WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 49

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Head of House Council (3)

He'd defeated Kevin Lester. He'd defeated Martin Russell.

And now he'd defeated Laiyan Gairon, the pride of the Six Southern Houses.

None other than the lazy lord of House Farreira, Airen Farreira.

It hadn't taken long, but the shock it delivered to everyone watching was beyond anything they could have imagined.

Every noble present, every single one of them, stared with blank expressions at Airen, at Laiyan, and at the broken pieces of the sword.

Aren Gairon, who'd come with his older brother, was no different.

He couldn't believe what had just happened.

What just happened?

Honestly, him beating the Lester brothers, he could accept that much. The carriage incident had already told him something was off.

On the surface he'd brushed it aside, telling himself the kid's skill hadn't actually changed, that he'd just gotten cockier than before. But deep down, he'd known.

Something had changed.

He hadn't wanted to admit even that much, but watching the boy overwhelm Martin Russell, he'd felt it. Like he'd already known this was coming.

But this...

My brother... lost?

He hadn't seen it clearly.

All he'd registered was Airen swinging his sword from a distance that should have meant nothing, and somehow, despite that, Laiyan Gairon's sword had snapped clean in two.

If someone asked whether those two events were connected, he couldn't say for certain. But his mind couldn't help but churn with unease.

"What's this, were you two sparring?"

"Hm?"

"What happened here? Why is the sword..."

As if things weren't bad enough, the heads of house, finished with their council, began filing into the training grounds in a group.

A few of them narrowed their eyes, catching the strange tension in the air.

Viscount Phil Gairon, his father, was smiling.

Aren Gairon, who understood exactly what that smile meant, felt his body tremble as the viscount turned to Laiyan Gairon and asked,

"Were you two sparring?"

"Yes, Father."

"No, it looks less like sparring and more like it's already over."

"That's correct."

"And can this old man ask how it turned out?"

His mouth was smiling. His eyes were smiling too. But his gaze alone burned cold, and that cold stare landed squarely on his eldest son's face.

Aren Gairon wasn't even the one being looked at, and still he shook harder than before.

Everyone else waited in tense silence for Laiyan Gairon's next words.

A moment later.

The eldest son of House Gairon put on a cheerful expression, shrugged, and said,

"Well, it's as you can see. I lost."

"Hm? You lost?"

"Yes. I lost. Airen's swordsmanship turned out to be shockingly powerful. He struck from over five meters away, and somehow my sword ended up snapped clean in two like this."

"..."

A brief silence fell.

The heads of house frowned.

The lazy lord wasn't a Sword Master, wasn't even a swordsman renowned enough to be compared to one. For him to cut something down across open space like that, it shouldn't have been possible.

Right. It was an impossible thing to happen.

Viscount Phil Gairon, finally catching his son's intent, burst into loud laughter.

"Ha ha, I see! Airen's swordsmanship must have been truly something! Well, of course, a full year of training at Krono Fencing Hall, no wonder you couldn't match him."

"My apologies, Father. Though... from the Southern Alliance's standpoint, this is a great blessing. I have no doubt Airen's remarkable growth will be a tremendous help in the Subjugation Campaign."

"Indeed, indeed. Baron Farreira, I truly envy you!"

"..."

Father and son of House Gairon, laying it on thick.

Watching the two of them, the other heads of house wore expressions of dawning understanding.

Of course. That explained it. Laiyan Gairon had planned to throw the match from the very start.

That was why he'd brought his own sword instead of a training sword from the grounds, and why he'd deliberately timed his blade to snap in sync with the lazy lord's swing, putting on a little show.

Now that the mystery had cleared up, the heads of house nodded along and traded remarks among themselves.

Most of it lined up neatly with Phil Gairon's intended narrative, but the two houses not closely tied to House Gairon wore uneasy expressions.

They thought the mockery aimed at House Farreira had gone too far. But that very thought kept the heads of house from noticing something else entirely.

The strange looks on the faces of the young nobles who'd watched the whole match from start to finish.

"Well then, the loser will take his leave."

"Yes, you look tired, go rest up. That should be fine, shouldn't it, Baron Farreira?"

"Of course."

Laiyan Gairon bowed politely and left, with Jack Steward following behind him.

Watching the two of them go, many of the nobles praised him.

Sacrificing a win just to spare the lazy lord's pride, what a generous heart, they said.

None of it was sincere, of course. They simply wanted to stay in the good graces of Viscount Gairon, the most powerful of the Six Houses.

Leaving those hollow compliments behind, Laiyan Gairon walked on. He walked without a word.

His face had nothing left of the composed look he'd worn moments earlier.

Jack Steward, following behind, felt the same. He knew the truth. His young lord's sword hadn't broken at all.

It might not have compared to the blade the head of house had personally granted him, but it had been a sword Laiyan treasured all the same.

"Sir Jack Steward."

"Yes, young lord."

"When we get back to the estate... prepare some training dummies. Three... four, no, five."

"It will be done."

Jack Steward bowed his head without a flicker of expression. But inside, his thoughts were far from calm.

Thanks to his young lord's temper, worse even than the viscount's, five men were about to end up crippled, or worse, five corpses.

Not that he had any intention of sparing them, either.

In the settling quiet, the two of them made their way back to their quarters at a brisk pace.

* * *

The head of house council had ended.

