WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 47

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Head of House Council (1)

The head of house council, doubling as an evening banquet, began.

Watching the delegates from other houses take their seats one by one, Airen Farreira recalled what he had heard from his servant.

'It would be best to assume there are no houses friendly to us.'

It was a shame.

Of course, not every house was hostile toward House Farreira.

The heads of the Fried house and Bauer house were reasonably even tempered, and as far as he knew there had been no trouble between them for over a decade.

But that was all. There was no close friendship or anything like it.

And the other three houses...

'I know that well enough too.'

Lester, Russell, and Gairon.

These three harbored genuine ill will toward House Farreira.

'Be especially careful with Viscount Phil Gairon. The bad blood goes back a generation.'

Airen's expression hardened.

He didn't need Marcus's warning to know that.

How could he not? The one who had tormented him the most was none other than Aren Gairon, the second son of the Gairon viscountcy.

It went without saying that such behavior couldn't have happened without the parents' tacit approval.

The boy shot a wary glance toward Viscount Phil Gairon.

'That's probably why Mother and Kiril aren't at this dinner...'

Triangular eyes, a hawkish nose, and a gaunt face.

He'd felt it before, the few times they'd crossed paths, but up close the man's whole bearing seemed soaked in irritability.

His gaze alone was oppressive. Even more so this close.

Not that Airen intended to shrink from it.

No mistakes. Stand tall.

Swallowing hard, Airen Farreira steadied his resolve once more.

"Thank you all for taking the time to gather for the safety of the southern trade routes. To the prosperity and peace of the six southern houses."

"To peace!"

Following Baron Harun Farreira, the five other house heads called out and raised their wine glasses high.

Watching them, Airen lifted his own glass a beat late.

This was his first time drinking wine, but every young noble around his age brought their glass to their lips as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

He couldn't just sit there gawking while everyone else drank.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a few mouthfuls of white wine, then set the glass down.

That was when he felt everyone's eyes on him.

'Did I do something wrong?'

His palms were sweating. He didn't know where to look. The silence lasted less than a second, but that brief stretch felt stifling enough to pass for a full minute.

"Airen Farreira."

The one who broke that silence was, of all people, Viscount Phil Gairon. The man Airen found most uncomfortable of all.

The boy felt his heart pound as if it might leap out of his chest, and he braced for whatever came next, expecting nothing but mockery and sarcasm.

But Viscount Gairon's voice came out far gentler than expected.

"You're holding your glass a little wrong."

"...Sir?"

"With red wine, it's fine to cup the glass in your palm. But with white wine, like the one you're drinking now, it's better to hold the stem, the long part here. The warmth of your hand isn't good for a wine meant to be served cold."

"Ah, my apologies."

"No need to apologize! It happens to everyone. Here, try holding it properly again."

Phil Gairon said it with a warm smile.

An expression more benevolent than anything Airen Farreira had ever imagined on that face.

Bewildered, the boy adjusted his grip on the glass, and Viscount Gairon nodded, looking pleased.

"Good. Very good. Though you should let go of your pinky as well."

"Sir?"

"Ah, you don't know? It's common enough now, but there was a time when spices were so precious that people had to pinch them out just a little at a time, using only the thumb and pinky. If you wrap all your fingers around the glass, the pinky picks up moisture and ends up wasting the spice."

"I see."

"Of course, pepper and nutmeg are plentiful now, so there's no real need to lift your pinky off the glass anymore... but nobles do have their table manners, after all. Ha ha ha."

"Ha, quite true. It's in the small details that nobles are set apart from commoners."

"Well said."

Baron Lester and Baron Russell chimed in their agreement.

Baron Farreira, meanwhile, said nothing.

Seeing their expressions, Airen finally understood what Viscount Phil Gairon had really been thinking.

"Ah, no, that came out sounding wrong. Baron Lester, that isn't what I meant at all. Baron Farreira, I hope you won't misunderstand either."

"...I haven't."

"Whew, what a relief. I only said it out of concern for Airen."

"Now then, let's leave it there. We didn't gather here for this, after all."

Viscount Gairon let out a sigh of relief, and Baron Russell smoothly changed the subject as though nothing had happened. The mood at the table drifted back to something pleasant, but Baron Farreira's expression never eased.

"..."

Having watched all of it unfold, Airen Farreira quietly withdrew his hands beneath the table. He touched neither fork nor knife.

He wasn't at ease enough to eat anything.

* * *

The house heads' remarks and questions kept coming.

None of it was anything important.

Most of it touched on cultured knowledge, art and music, questions any noble should have been able to answer without much difficulty.

But that was only true for a "normal" noble.

For Airen Farreira, who had spent his whole life shut up in his room, these were some of the hardest questions imaginable.

Every time one of the nobles tossed out a question, the boy broke into a cold sweat, and even in the lulls between questions he couldn't stop bracing for the moment attention would swing back to him.

"Ha ha. No need to worry so much."

