WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 28

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The Greatest Teacher

The new year had dawned. Nine months had passed since the trainees first entered the fencing hall, and the weather had settled fully into winter.

A biting wind cut through the training grounds dozens of times a day.

Fortunately, none of the children seemed bothered by it.

"Hff, hup!"

"Damn it, this isn't working!"

Steam rose from the bodies of those swinging swords across the training ground.

Some of them were drenched in sweat hot enough to make anyone forget the cold entirely.

For some people, winter was a miserable season. But for trainees who never stopped moving their bodies, it was far kinder than summer.

Their bodies cooled during rest, of course, but that wasn't a problem.

The lounge near the training grounds was open at all hours, and it was spacious enough to hold plenty of people at once.

But not a single trainee visited the lounge purely to rest.

A boy tilted his head, muttering to himself like something wasn't clicking.

"I'm stuck. Maybe I'll go meditate for a bit."

"Same. I can't focus at all."

"I'll come too."

A cluster of kids trooped off to meditate.

They weren't even the first ones there. Inside the lounge, a few early arrivals already sat cross-legged.

Instructor Ahmed watched them from a distance, a faint smile on his face.

'Who would've thought kids this age, bursting with energy, would take up meditation on their own.'

A swordsman's growth wasn't built from effort alone.

More precisely, it required effort pointed in the right direction, not effort thrown blindly in every direction.

If the destination lay straight ahead but someone sprinted left, or right, or even full tilt backward, disaster was inevitable.

The trouble was that the person running so hard might never realize they were going the wrong way.

'Meditation is an excellent tool for solving exactly that kind of problem.'

Set the heavy sword down. Settle into a comfortable posture.

Cool the heat in your head. Clear away the drifting noise in your thoughts.

Then, once the excitement has settled and calm has taken its place, focus completely, and the mind's field of view widens. All the things you'd been missing come into focus.

The mistakes you kept repeating.

The parts that needed more attention.

The parts you were already doing well, the ones worth sharpening further into a real strength.

Looking back calmly over your own footprints, gazing clearly at who you are now.

And through that, arriving at the right direction to move forward.

And yet, despite knowing all of this, Ahmed never recommended meditation to the trainees.

He wasn't alone. None of the instructors did.

They all knew it. These were children barely into their teens, too young to even be called young, brimming with restless energy.

Sitting kids like that down quietly wasn't easy, they figured.

Recommending a method that wasn't intuitive to children already anxious and stretched thin from constant competition was a genuinely difficult call.

Of course, the situation now was different.

The lazy lord, Airen Farreira.

The high-blooded noble, Brett Lloyd.

The two of them had shown growth so dazzling it was hard to ignore.

'A fellow trainee's clear results carry a lot more weight than an instructor's vague advice. Those two really made a difference. Especially...'

The instructor's eyes drifted toward one side.

A boy who carried himself not with the arrogance of looking down on others, but with a confidence that lifted him up, Brett Lloyd.

Ahmed judged that Brett's actions had brought an even more positive influence to the fencing hall than Airen, who had been the first to try meditation.

That young lord had looked at Airen's training method, the one everyone else had mocked, without prejudice, and had made it thoroughly his own.

Then he'd shared what he'd learned with the other trainees without holding back, and in turn gained even more from them.

Receive, give, and through giving, receive still more.

None of it was easy.

Knowing how narrow-minded Brett had once been made it feel even more remarkable.

'He was always worth watching, but he needs even closer attention now.'

Ahmed was turning that thought over as he prepared to leave the training grounds.

Hall Master Ian appeared without a sound and spoke to him.

"They're doing all right, aren't they?"

"Gah! Sorry, what...?"

"The kids. Their level."

"Ah..."

Belatedly nodding, Ahmed answered with a serious expression.

"Yes. Remarkable talent has gathered here. Full of passion too, and not a single lazy one among them..."

"And they've grown even more recently. Thanks to Airen and Brett."

"Yes. Quite a few of the kids are seeing results from meditation. I'll go so far as to say..."

Ahmed's voice dropped low. "This might be the best batch of trainees we've ever had."

