can look forward to it. I intend to give you teaching you won't forget."

"Yes, sir!"

The prospective trainees placed in B-Class answered with energy.

Their expressions were bright too. They weren't in the top tier of A-Class, but they were still talented individuals well above average.

And depending on how much and how well they learned going forward, the chance to climb higher remained open. The classes weren't fixed.

Because of that, a few B-Class trainees actually showed even more burning enthusiasm than those in A-Class.

'Damn it!'

'I'm in C-Class? Me?'

'Something's wrong here. I passed the first round of the Mid-Term Evaluation...'

The children in C-Class, on the other hand, wore expressions of obvious frustration to anyone watching.

And it was understandable. Every one of them was talented enough to be called a prodigy anywhere on the continent.

But they needed to understand something. Above the fast runners were the ones who could fly, and among those who could fly, some flew even higher still.

They needed to recognize their current position quickly and put in the effort to overtake the trainees above them.

Only then could they survive this fierce competition and move on to the next stage.

"Frustrated? That's understandable. All the more reason to work harder. Work yourselves to the bone. If you want to reach B-Class, then A-Class, and go on to score well in the Final Evaluation and become a proper trainee at this fencing hall, this isn't going to cut it. Understood?"

"Yes!"

"Are you prepared?"

"Yes!"

"Good. I hope every one of you climbs to a higher class as soon as possible. Rest today, and starting tomorrow, we begin formal classes."

Instructor Karaka finished speaking with a smile.

But the children couldn't bring themselves to smile.

"Damn it."

"All right, let's do this."

Not a single one of them rested. All fifty-some C-Class trainees headed to the training ground right after dinner.

Even when the assistant instructors told them they couldn't touch a sword before formal classes began, they skipped their dorms and went straight to the physical training room instead.

Seeing that determination, a few of the lower-ranked B-Class trainees changed course too.

They'd felt the unease creeping in.

Needless to say, A-Class, along with the upper ranks of B-Class chasing after A-Class, had never intended to rest in the first place.

And so, once again, a razor-sharp tension spread through the entire fencing hall.

...And far behind all of them, at a starting line lagging well behind the rest, stood one prospective trainee.

"What, is F-Class just one guy?"

"Makes sense. Weren't there only supposed to be three classes originally? But..."

"So because of one guy who knows absolutely nothing, and I mean nothing, about swordsmanship, they had to make a whole extra class?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Why in the world did Brett challenge that guy to a duel anyway?"

"You're telling me."

The sole member of F-Class. Airen Farreira.

A few of the children voiced their confusion about him.

It made sense that they couldn't understand, since Airen had lost the duel even more miserably than anyone expected.

The only thing he knew how to do was the Vertical Strike. Beyond that, he truly knew nothing.

Even the instructors hadn't expected this at all.

Rune Tarhall, temporarily assigned to head F-Class, meaning he'd become Airen's dedicated instructor, felt the same way.

"Diagonal Strike, and Vertical Strike. Aside from those two, you don't know a thing. Not even the basics."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"No need to apologize. How could you be good at something you've never learned? Still, I'll admit it's a bit baffling. Not one student who's ever enrolled at our fencing hall has been this clueless about swordsmanship. Well, enough chit-chat. Hmph!"

Rune Tarhall raised his sword.

A greatsword, far bigger than the one Airen Farreira held. The moment he let his presence flare, a heavy atmosphere settled naturally over the space.

He spoke again.

"Let me ask you something. You picked up a sword far later than everyone else here. What do you think you'll need to catch up to the other trainees?"

The lazy lord thought for a moment before answering.

"Effort?"

"No. Talent."

Fwoosh!

Rune Tarhall brought his sword down in a sweeping cut.

A tremendous gust of wind swept through the surroundings.

"Effort matters. Like Instructor Karaka said, depending on how hard someone works, a C-Class trainee could become B-Class, or A-Class, maybe even higher. But that doesn't apply to someone like you, who's fallen behind everyone else by years."

Fwoosh!

Fwooosh!

The sword kept swinging.

Powerful yet grounded in the fundamentals, a relatively easy-to-learn greatsword technique.

But that was only true for people who'd spent years holding a sword.

For a true beginner like Airen Farreira, there was no telling how long it might take.

To him, Instructor Rune Tarhall gave a fairly difficult assignment.

"One week."

"..."

"Master the basic greatsword technique I just showed you within one week. Succeed, and I'll transfer you straight into C-Class."

"And if I fail?"

"Nothing changes. You'll stay in F-Class and keep learning swordsmanship. But."

Rune Tarhall paused for a moment, then continued with a serious expression.

"If you don't even have that much talent, you'd be better off leaving the fencing hall on your own."

Thunk!

The greatsword resting on his shoulder came down and struck the ground. His gaze followed the same path, an intimidating look flying straight at the last-place trainee's face.

Airen Farreira didn't flinch.

Just as steady as when he'd accepted Brett's duel, he answered.

"I'll work hard."

"...Just do well. Working hard, I already know you'll do that."

Rune Tarhall wore an awkward expression. The stern look he'd forced on himself to intimidate the boy melted away, revealing his usual gentle face.

He promised to teach with everything he had, and Airen, in turn, resolved to learn with everything he had.

* * *

A week passed.

Rune Tarhall, who had temporarily taken charge of F-Class, returned to his duties in the recovery room.

The lazy lord, too, left F-Class behind and was transferred into C-Class.

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