A concrete schedule had been drawn up, covering everything from supply procurement to troop organization for the Subjugation Campaign.

In three weeks, the Six Southern Houses would sweep across their territories to wipe out every monster in sight, and House Farreira, as a member of the alliance, would fight with everything they had.

Airen Farreira included.

But right after the guests from the other houses left, Baron Harun Farreira's thinking had shifted from what it had been before.

"You don't have to take part."

"..."

"The Subjugation Campaign matters, but becoming an official trainee at Krono Fencing Hall matters more. Rather than waste time on this, wouldn't it be better to keep sharpening your sword?"

A convenient excuse dressed up in noble language.

But every member of the family knew it for what it was. What Harun Farreira had just said was meant to protect his son from the other noble houses.

It was an understandable thing to want.

Airen Farreira had grown.

The boy who trembled after ten swings of a training sword no longer existed.

Now he possessed physical abilities that stunned even the family, and setting aside the match with Laiyan Gairon, he'd earned swordsmanship skill worthy of real recognition.

It was nothing short of remarkable growth.

But if asked whether his heart had grown strong enough to withstand the dark, relentless malice of other noble houses, Harun Farreira couldn't answer with confidence.

He couldn't help it.

However strong his son had become, in a father's eyes, that son was still young, still unfinished.

And this was the lazy lord, no less.

A boy who'd only just climbed out of ten years of pain, and who was, for that very reason, still on unsteady footing.

Sending a son like that into the ranks of the Subjugation Campaign, that thought alone was enough to unsettle him.

It wasn't like dropping a lion cub off a cliff. It was like throwing him straight into a battlefield.

And yet.

"I want to take part."

The boy defied him.

"I truly want to take part in the Subjugation Campaign."

The lazy lord, Airen Farreira, went against his father's word.

Baron Harun Farreira's brow twitched at something that had never happened before in his life. Amel and Kiril, too, opened their eyes wide, staring into Airen's own.

And they felt it.

The fire blazing hot within his eyes.

"I'll work hard for three weeks. I'll make up for what I'm lacking. I'll do everything I can, so that by then, Father won't have to worry, so that I can overcome every concern weighing on you. I'll become a son you can trust. And if..."

"..."

"If I still don't look reliable enough by then, I'll give it up without a fight."

With that, Airen bowed his head. Then he left the room.

None of his family reached out to stop him, none of them tried to hold him back.

They closed their eyes, feeling emotions swell up inside them that they couldn't name. Kiril began to cry.

She said,

"Will he be all right?"

"Of course he'll be all right, Kiril. Your brother is doing well."

Amel Farreira spoke as she looked at her daughter, who buried her face against her.

At her mother's soft, warm words, Kiril's tears only grew heavier.

Amel wasn't far behind. Wiping the moisture gathering at her own eyes, she said again,

"He's doing everything he can, working as hard as possible. All we need to do is trust him. Kiril, can you trust your brother too?"

"Yes... yes..."

Mother and daughter sniffled together.

Harun Farreira listened to their words with his eyes still closed. Emotion churned within him, all the more intense for having no outlet.

Grateful that it wasn't worry alone, Baron Farreira silently prayed that his son's path ahead would be full of blessings.

* * *

At that same hour.

A few tears fell from Airen Farreira's eyes as well, as he arrived at the training grounds.

He didn't bother wiping them away.

He snatched up the training sword he always used and swung it, hard, wild.

His form was a mess. His stance was a mess. None of what Krono Fencing Hall had taught him showed in the reckless, slashing motion.

But the feeling behind each swing carried a weight nothing like before.

No more.

Whoosh!

Never again!

Whoooosh!

Never again will I push my burden onto my family. Never again will they be looked down on because of me. Because of me, for my sake, my family enduring sorrow and swallowing their anger, the whole house forced to bear it...

Whoooooosh!

I won't watch that happen again.

A fierce, deep-rooted resolve, and a vow.

What did he need to fulfill it?

Airen Farreira already knew the answer. He needed to pick up his own sword.

Hadn't Ian, the greatest swordsman on the continent, told him? That to keep growing without end, you had to build up your own heart. You had to pick up your own sword.

Now he understood. Now, finally, he'd realized it.

Having swung his sword hundreds of times in a matter of moments, he nodded to himself and turned around.

There, standing without anyone knowing since when, was the cat Sorcerer Lulu.

He spoke to her.

"What I showed you before, the things I did trying to find my own sword, you said that wasn't effort. Because there was no heart behind it."

"..."

"What do you think now? Is what I'm doing right now just wasted effort? Or..."

"It's effort. The real thing."

Lulu nodded, her expression serious.

Her face still gave nothing away, but the air around her did. Her eyes did.

Taking a short breath, the lazy lord, Airen Farreira, spoke to her.

"Can I learn Sorcery now?"

"You can learn it."

"I'm not talking about the sword of the man in the dream. I mean my own sword."

"I know."

"Then, will you teach me?"

"Gladly. But today... you should probably settle your feelings first. I don't know what happened, but... let's start tomorrow."

"...All right."

The conversation ended. Airen Farreira turned his body.

The boy swung his sword once more, and this time he looked different from before. Hot, as though wrapped in flame.

A sword for his house.

A sword for his family.

Having finally found the path he needed to walk, the cat Sorcerer Lulu watched over him, for as long as it took.

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