WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 36

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The Continent's Four Geniuses (3)

Why did someone take up the sword?

It was a hopelessly trite question, but one worth taking seriously at least once in a lifetime.

What a person had started swordsmanship for, what they were honing it toward, what they intended to become through it, that question mattered as much to a swordsman as choosing the direction of an entire life.

Find the direction that suited you, and growth came quickly. Choose a path that didn't, and no amount of effort could break through the ceiling waiting at the end of it.

Instructor Ahmed thought this over quietly.

Not that he had the slightest worry about Airen Farreira, of course.

If the boy hadn't been walking the right path from the start, he never could have shown that monstrous swordplay during the Final Evaluation.

No, he wouldn't have lasted a month at Krono Fencing Hall in the first place.

This place wasn't kind enough to tolerate a half-hearted heart or a half-hearted resolve.

Still, he was curious. What conviction could a boy carry, to become the hardest worker of all even among the most vicious grinders on the continent, gathered here at Krono Fencing Hall?

Pure curiosity filled Ahmed's eyes as he looked toward Airen.

But the boy didn't answer.

Understandable enough. A question like that, sprung on him out of nowhere, would fluster anyone. Maybe he was just choosing his words carefully with the Hall Master sitting right there.

Once he'd finished the thought, Ahmed spoke to him.

"You don't need to agonize over it, Airen Farreira. We put more weight on virtue and refinement than most fencing halls, sure, but we're not about to force some knight-order level of rigid thinking on you. It doesn't have to be pure passion for the blade. It doesn't have to be for anything noble. Honor, money, whatever worldly thing you want, it's fine. As long as it isn't something that violates basic decency, anything goes. So speak freely."

The voice was gentler than anyone would expect from the usual Ahmed.

And still Airen didn't open his mouth.

No, it looked less like he wouldn't and more like he couldn't.

Only now did Ahmed sense something was off, and he turned to look at the Hall Master's face.

The furrowed, weathered face nodded slowly.

"I see."

And then, words no one could have believed came out of Ian's mouth.

"Airen Farreira, you... didn't take up the sword by your own will, did you."

"...That's correct."

It was a stunning thing to hear.

Ahmed could only stand there with his mouth open, dazed.

Not his own will?

He hadn't answered the question about why he took up the sword, not out of embarrassment, but because there was no reason to begin with?

What in the world did that mean?

"Hall Master? What exactly is..."

"I don't fully understand it myself."

Ian cleared his throat and took a sip of tea.

It was the truth. Even he, who prided himself on reading people better than most, found this boy impossible to fully understand.

"I thought something was strange. He moves harder than anyone, treats the sword more seriously than anyone. And yet... none of the feelings a person like that should have were ever there."

"..."

"When trainee Brett Lloyd realized his skills were improving, he was happier than anyone. When Judith fell behind Brett, she was terrifying, angry enough that she couldn't see straight. Not just those two. Every child who studied alongside him here at Krono Fencing Hall has cried over the sword, laughed over the sword, grieved over it, celebrated because of it. And you..."

Never showed any of that.

Silence hung in the room for a good while after those words.

The only sounds were Ahmed swallowing hard, his expression grim, and Ian sipping his tea.

Inside that silence, Airen Farreira thought seriously, for the first time in his life, about his own sword.

There was nothing there.

The only thing that surfaced was not his own sword, but the sword of the man from his dreams.

Standing before that man's massive, heavy iron sword, the boy's thoughts felt as fleeting and weightless as smoke about to vanish.

"I won't ask how you got this far without a will of your own, just trailing after someone else's path."

If he'd wanted to talk about it, he would have done so already. If he didn't want to, there was no need to press him.

But advice was needed.

"Still, if you intend to keep holding a sword going forward, you need to think about this seriously, starting now."

What state of mind he wielded the sword with.

What he wielded the sword for.

What his sword even was.

Until he understood that, there would be no more growth for him.

"There's no reason to stay at this fencing hall either. Finding yourself out in the wider world matters far more than swinging a blade in here."

"...!"

Ahmed startled at the Hall Master's words.

Ian had put it gently, but anyone who wasn't a fool could tell what lay underneath it.

Ian was, right now, refusing Airen Farreira's formal admission.

A genius who, in any other cohort, would have easily taken the top spot.

"Thank you."

But Airen himself, the one it concerned most, remained calm.

He didn't get angry. He didn't feel wronged. He understood the Hall Master was speaking out of genuine concern for him.

