WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 70

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Krono Fencing Hall (2)

'What in the world is going on here?'

Airen Farreira stared at the burly men laughing at him, his expression somewhere between confused and dumbfounded.

It was so absurd that he wasn't even offended.

No, before that, he was curious.

How on earth had the giant of a man in front of him figured out that he had business at Krono Fencing Hall?

"Haha, well, anyone can challenge. But it's not good to think too highly of yourself."

"Anyone can challenge, my ass, what kind of nonsense is that?"

"Yeah! Don't spout garbage! There's nothing worse than some green kid butting in and pushing our turn back!"

But before he could even ask his question, the big man had already gone up to the second floor.

He heard a few murmurs from the men at the surrounding tables.

He still had no idea what any of it meant, and there was nowhere obvious to ask.

'Unfamiliar.'

Of course it felt that way, since he didn't know any of them, but everyone in the inn felt strange in a way that went beyond that.

Like he was the only one who'd wandered in from a different world.

Just then, a voice called out to him from a corner of the room.

"Hey, you there, young man."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Everyone else in here's an old-timer or middle-aged. You're the only young one around."

It was a muscular middle-aged man occupying a table by himself, without a drink or a plate of food in front of him.

A few people grumbled that his words were a bit much, but the man didn't so much as snort in response.

Airen went along with the summons without hesitation.

Taking a seat at the table, he asked, "There aren't many empty tables. Is it alright for you to just sit here without ordering anything?"

"Fine, perfectly fine. It's my inn. Who's gonna say anything?"

"Ah..."

So he was the owner.

He'd looked so idle that Airen had taken him for a difficult customer.

Correcting his mistake, Airen asked again. "I see. Was there a reason you called me over?"

"You said you're a guest of Krono Fencing Hall, right?"

"Yes. But how did you..."

"Guess you came here without knowing, huh? Every last person staying at this inn is a guest of Krono Fencing Hall. This place is famous for only drawing that crowd, so ordinary folks don't come anywhere near it."

"Ah..."

"Interesting. Showing up at 'Weapon's Cradle' without even knowing that. Hahahaha! Hm, talking's made me thirsty. Hey, a beer over here! Oh, right, name's Edgar."

"Ah, I'm Airen."

Airen Farreira didn't bother mentioning his surname, and with that, the brief introductions were done.

A server brought over a beer in the meantime. Just the one.

He hadn't planned on drinking, but it felt a little awkward now.

While he was thinking that over, the innkeeper Edgar drained the glass in one go and ordered another, saying, "Anyway, there's something you ought to know if you're a guest of Krono Fencing Hall."

"Huh? Something I should know?"

"Right. First off, guests can't just walk into the fencing hall whenever they please. Only once every two weeks. Happens to be tomorrow, actually."

"Once every two weeks?"

Airen's face scrunched up slightly.

Being selective about who they let in, sure, he could understand that. But setting a specific day?

And only once every two weeks at that. It made no sense by any standard he knew.

He tried to ask about it, but Edgar gave him no opening.

Draining his second beer in a single gulp, the man ordered another, and kept right on talking without pause.

"And here's the really important part. To become a 'real guest' of Krono Fencing Hall, there's something you need. A way to prove your skill. The most common one's a Mercenary Plate. So, you got one?"

"No. Well, but..."

"Course you don't. Look at that fresh face of yours, clearly haven't been out of the house long. Ah, don't take that wrong. Not an insult. I'm just jealous. When a man tells another man he looks soft, green, like he's never worked a hard day in his life, take it as a compliment. It's because he's jealous of the handsome face."

"Uh, so..."

"Anyway, without a Mercenary Plate, there's a good chance you won't even get to participate. Heard those guys earlier, right? The ones in here, they hate it when random nobodies butt in. So if you don't have a plate, you'd better go get one made right now."

I don't have a Mercenary Plate, but I do have a plate proving I'm an official trainee of Krono Fencing Hall.

Airen Farreira badly wanted to say those words.

But there was no opening to say them.

The innkeeper barely paused for breath, spilling out words nonstop, pausing only to gulp down beer every time the server showed up.

He clearly had no intention of listening to a single word Airen said.

"Obviously a low-grade Mercenary Plate won't cut it. To earn the respect of those rough types and become a 'real guest,' you'll want to skip the Wood and Iron Plates and get at least a Bronze Plate. Course, it's not easy for someone with zero track record to land a Bronze Plate right off the bat, but honestly, isn't it a bit annoying?"

"Annoying?"

"Yeah. Those guys just looked down on you, didn't they?"

Innkeeper Edgar gestured with his beer-holding hand toward the other tables.

No beer spilled. He'd already finished it.

More than that, though, it was the stares of the men watching him that bothered Airen.

He'd forgotten he'd only just found an opening to speak, caught up in meeting their eyes instead.

It was true, all right.

They were completely ignoring him.

'Not really enough to bother me, but...'

Still, it was a strange feeling.

But he'd been treated far worse before, and there wasn't any real malice coming off these men, so his expression didn't so much as twitch.

Edgar, though, apparently mistook his calm for a stiffened, offended look.

"Yeah, no wonder you're annoyed."

"What? No, that's not really..."

"Alright. Let's head to the mercenary broker's office right now. Happens the broker there and I go way back, so you can take the test easy."

"Huh? Right now?"

"Yeah. Better to just get it done. Oh, and you're staying here, right? How many nights?"

"Well, one for now..."