This time it was Ian who nodded.

"You're right. Eight years ago was impressive too, but looking at the whole group, I don't think any class has surpassed this one."

"Yes."

"Hmm..."

The Hall Master rubbed his chin. His gaze swept slowly over the children gathered in the main training grounds. Ahmed waited quietly for what came next.

The Hall Master's personality was hard to pin down, but Ahmed could tell there was some intention behind this conversation. An instruction would likely follow.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, Ian spoke.

"Gather the children."

"Yes, understood."

"Not the auditorium. Here."

A question mark rose in Ahmed's mind.

Whenever there was something to announce, the auditorium was always the place.

Being told to gather the trainees in the main training grounds instead naturally sparked curiosity.

But that curiosity didn't last long.

The Hall Master's next words landed in his ears a moment later.

"With the kids we have now, I'd wager quite a few of them will actually get it."

"...!"

Instructor Ahmed's eyes went wide.

He finally understood what Ian intended to do.

"I'll gather them right away."

He answered, his voice trembling.

Ahmed had trained his self-discipline deeply, but even he found it hard to keep the rising excitement in check.

* * *

"Damn it."

Judith was in a foul mood.

There were plenty of reasons. Losing ground recently to Brett, someone she'd always thought of as beneath her, irritated her plenty. So did this meditation fad sweeping through the trainees.

'What are they even doing sitting there that makes them grow so fast?'

She couldn't understand it at all. If she were going to sit still and fidget like that, she'd rather swing her sword one more time.

Judith still believed that. No matter what the other kids said.

But reality told a different story.

Looking only at results, the kids who'd fallen into meditation were getting real gains, and she wasn't.

That fact was putting considerable stress on the girl.

'I just want this to be over quickly.'

So when an unscheduled assembly was called, her face couldn't help but sour.

If this turns out to be nothing, I'm spitting in front of the Hall Master's office.

Judith was thinking exactly that, staring straight ahead, when it happened.

The Hall Master glanced around at the trainees encircling him and dropped a bombshell.

"I'll skip the preamble and get straight to it. This concerns the Final Evaluation."

"Gah!"

"Hff!"

"...!"

Stifled gasps broke out from all around.

It made sense.

Wasn't the Final Evaluation still nearly a hundred days away?

The children's heads spun.

But Ian gave them no time to think, pressing straight on.

"This won't be about measuring something quantifiable, the way the Mid-Term Evaluation was. It's a bit more abstract, but for the Final Evaluation, I intend to look at each of your 'potential.'"

Where does your strength lie.

What direction are you aiming for, and what have you done to work toward it. How will you express that effort.

The Hall Master added detail, but the children's faces stayed puzzled.

Ian let out a hearty laugh.

"Ha ha ha, don't worry too much. There's no need to overthink this. Just show me, with your sword, whatever part of yourself you think is the best. Put everything into a single, decisive strike if you like. Weave a dazzling, ever-shifting style that confuses your opponent's eyes if that's your thing. A quick blade wouldn't be bad either. What I mean is, anything goes, as long as it shows your potential."

"..."

Silence still hung among the trainees.

It was better than before, but the evaluation standard was still confusing enough to tangle up anyone's thoughts.

'I...'

'What is my sword?'

The children thought hard, serious expressions on their faces, about what they were good at, what kind of swordsman they wanted to become.

The ones who'd been mulling over similar questions for a while now were no different.

They pushed to make their own thinking more concrete, faces twisting like someone gripping a knot pulled too tight.

That was when it happened.

Krono's Hall Master drew his sword.

Shhhing.

The sound of blade sliding against sheath drew every eye. That had been the intent.

Ian smiled an unreadable smile and spoke in a low voice.

His words carried aura enough to reach clearly even at a distance.

"I know this isn't easy. But it isn't impossibly hard either. You have more than ninety days ahead of you, and I'm confident that everyone here can find a way to make their own potential bloom."

"I've prepared a small gift as well. Nothing more than an old man's self-indulgent sword dance, but I hope you'll take something from it."

That was all he said.