Baron Lester, Baron Russell, and Viscount Gairon never once spoke to the boy in an aggressive tone. If anything, they handled Airen Farreira with a gentleness that couldn't have been softer.

But everyone knew.

"There's no shame in not knowing yet. You'll learn one thing at a time from here on. Wouldn't you agree, Baron Farreira?"

Every warm word of encouragement and praise they offered.

All of it was an attack on the laziness and ignorance the lazy lord had built up over the years, and by extension, an attack on the father who had let it happen.

"My apologies. I'm not feeling well. Would it be all right if I excused myself early?"

"...Go ahead."

Harun Farreira didn't stop Airen Farreira as he finally gave in and rose from his seat.

A hush fell over the table. Every head of house present watched the now empty seat in silence.

Baron Lester cleared his throat and spoke.

"He's grown much more composed, but... will he manage this monster subjugation campaign?"

"..."

Baron Farreira held his silence.

It was Viscount Gairon who answered instead.

"What are you saying! Of course he will! Nobody starts out good at anything. Airen will learn a little more with each chance he gets."

"Ah, y-yes. Ha ha."

"He may run into some things a bit beyond him, but as long as we, the adults, guide him and support him each time, I'm sure he'll get through it just fine. Wouldn't you agree, Baron Farreira?"

Watching Phil Gairon ask the question in that gentle tone, Harun Farreira gave the faintest nod.

Despite the gesture of agreement, his expression stayed dark as ever.

* * *

"Huff, huff."

Having finished his meal ahead of everyone else, the lazy lord made his way to the family's training grounds.

He leaned against a nearby tree, breath ragged. He had found something to lean on, but his mind found no such relief.

If anything, a deep sense of self-loathing tightened around him.

"I..."

Airen had believed in himself.

On the surface he denied it, but he'd known it all along. That he was different from who he used to be.

Even if it was a mysterious dream and not his own strength he'd leaned on, he understood clearly that he had grown stronger, sturdier.

That part was true.

He handled a sword far better than before, mixed with far more people, and had seen far more of the world than he ever had.

Just as he'd brushed off Aren Gairon's provocations without much trouble, he'd assumed he could weather pressure from other houses just as easily.

He had assumed wrong.

Viscount Phil Gairon's malice ran far darker, far more cunning than the boy had imagined.

The quiet pressure that never quite crossed the line, or crossed it just enough that objecting would have looked petty, was a kind Airen had never faced before, and he hadn't been able to push back with even a single word.

No, even if he'd faced it many times over, it would have been just as hard.

There was no way around it unless House Farreira's strength outmatched the three houses led by Gairon.

That was likely why his father had kept his silence.

Having thought this far, a groan slipped from Airen Farreira's throat.

"...Ugh."

He hadn't known.

He hadn't known what pain his father had been enduring. He hadn't known what suffering his family had been living through.

He hadn't had the faintest idea how heavy a burden his own existence had become for them.

No, he hadn't tried to know.

He had simply shut himself up in his room for ten years, chasing nothing but his own comfort.

That was why it hurt more now.

That was the part that tore at him.

More than anything Viscount Gairon had said, it was the sins of his own selfish past that stabbed deepest into the boy's chest.

Realizing this far too late, tears streamed down the lazy lord's face.

"..."

After his tears finally ran dry, the boy staggered toward something.

The weapon rack. A wooden greatsword. He picked up its familiar weight and slowly settled into a stance.

He knew.

That this too was a kind of running away.

That fleeing even a head of house council, let alone a subjugation campaign, and leaning on a sword instead, was about as pathetic a sight as there was.

Knowing all that, the lazy lord swung the sword anyway.

There was no other way to bear what he was feeling.

That was when it happened.

"Huh, so this is where you were?"

"Oh, that stance's not half bad. Guess it wasn't a lie that you went to that fencing hall."

"..."

Baron Lester's twin sons, Kevin and Caesar.

Baron Russell's eldest son, Martin.

All three were around Airen Farreira's age, children who had picked up the sword far earlier than he had.

Martin Russell, the oldest among them, spoke first.

"Wondering how we got here? We stepped out early too. The adults said they had things to discuss."

"..."

"Waiting around for the adults to finish is boring. Want to spar with us while we wait?"

"..."

"What, no answer? Don't tell me you not only don't know how to hold a wine glass, you don't know how to hold a sword either."

"Hey, don't be too hard on him."

"I'm just saying. A year's a tight enough deadline to learn how to hold a sword, for the lazy lord anyway."

"Ha ha ha ha, could be!"

Airen watched them snicker among themselves without a word.

He had already run once tonight.

His resolve to stand tall no matter what had crumbled to nothing after a few words from Viscount Gairon.

Unable to bear it alone, he had come here to lean on a sword. It was humiliating.

So.

Swish.

"Oh, whoa. You're actually serious?"

"Ooh, not bad."

"You sure you're up for this? Might want to wipe those tear stains off your face first."

He couldn't afford to humiliate himself twice in one night.

With a fire burning in his chest, the lazy lord said,

"Bring it on."

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