"I won't forget your final piece of advice, Hall Master. Not for the rest of my life."

The lazy lord rose from his seat and bowed his head.

It wasn't that he had no regrets.

He wanted to stay with Judith. He wanted to talk with Brett Lloyd a little longer. He wanted to remain at the fencing hall and repay, even a little, all the kindness they had shown him.

But he couldn't defy the Hall Master's decision.

He bowed once more and was preparing to leave the room when it happened.

"Final piece of advice? What do you mean by that?"

Airen froze at the Hall Master's words.

He didn't quite understand what Ian was getting at.

But as the conversation continued, the intent became clear.

"Since I won't be formally admitted, naturally..."

"What are you talking about. You passed, no question about it. I gave you that advice not because you're lacking right now. You're already fine as you are, but if you work through this one thing, you could become a far better swordsman. That's all it was."

"What? But, Hall Master, you said there was no reason to stay here in my current state..."

"That's how things stand now. Once you find your reason to hold a sword, were you planning never to come back?"

The Hall Master grinned like a mischievous child and pulled a metal tag from inside his robe.

It seemed to have been enchanted, glowing faintly.

"Mind if I borrow a drop of blood?"

"What? Ah!"

Before Airen could react, the Hall Master pricked his thumb with a needle that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

A thin bead of blood welled up. Ian pressed it carefully against the metal tag.

The white glow sank into the engraved pattern, and Airen Farreira's name etched itself onto the surface of the tag.

[Krono Fencing Hall, 27th Cohort, Official Trainee]

[Airen Farreira]

"You have one year. Find your own sword and come back within that time."

"..."

"That's enough, isn't it? Or is it not? Too little?"

Honestly, Airen didn't know.

But the words he had to say were already decided.

"I will come back within a year. Without fail."

* * *

"Will he be all right?"

"With what?"

"Trainee Airen Farreira, I mean. Finding..."

"His own sword, you mean?"

"Yes."

Ahmed nodded.

It felt a little embarrassing to be worrying now, when he hadn't sensed anything wrong until the Hall Master brought it up. But he couldn't shake the concern.

The boy's past behavior kept surfacing in his mind, late.

Days of relentless, extreme effort, unbroken by frustration, by doubt, by excitement.

He had rated that highly before. Now he couldn't anymore.

Thinking it over now, of course that was how it had been. Without walking his own path, there was nothing to get excited about and nothing to be frustrated over either.

Ahmed didn't know how the boy had endured the physical pain of it all, but at the very least, there had never been any reason for him to writhe under mental anguish. That much made sense now.

Which was exactly why it worried him.

Unlike the others who had spent years nurturing their own dreams, this child had moved through it all hollow, empty inside.

Could a child like that really pick up his own sword?

Could he find his own path?

One line from the Hall Master swept that thought away in an instant.

"The three most talented children at this fencing hall gathered around him."

"..."

"A child with that kind of pull, you think he won't find his own color?"

"My apologies. I didn't think it through."

"No, don't go blaming yourself over... ahem."

Ian, having unintentionally scolded Ahmed, cleared his throat and changed the subject.

"Come to think of it, that boy's known as a lazybones back in his own house, isn't he?"

"That's right. Not just in his house either. Apparently there isn't a soul in southern Hale Kingdom who hasn't heard of it."

"Truly an unreadable kid. How on earth did a rumor like that ever get started. Well, this should be interesting."

The Fourth Genius of the Continent.

That was the story circulating among the children.

That following Carl Lindsay, Ignet, and Illia Lindsay, Airen Farreira would take his place as the fourth genius of the continent.

Ian, the Hall Master of the fencing hall, agreed with that assessment too.

A smile crept over his face, and he murmured to himself, pleased.

"Going from lazy lord to continental genius in one year, huh... If nothing at all happened after that, that would be the stranger outcome."

* * *

A few days after the final interview, Airen Farreira sat perched on a suitable rock outside the fencing hall.

There was still time before his family's carriage arrived, but he'd wanted to come out early anyway.

Over the past several days, the boy had spent a good deal of time out here, staring blankly into the distance, trying to settle his tangled thoughts.

Of course, with his time at the fencing hall coming to an end, he couldn't keep his solitude to himself all the way to the finish.

The silver haired girl approached before he noticed, Illia Lindsay, stepping up beside him.

She held out her hand.

"Come visit sometime, if you have the time."

"What's this?"

"Our house's crest tag. Show them this and, at the very least, you won't be treated poorly."