Falling silent, Hall Master Ian's expression turned serious, and his body began to sway, flowing like water.

"What?"

"Out of nowhere?"

Voices scattered here and there at the Hall Master's sudden sword dance.

But that lasted only a moment. The commotion died down quickly, and silence returned as if nothing had happened.

It wasn't ordinary quiet.

In the span of a few short seconds, the trainees found their minds seized entirely by the old swordsman's blade.

"..."

"..."

It wasn't because of his reputation as the finest swordsman on the continent.

It wasn't because he held their futures in his hands as master of the fencing hall.

Even if they hadn't known who Ian was, the result would have been the same.

The children lost themselves entirely in the sword dance unfolding before their eyes, forgetting everything around them.

Whoosh.

Whooosh.

Soft, yet powerful.

Light, yet weighty.

Calm as water one moment, wild and explosive as fire the next.

Countless mental images, more than could be counted on both hands, painted themselves across the air, again and again.

Those vivid impressions burned themselves into the minds of the watching trainees.

Burned deep.

"Hm. I'll stop here. Good luck to you all."

Having finished his sword dance, the Hall Master left with a smile. Walking off with an easy swing of his arms, he looked exactly like some kindly old grandfather from the countryside.

But not a single trainee offered him a farewell as he left.

Frozen in place, they only came back to themselves a good while later.

* * *

'Every time I watch it, all I can do is marvel.'

Instructor Ahmed thought, following behind Hall Master Ian.

He'd seen it before, but it was still an absurd thing to witness.

However overflowing with talent these children were, they were still hopelessly inexperienced. And yet the Hall Master handed them a moment of realization with a single sword dance.

It wasn't even the same realization for each of them.

Ian's blade didn't carry just one quality. Dozens, hundreds of subtle principles wove together into one seamless, flowing current.

That was why every trainee who watched the dance could take away whatever they understood best, or whatever they'd been longing for most.

'The Hall Master truly is... the greatest sword teacher on the continent!'

Ask who the strongest swordsman on the continent was, and opinions might split.

But ask who the greatest teacher was, and Instructor Ahmed found no reason to hesitate over the answer.

A deep, welling respect.

He felt it rise in his chest, and just as he was about to voice what he felt, Ian spoke first.

"Strange thing, isn't it."

"...What is, sir?"

"One of the trainees. Doesn't look like he took anything away from my sword dance."

"Ah..."

Ahmed thought that was only natural.

They were prodigies who wouldn't look out of place anywhere on the continent, but even so, not every one of them could be expected to have a breakthrough.

If even half of the hundred or so trainees came away with something, that would already count as a resounding success.

'Personally, I suspect a lot more of them got something out of it than that.'

It was close to a certainty, and Ian had probably guessed as much himself.

So it puzzled Ahmed to see the man wearing such a troubled expression over just one trainee.

But as the Hall Master kept talking, Ahmed's thinking had to change.

"He never meant to take anything away in the first place."

"Sir?"

"He wasn't watching my sword dance. His eyes were on it, sure, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. Like he was chasing something far more compelling, with no room left to be distracted."

"..."

"You know who I mean, don't you."

It was hard to imagine.

It wasn't Illia Lindsay. Whatever her reasons for enrolling, her respect for the Hall Master was never in short supply.

Judith, too. A tomboy with plenty of stubbornness, sure, but no one was more desperate to belong at Krono Fencing Hall than she was.

Brett Lloyd. Lance Patterson. No, most of the trainees fit that description.

Children who'd given their lives to the sword since childhood couldn't possibly ignore the Hall Master's blade.

But.

If he had to pick just one...

"Trainee Airen Farreira... is that who you mean?"

The Hall Master didn't answer. He only smiled.

That alone was answer enough.

Ahmed frowned, struggling to believe it, when the old man's raspy voice followed a beat later.

"I'm curious. Genuinely curious. What in the world he's looking at. But..."

"..."

"Right now, there's another feeling stronger than that curiosity."

Enough to wound a teacher's pride a little.

Grumbling to himself, the old man burst into a loud, hearty laugh.

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