WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 52

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Sword in Hand (1)

Warm sunlight, a soft breeze, and a faint smell of grass carried on the wind.

It was good weather. The kind of weather that could coax a smile out of even the most bloodless, ill-tempered tax collector.

But the boy standing at the center of it all, Airen Farreira, could not smile.

He simply couldn't.

'Did I really... end up inside the dream?'

His gaze swept across the house, filled with astonishment.

The house and its fence, kept up in that half careless way, and the weeds scattered here and there between them, all of it felt strangely familiar.

The clothes on his own body were achingly familiar too. Of course they were. He had seen them hundreds of times before.

'I've just never worn them myself.'

The man in the dream's clothes.

The man in the dream's house.

The very place where the man in the dream used to swing his sword.

Everything told him his guess had been right.

Of course, he couldn't accept it right away.

Only hours ago, hadn't he been swinging a sword in his family's training grounds, then eating dinner with his family in the castle? Airen tried to steady his bewildered mind while looking around more carefully. He went outside and looked further still.

But the more he looked, the more certain he became that this place wasn't real. And little by little, he began to understand why he'd been pulled into this mysterious place.

Yes.

He had just awakened Sorcery.

Realizing this, the boy's face bloomed into a wide smile.

"Ha!"

It was thrilling. There was no reason it shouldn't be.

Not because he'd become a precious, rare Sorcerer.

But because he'd taken one step closer to his sword, the sword that would protect his house and his family.

Of course, he wasn't foolish enough to think everything was already accomplished.

Airen pulled the sword planted in the middle of the yard.

Shhk.

It was a little smaller than the one the man used, sized to fit his own body.

The boy swung it. Even though it was the first time he'd held this particular sword, it felt strangely broken in, as if he'd wielded it for years.

Excited, Airen kept swinging, and he realized something else.

Why he had set foot in this place.

What kind of power the Sorcery he'd awakened actually was.

'This is... a training ground.'

A power strong enough to protect his house, to provide for his family.

It hadn't handed him that tremendous power outright.

But there was no need to feel disappointed.

Because this mysterious power, Sorcery, had given him the finest possible environment to sharpen his own sword with his own hands.

In short, it had shown him the fastest path to his goal.

Of course, not every question was answered.

If he failed to reach his goal, would he be trapped in this other world forever?

What level counted as 'his goal,' exactly? What standard could he even hold up against such an abstract wish?

And finally, who on earth was the man in the dream?

What kind of connection did they share, that his influence could reach this far, even at the very moment Airen awakened his Sorcery?

"......"

Airen shook his head.

His expression hardened, and he swung the sword without another word.

Shwak!

He swung.

Shwaak!

He swung, and swung, and swung harder still.

With each swing, the scattered thoughts crowding his head fell away one by one, replaced by an intense devotion to his sword.

'A thousand times, two thousand, no, more than that!'

He swung with everything he had, body and mind together.

The effort Lulu had once dismissed as wasted labor continued now, not as empty motion, but as true, honest diligence. And little by little, he kept building on it.

Two thousand, three thousand, five thousand, ten thousand times.

No, he'd push to the very limit of what his body and spirit could bear!

"Haap!"

Airen Farreira let out a sharp kiai. Flame seemed to rise in his eyes, and a volcano churned in his chest.

It was pure fire given will. That will flowed through his body and into the sword.

Shwaaak!

A burning heart that seemed like it would never go out sliced through the air, hot and relentless.

On his first day in this other world.

Airen Farreira swung effort 3,022 times.

* * *

Enough time passed that, in the real world, a season would have turned.

But the weather here never changed. Warm when still, cool when the wind blew. It stayed exactly the way Airen Farreira liked it best.

"Thank you for the meal."

The weather wasn't the only thing shaped to his taste.

The moment he sat at the table, a feast was already waiting.

The moment he stepped outside, his training clothes and shoes were already changed.

Every other convenience, too.

This place truly was a perfect training space, built for Airen and Airen alone.

And the eldest son of House Farreira spent each day making sure he lived up to such a remarkable environment.

Fwoosh!

Fwoosh!

He swung, and swung, and swung again.

He wasn't swinging carelessly. Lulu's teaching still lived in his heart, and every single motion carried devotion within it. That made it far more exhausting than simply pushing his body to its limits.

Airen still hadn't reached a conclusion about what true devotion to his sword actually meant, or what the real answer was. He only tried, moment by moment, to pour in whatever felt like his best.

'It's fine. No need to worry.'

Lulu had told him that. That the mere fact he'd started grappling with the question on his own was encouraging. That alone had real value, she said, so don't doubt yourself, just keep moving forward.

Nodding, he gripped the sword again. And swung it. Until late into the night. Until the day was spent completely.

Day 94 in the other world.

Airen Farreira swung effort 5,471 times.

* * *

More days passed. And the scenery that had seemed like it would last forever finally changed.

It wasn't because time had moved on. Airen had simply grown tired of seeing the same view every day and switched the season to autumn. Any weather was fine, as long as it wasn't the sweltering summer or the knife wind of winter.

But something else mattered far more.

The one thing he truly wanted to change.

To grow, to improve further. His swordsmanship.

The problem was that it had stalled.

Fwoosh!

Airen Farreira still gave everything he had. He poured out the maximum effort he could manage each day, striving to pour his heart into a single stroke, one stroke at a time.

But the moment the count of his effort stopped climbing past seven thousand.

The moment yesterday felt less satisfying than the day before, and today felt less satisfying than yesterday, unease began creeping into his chest.

"...It's fine."

Airen Farreira took a slow breath and steadied himself.