It seemed like it would take him a lot further than just not being treated poorly.

It was barely the size of two fingers pressed together, but even at a glance, anyone could tell the metal was worth a fortune.

The eagle emblem, a sword clenched in its beak, was engraved with exquisite precision.

In short, it was more than a little overwhelming.

But refusing someone's goodwill felt like an even heavier burden.

And this wasn't even the end of it.

"If you come visit, I'll give you a gift too."

"A gift? What kind of..."

"I'll give you flowers."

"Flowers?"

"Adonis flowers. The same kind engraved on the bracelet you gave me."

"Ah..."

He'd been startled by the sudden mention of a flower gift, but now he understood, the flower engraved on the bracelet he'd given her had been an Adonis flower.

He hadn't known that himself, not until now. He'd simply asked his little sister to make the bracelet and handed it over without a second thought.

He asked her, "So it was a flower your family grows. I didn't know that part."

"No, we don't grow it."

"Huh?"

"I pulled every last one up when I was seven."

"What?"

"But I'm going to grow it again now. It blooms in April and May, so it would be nice if you came by around this time next year, before you head back to the fencing hall."

"..."

"Of course, you're welcome to come before that too."

Illia Lindsay, today, was in a state of complete disarray.

She'd always been hard to read, that much wasn't new, but this feeling wasn't anything like her usual self.

Because of that, his answer came late.

Illia spoke again.

"You wouldn't ignore a friend's request, would you?"

"Friend?"

"Why not? We spent a year together, we don't get along badly... doesn't that make us friends?"

"That's true, but..."

Something about Illia today really was strange.

She was talking more than usual, for one thing. And she was saying things that should have been embarrassing with a completely straight face, for another.

Maybe this is what she's actually like underneath it all.

Perhaps whatever weight she'd been carrying had lifted, and this lighter side of her was what came through as a result.

If he had to judge, he liked this side of her better. It was much easier to be around too.

But he didn't notice one thing.

That while she spoke so calmly, so evenly, the tips of Illia's ears had gone redder than usual.

The boy, never catching on to the end, answered readily.

"All right. I'll come."

"Good."

The two of them kept talking after that, about this and that.

Illia did most of the talking, and Airen mostly listened.

Stories about House Lindsay. Stories about her father. Questions about the Farreira territory. Words of encouragement for him.

This had to be her true self, surely. Airen found himself smiling faintly at how much brighter the girl seemed, when it happened.

A carriage approached from far off.

Flying a flag marked with the shield, the crest of House Lloyd.

"..."

Someone stepped down from the carriage as it pulled up in front of the fencing hall, and word was passed inside.

Brett Lloyd would be coming out soon.

The thought alone was enough to darken both their expressions.

Brett Lloyd... he'd said he was giving up on formal admission and going back to his house.

A boy overflowing with talent, overflowing with passion, who had poured in effort to match both.

There was a certain arrogance to him, no denying that, but he'd still been a genuine noble, someone whose bright confidence had served as an example to many of the other children.

But what he'd shown over the past several days had been wretched.

No one had dared approach him to even say a word.

The despair hanging over his face had been too thick, too dark, to allow for that.

I hope he can shake it off. I really do.

Airen Farreira thought to himself. He truly hoped, with everything in him, that Brett could rise above this setback.

But that was as far as it went. Inexperienced as he was, the boy didn't know what more he could do for Brett.

Illia Lindsay felt the same.

In her case, the relationship was more complicated besides, and she understood all too well what Brett must be feeling, which only made it worse.

There was practically nothing she could offer him by way of comfort.

While they sat with those heavy thoughts, the fencing hall's front gate opened. Brett Lloyd stepped into view.

Hollow eyes.

Skin gone dry and dull.

The passionate prodigy was nowhere to be seen. All that remained was a listless boy who looked as if he'd lost everything.

In that state, he began to walk.

Without looking back. Without leaving anything behind.

He moved to board the carriage that would carry him away from the fencing hall, back to his own house.

Airen Farreira and Illia Lindsay could do nothing, choked with the weight of it all.

But not everyone felt the same.

BANG!

A red haired girl burst through the fencing hall's doors, late but furious.

Judith seized Brett's shoulder just as he was about to board the carriage and spun him around.

Then she threw a punch.

THWACK!

CRASH!

Brett Lloyd, struck square in the face, looked up at her with eyes tangled in pain and confusion.

"Wh, what..." he asked.

THWACK!

Judith didn't answer.

She just hit him again.

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