"Book two nights and I'll give you a discount."

"..."

"If you don't want it, forget it. Two silver."

"...Here you go."

"Good. Let's go, then. Hey, watch the inn while I'm out!"

Shouting that loudly, innkeeper Edgar rose from his seat.

He'd downed seven beers in that short span and still looked perfectly steady.

But more impressive than that was his relentless habit of saying only what he wanted to say, start to finish.

Not that any of it came from malice, of course...

"..."

Might as well follow along for now.

Nodding, Airen Farreira trailed after Edgar.

* * *

Krono Fencing Hall was famous.

So famous that it was hard to find anyone on the continent who didn't know the name.

Even some little gang leader kid in a backwater village of some out-of-the-way country would go on and on about wanting to visit Krono Fencing Hall.

For a swordsman, it was practically the stuff of dreams.

Maybe that was why.

Krono Fencing Hall drew an unusual number of 'sword-bearing guests.'

Guests wanting to prove their skill and earn a name for themselves.

Guests hoping to grow through a sparring match with a renowned figure.

Guests who just wanted to cause trouble.

Dozens of such guests knocked on Krono's doors every single day.

For the fencing hall, it was a genuine headache.

There were simply too many to handle one by one, which was a burden in itself, but turning all of them away outright would invite factions spreading rumors that "Krono Fencing Hall is full of cowards."

Some of the worse ones would refuse to leave until someone agreed to fight them.

And so Krono Fencing Hall came up with a rule: the Guest Reception.

It meant that anyone who wanted to cross swords could only enter the fencing hall on a day Krono designated, the Guest Reception day held once every two weeks.

'So that's what being a "guest" of Krono Fencing Hall meant. And the "turn" thing too... they were talking about who among the people wanting to spar would go first.'

Airen Farreira only pieced this together belatedly.

He hadn't learned any of it by asking questions.

Edgar talked so much that the information simply poured in on its own, whether Airen wanted it or not.

By the time they reached the mercenary broker's office, even the history of Krono Fencing Hall had been drilled into his head.

Either way, he understood now. He wasn't the kind of "guest" people here generally meant. He was a "real guest."

Which meant he had no need to attend the Guest Reception held once every two weeks.

And obviously no need to stop by the mercenary broker's office either.

But...

"Hey, Broker."

"Edgar? What brings you here... ah, and a young guest with you. Testing?"

'Feels a bit too late to back out now.'

Watching how smoothly Edgar handled everything, Airen Farreira let out a sigh.

Of course, if he truly didn't want to do this, he could still call it off now.

But it wasn't as though the situation was all that troublesome.

And Airen was the type to just go with the flow in situations like this.

Not exactly a decisive personality.

'Having a Mercenary Plate on hand can't really hurt, I suppose.'

Not that it did him much good either, but he decided not to dwell on it.

No, really, there wasn't even time to dwell on anything.

By the time he came back to himself, Edgar had already returned to the inn, and the broker, a man with a scar on his left cheek, was studying him with a dry, unreadable stare.

The broker asked, "Taking the test?"

"Huh? Ah, yes."

"What's your strong suit? Strength? Speed? Technique? You're a guest of Krono Fencing Hall, so your weapon's obviously a sword. You know how to handle any weapon besides a sword?"

"No."

"Right. So what's easiest for... never mind, forget it. Let's just go with something straightforward. Follow me."

Mixing casual speech and formal speech without much consistency, the broker headed out the building's back door.

Airen followed without complaint.

Stepping outside, he found a fairly spacious open lot.

Training dummies scattered here and there, physical conditioning equipment, and other objects whose purpose he couldn't guess.

Unlike the noisy inn, hardly anyone was around.

Feeling the stares of the few people present, he arrived at a spot where some lump of an object sat by itself.

It looked like a chunk of stone or metal with rubber coated over its surface.

A square panel was mounted on top.

"What's this?"

"Measurement Device. Strike it hard, and the square panel on top reads out the impact."

"Is it a magitech device? Wouldn't that be really expensive?"

"Course it's expensive. The office didn't buy it, though. A Gold Plate mercenary who recently retired gave it as a farewell gift. Struck it rich excavating some magical ruin."

If he wanted to give something, might as well have just given money, don't know why he gave this instead. Muttering that to himself, the broker went on. "Anyway, all you gotta do is hit it."

"With my fist?"

"With your sword. I check the impact, judge your rank from it, issue the Mercenary Plate, and that's it. Simple enough."

"What if I hit it with my sword and it breaks?"

"Hm? Hahaha..."

The broker burst out laughing.

Not for long. Quickly composing himself, he said, "It's not that fragile. It's magitech, sure, but aside from the panel on top, it's basically a solid chunk of metal. Only a handful of even Gold Plate mercenaries could break something like this. Even that retired mercenary I mentioned couldn't manage it."

"I see."

"Right, so don't worry, just swing as hard as you want. Don't go regretting a low score later."

"Understood. I'll do my best."

"Huh? Wait a second..."

Where's your sword? Did you forget to bring it?

Just as the broker was about to ask that, a greatsword suddenly appeared out of thin air.

Shhk.

"...?"

The blond young man grabbed the sword as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Then he settled into stance.

Raising both arms.

The massive blade rising high, as if to pierce the moon hanging in the night sky.

The broker could only watch, slack jawed.

A moment later.

CRAAAAAAAAAANG!

A brutal, thunderous roar tore across the open lot.

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