WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 33

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Final Evaluation (2)

Krono Fencing Hall had gathered every kind of talent the world had to offer, but even among them, Airen Farreira stood out as an unusual figure.

Whether what he showed was impressive or unimpressive, it had always stayed carved into the minds of the trainees.

Of course, there had been times he'd done something remarkable and no one had properly noticed.

Take, for example, the moment right after the Mid-Term Evaluation, when he'd first been allowed to pick up a sword.

Back then, Airen Farreira had shown a strike mysterious enough to widen the instructors' eyes, but few of the trainees had caught what it meant.

At most, five or six people, including Illia Lindsay, Brett Lloyd, and Judith.

But the air the lazy lord gave off now was far more intense than that.

Impossible not to notice.

Gooooo.

There was no actual sound.

But it felt like something could be heard. Like something enormous stretching itself and rising to its feet.

The situation was different now, different from when Airen had first picked up a sword.

Among the trainees gathered here, not one failed to feel it.

Of course they did. All of them had poured in eight brutal months of effort.

They'd built skill that would hold up anywhere in the world.

Naturally, the one feeling the shock most strongly of all was Brett Lloyd, who had once challenged Airen to a duel after the Mid-Term Evaluation.

'I can't accept this!'

But the blue haired boy with noble blood running through his veins couldn't accept Airen Farreira.

Didn't want to accept him.

Not the heavy atmosphere gathering around him. Not the way Illia Lindsay was staring at him with burning eyes.

'This can't... this can't be happening!'

He'd thought he understood Airen better than anyone.

That was why he'd said it so certainly. That Airen would make it in. That no other trainee had shown growth as steep as his.

That one of the formal trainee spots belonged to the lazy lord.

But he hadn't expected this.

Not just the potential.

Not the future Airen Farreira.

The thought that even the present Airen Farreira, right now, might have already surpassed him, was too miserable a thing for the boy to bear.

'So no. No, that can't be right. It'll be nothing much.'

Brett Lloyd swallowed and tried to steady himself.

Right. It would be nothing much.

The atmosphere was grand, sure, but showing something that could actually surpass his own peak would be hard.

Illia Lindsay's gaze was probably just... just an ordinary look, watching whoever happened to go last.

He was the one who'd drawn out the Sky Sword. Him.

"...It has to be."

Brett Lloyd muttered low.

Paying him no attention at all, Airen Farreira walked toward the stage.

Thud, thud.

Ordinary footsteps. An ordinary gait.

But something was different. To put it precisely, the person himself looked different.

The Airen Farreira standing there now wasn't Airen Farreira. Everyone, instructors included, felt it instinctively.

Of course, the boy himself felt it too.

How much effort had he poured, up to this point, into recreating that man's sword?

"Hah."

He breathed in. He breathed out.

It was the man's breathing.

He tensed and released every muscle in his body.

It was the man's readiness.

Everything that followed matched too.

The way he walked, the way he lifted his sword, the width of his stance. Nothing about it failed to resemble the man's own.

But that alone wasn't enough.

He'd already been able to do this much two weeks ago.

And now, with time passed, the lazy lord had finally reached the truly essential piece he'd been missing.

'The heart.'

The will.

The iron will that had let the man keep swinging his sword without end, sweating through pain and endurance, driving himself forward.

That was what had settled over him now.

The will to cut down whatever enemy stood in his path had come to rest inside the boy's body.

'I still can't fully understand it.'

That much was a shame. He'd dug at it relentlessly, drifting between dream and reality, and still he didn't know.

What exactly the man had been trying to cut down.

But for now, at least, that was enough.

Hmmmm...

Fierce concentration gathered into a single point flowed along the blade.

Whooosh!

And then it came down. Along with the release of power, the iron will shot forward as well.

The force to cut down everything standing in its path.

It unfolded now, not in a dream, but in reality.

* * *

Instructor Karaka's eyes narrowed slightly.

What tremendous presence. A weight far too heavy for a sixteen year old.

But the presence was all that impressed him.

His stance, standing there with a sword in hand, was riddled with openings.

'Even granting this is a place to evaluate potential, that's far too little regard for actual combat...'

He kept up the evaluation with cool, rational judgment, a departure from his usual gentle temperament.

Whooosh!

Without any warning, trainee Airen Farreira's iron sword came sweeping down.

Of course, there was no reason it should affect him. The distance between the trainee and himself was five meters.

Unless the sword were thrown, there was no way he could be exposed to the attack.

But Karaka dodged.

He had no choice but to dodge.

Without a sword in hand, some instinct told him, without warning, that blocking whatever was flying toward him would be extremely dangerous.

BOOOOOOOOOM!

"..."

Instructor Karaka, now clear of where he'd stood, looked back at the spot.

He couldn't say a word. He only swallowed, his throat dry.

He wasn't alone.

The other instructors, the assistant instructors, and the hundred or so trainees gathered around them.

Not one of them could get a word out.