This could happen. Of course it could. He already knew effort and achievement didn't move in a straight line together.

Hadn't he already learned that at Krono Fencing Hall?

Knock, knock, knock, and eventually the wall comes down. There was little good to be gained from doubting himself over a brief stretch of stagnation.

Thunk.

Finished with his thoughts, he drove the sword into the ground. Then, a little earlier than usual, he went back inside.

Proper rest mattered too, if he wanted a better tomorrow.

Comforting himself once more, Airen closed his eyes.

Day 211 in the other world.

Airen Farreira swung effort 6,695 times.

* * *

More time passed, and more still. The season circled back to spring. Not that it meant anything.

None of that mattered at all anymore.

Airen Farreira's face was full of unease.

Fwoosh!

From the outside, it looked as though he was swinging the sword with everything he had.

But that wasn't true. His heart wasn't keeping pace.

Fwoosh!

His mind wavered, unable to find its footing.

And his body, and the tip of his blade, wavered along with it, imprecise.

He forced himself to keep going, but soon he gave up. There was nothing to gain from continuing to train in a mental state this broken down. Yes, any further training now would be meaningless.

'If I'm just going to suffer for nothing, I'd be better off resetting quickly.'

Having made up his mind, Airen set down the sword and stepped inside.

The bed came into view immediately. He didn't notice it, but the bed had grown far softer and larger than before.

Sinking into that comfortable space, he let out a deep breath.

"Haah..."

He closed his eyes. But sleep didn't come right away. It couldn't. Unlike before, when he used to collapse into bed after emptying himself completely, he still had strength left in reserve now. Airen knew it. He just pretended not to. He forced himself toward sleep, and eventually, sleep came the way he wanted it to.

Day 353 in the other world.

Airen Farreira swung his sword 5,695 times.

* * *

One year and 52 days in the other world.

Airen Farreira swung his sword 3,695 times.

* * *

One year and 134 days in the other world.

Airen Farreira swung his sword 1,400 times.

* * *

One year and 259 days in the other world.

Airen Farreira did not swing his sword.

Not the next day, either.

Not the day after that.

Not the day after that, either. He didn't swing the sword. He didn't put in the effort.

He just lay in bed, staring blankly at nothing.

Days passed that way. Then months.

Airen Farreira stopped coming out of the house altogether.

* * *

A long time passed after Airen Farreira entered the other world.

Over that stretch, he'd gone back to who he used to be. Not who he'd been when he first arrived here. Further back than that, to who he'd been back when people had called him the lazy lord.

Airen didn't show any disappointment at that fact.

He had nothing left in him even for that.

'Honestly, this was bound to happen.'

The lazy lord thought, eyes closed.

Looking back over nearly twenty years of life, more than half of it had been spent living lazily.

It wasn't as if there had been no bright moments at all.

At Krono Fencing Hall, even someone as lazy and idle as him had moved his body diligently, faithfully.

'But that wasn't my own will.'

That was true. The will back then hadn't been his own, it had been the man's. The heart hadn't been his own heart, it had been the man's heart. Even the ownership of that effort hadn't belonged to him, but to the man.

If not for the man in the dream, he wouldn't have survived even the first physical ability test. He would have been thrown out of the fencing hall before he'd even begun.

Even now, it was the same.

This place was a training ground built to raise up his sword.

Everything unnecessary to that purpose had been completely cut off, which was why he no longer had the dream of the man each night, the way he used to.

In other words, he was now able to continue his training entirely on his own, without any help from the mysterious man.

But what had come of it?

Nothing but ruin.

Without the man's help, he had already started to waver before even a full year had passed.

And that wasn't the end of it. Crises came to everyone. As the saying went, the ground hardens after rain. Push through a crisis, and the heart that comes out the other side grows sturdier for it.

'But I couldn't do that.'

He had only run, just like before, back to his bed, trying to escape the exhaustion, the pain, the unease.

Having thought this far, the lazy lord forced himself toward sleep, trying to forget the hollow, sorrowful feeling inside him.

In truth, this line of thinking was wrong.

He had put in the effort. He had endured a trial most ordinary people wouldn't even dare attempt, and he had shown a resolve steady enough that no one could have doubted it.

Yes. The only one who didn't trust him was himself.

He tore down the will that had endured for a full year.

He devalued the effort he had repeated thousands upon thousands of times.

Doubt, the very thing the cat Sorcerer Lulu had warned him most to guard against, had cracked open a fissure in Airen's heart.

It was a shame.

If he hadn't spent so long passing through that dark tunnel. If his life had been filled with praise and encouragement instead of mockery and scorn.

If he'd been able to trust and love himself a little more because of it, this kind of doubt might never have come for him at all. He might have pushed forward, steady and unshaken, instead of collapsing at the first tremor.

But it had already happened.

Falling into a dark sleep with no dreams in it, Airen Farreira sank down for a long, long time.

No one was there to pull him back up. No one was there to cheer him on. This was a world made of Sorcery, one that only he could ever enter.

But the next day.

Something strange happened.

"......ren."

"......"

"......iren. Airen."

"Mmh... huh?"

Airen Farreira, rubbing his eyes, looked up with a startled expression.

This was a world made of Sorcery. A place no one else could ever enter.

And yet, here, a voice was calling his name.

He bolted upright and turned toward the direction the voice was coming from. And he was startled all over again.

A painfully familiar figure stood there, greeting him.

"Get up already. We need to start morning training."

"......"

"What are you doing? Not getting up?"

The girl with silver hair, beautiful as if it had drunk in moonlight, Illia Lindsay.

At her tone, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, Airen found himself kicking off the blanket and sitting up before he even realized it.

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