Instead, they stared at the training ground floor with eyes that couldn't believe what they saw.

Whooosh.

Wind blew. The unexpected cloud of dust cleared, and the scene Airen Farreira had made came into sharp focus.

A massive gash, far longer than the length of any greatsword.

Looking at the impossible mark cutting across the ground, the children's minds raced through every kind of thought.

'How...'

'Is this even possible?'

'The sword wasn't even sharpened... no, wait, what did he even cut it with?'

Something that made no sense.

But something that had clearly happened.

The trainees fell into confusion. Even the assistant instructors couldn't settle them.

Most of them were mercenaries who'd seen every kind of battle, and even they needed time to accept what a sixteen year old boy had just shown them.

That was when Hall Master Ian, who'd stayed silent, stepped in.

"Quiet down for a moment. The Final Evaluation isn't finished yet."

The Hall Master usually spoke politely to a crowd of unspecified people, but he couldn't manage it now.

He frowned slightly, glancing between Airen, Airen's sword, and the massive mark he'd carved, then spoke.

"Well, this makes the evaluation difficult right at the end. I need to speak with the instructors for a moment, so everyone please wait a little longer."

Who would refuse him?

The assistant instructors and trainees obediently held their places, following the Hall Master's word.

Of course, the obedience was only on the surface. Inside, every kind of thought churned and swirled.

How on earth was that even possible?

They'd known he'd pass, but who could have guessed it would be this much?

So what happened to first place? Was it Airen Farreira? Or Illia Lindsay?

Maybe... maybe Airen Farreira could actually take the top spot...?

A question that rose naturally, one anyone couldn't help but ask.

So then, who had actually won the Final Evaluation?

No one could decide easily.

It was true that Airen Farreira had shown an incredible, unbelievable strike.

But Illia Lindsay's sword had been no less impressive. Honestly, in terms of real combat application, hers had been far more so.

Just imagining themselves standing in front of her was enough to raise goosebumps.

Inside the storm that ruled the sky, the trainees had no confidence they could keep themselves in one piece.

'But Airen's sword is no less than hers either. Looking at his stance and the openings, he lacks real combat readiness, but... still...'

In short, the two of them were pointing in entirely different directions.

It was an extremely difficult situation to judge by any single absolute standard.

Maybe that was why.

After deliberating, the Hall Master and the instructors reached this conclusion.

"Trainee Illia Lindsay."

"Yes."

"And trainee Airen Farreira."

"Yes."

"Sorry for the wait. Honestly, I didn't think something like this would happen. This test is abstract, sure, but I believed the instructors and I had our own reasonably objective standard. Turns out we don't. This is too hard to judge."

"..."

"..."

"So here's what I want. Do it once more. Each of you, show me the part you're most confident in, one more time."

The trainees stirred.

But the murmuring lasted only a moment. Falling silent, they turned their eyes toward the two, Illia Lindsay and Airen Farreira.

The first to move was House Lindsay's second genius.

"I'll go first."

"Good. Can I expect something impressive again?"

"Of course."

The silver haired girl steadied her breathing.

Her face looked slightly more tense than it had the first time she'd unleashed the Sky Sword.

A single bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and fell. A moment later, Illia's sword began.

A swordsmanship entirely different from her house's own, built purely on the insight she'd gained at Krono Fencing Hall. Brett Lloyd's eyes went wide again.

Even in the middle of her anger, Judith couldn't tear her eyes away from that blade for even a moment.

Soon, Airen Farreira's turn arrived.

The Hall Master spoke.

"I always feel this, but you surprise me every time I see you."

"..."

"Can you surprise me again this time?"

"I'll do my best."

Ian nodded. The instructors watched Airen with serious expressions, and the trainees gathered their eyes on him as well.

Even in the middle of his own suffering, Brett kept his head raised, unable to look away.

A moment later, Airen Farreira's second display of swordsmanship came to an end.

The Hall Master nodded once more, glanced across each of the instructors' faces, then announced solemnly.

"I know you all hate waiting, so I'll give you the results of the Final Evaluation right away. Ah, this ranking alone doesn't decide formal enrollment. More than ninety percent gets settled here, sure, but there's still the final interview left... anyway, I'll call the names in reverse order."

The old man's mouth, without a trace of playfulness, called out the names one by one.

The lower ranked trainees fell into despair, and the higher ranked ones lit up with joy.

The trainees stuck in the middle could only worry about the interview, their minds tangled with uncertainty.

And then...

"Fourth place, Judith. Third place, Brett Lloyd. Runner-up... Airen Farreira. First place, Illia Lindsay. All of you worked hard through this evaluation. I'll let you know about the interview later, so head back and rest for now."

There was no surprise in it. Just as most had guessed, first place went to Illia Lindsay.

But she wasn't the one who left the strongest impression in everyone's mind.

"..."

Watching the lazy lord turn and walk back toward the dormitory, the trainees each carried a different thought in their heads.

And so, the most important event of the year at the Fencing Hall came to a close.

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