WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 73

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Krono Fencing Hall (5)

Footsteps echoed as the two young swordsmen walked further and further away.

The people who had been watching quietly let out breaths they'd been holding, one by one.

It had only been a few lines of conversation, but the mood had made it impossible to speak up before now.

Nobody there had enough nerve to stay calm under that kind of crushing pressure.

"Who is that guy?"

"The blond one?"

"Yeah. Anyone know him?"

"I remember him staying at the Weapon's Cradle..."

"Oh, right, I remember too. Good thing nobody picked a fight with him for looking soft. That could've gone badly."

"But seriously, who is he?"

Everyone wanted to know who Airen Farreira really was.

Nobody doubted his skill anymore.

Not after Lance Patterson, who'd just shown everyone the true face of the Krono 27th cohort through three straight matches, met someone who didn't budge an inch against that pressure.

But what interested them even more was that the two seemed to know each other.

Then someone spoke up with a theory.

"Wait, isn't he the guy who failed the Final Evaluation? The one who didn't make it in as an official trainee?"

"Ohh, that actually makes sense."

"Right, they say even the ones who washed out of the 27th cohort were monsters. That explains it."

"So then he probably can't win."

"Yeah. No way a washout beats someone who actually passed."

Listening to the other swordsmen talk, Gilbert nodded along.

It was a fair point. Sure, the gap between them could have flipped over five years, but that seemed unlikely.

A swordsman with even greater talent than Lance Patterson, training in the best environment Krono Fencing Hall could offer.

If anything, that gap had probably only widened, not closed.

So most of the swordsmen gathered at the training grounds put their money on Lance Patterson.

The flicker of hope that had briefly risen among them faded fast.

But not everyone felt that way.

"Nope."

"Huh?"

"Airen's really strong. He's probably gonna win. I swear it on this sword."

Thunk.

The black cat Lulu drew the sword at her hip and jammed it into the ground.

Then she looked up.

Her eyes held not a shred of doubt.

Even with a cat's face, hard as it was to read any expression on it, there was something convincing in that gaze.

The onlookers turned back toward the training grounds.

Maybe... maybe he really could win?

A flicker of hope began to bloom again in a few hearts.

* * *

"Is that a pet? How's it talking like a person?"

Lance Patterson asked, swinging his sword through the air with a whoosh. He looked genuinely fascinated.

Airen Farreira gave a short laugh before answering.

"No. My master."

"What? Master?"

"Yeah. I learned something like this."

Whoosh.

Airen stretched his hand out in front of him. A massive object materialized out of thin air.

Old and rough looking, but strange enough that just looking at it pressed down with weight.

Lance Patterson stared at it blankly for a moment before speaking, a beat late.

"...That's incredible. Magic? No, wait, it'd be Sorcery. Makes sense when I think about it. A talking cat, there's no explanation for that besides Sorcery."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Hm, guess you don't need to carry a separate sword around then. I did wonder why I never saw a scabbard on you... must be nice not having to lug something heavy everywhere."

"It's convenient, yeah."

"Guess a lot happened in five years, huh? Ah, never mind. We already agreed to save the stories for later."

Answering his own question, Lance Patterson swung his sword with even more force.

A terrifying sound rang out, like a gust tearing through the air.

He'd clearly grown a lot stronger compared to five years ago.

Well, his build alone had gotten absurdly bigger. He looked close to two meters tall now.

But something else drew even more of Airen's attention.

His opponent's expression.

A face that couldn't hide how excited, how thrilled he was for this moment.

Airen thought to himself.

He's changed a lot.

He hadn't noticed it before, but looking back now, the old Lance Patterson hadn't been so different from himself.

His parents' expectations, a decent amount of talent, a decent amount of interest.

Swept along by all those halfhearted things, he'd somehow ended up enrolling at Krono Fencing Hall.

If Brett Lloyd hadn't pulled him along, he might have washed out at the Mid-Term Evaluation.

But that wasn't who stood here now. This was someone else entirely.

Airen studied Lance Patterson with a deep, searching gaze.

...You found your own sword too.

His will felt clear enough to reach out and touch.

The reason was obvious. It was because of him.

Enough that after five years apart, meeting an old classmate again, Lance wanted to cross swords more than trade words.

That feeling burned so strong he couldn't hold it in even for a moment. Lance Patterson craved him.

Which, put another way, meant he craved the sword.

In other words, his sword was a sword purely for the sake of the sword.

So that's what it looks like, someone who truly loves the sword.

It felt strange.

Different from himself. And yet similar. At the very least, the intensity of will radiating off Lance Patterson felt familiar.

Just as Airen had given everything to build his own sword within the Otherworldly Realm, he could tell his opponent had poured out the same kind of brutal effort here.

In that moment, what Airen Farreira felt was regret.

Should I not have agreed to this match?

Airen Farreira closed his eyes quietly and looked inward.

The reason he'd come to Krono Fencing Hall in the first place was because his sword had wavered.

That was the same reason he hadn't planned to join the Guest Reception event at all.

He had no certainty in his own sword.

He might be able to shake off the doubt and rise again, but as things stood right now, he was unstable, through and through.

That was how Airen judged his own condition.

He asked himself once more.

Is this really okay?

The person standing before him right now held his sword with unshaken will, sturdy beyond question.

Did he, in his current state, have the right to raise a sword against someone like that?

That was what he was thinking when it happened.

"Say the word when you're ready."

"..."

"No regrets. Let's both give it everything we've got."

Everything we've got.

The moment Airen caught the sincerity behind those words, his eyes snapped open. He settled into his stance.

The scattered thoughts that had been shaking his resolve vanished into the distance. He forced them away, one way or another.

Lance Patterson...

He wanted Airen's absolute best.

At full strength. So he could unleash everything he'd built over the last five years.

There was no way Airen could raise a sword against that kind of resolve while carrying regret or doubt.

Don't think about anything else.

At least for this moment, pour every ounce of heart and action into the match.

Airen Farreira made up his mind.

Then he fixed his opponent with a gaze that no longer wavered.

"...Huh? Something changed, didn't it?"

Lance Patterson, who'd kept swinging his sword the whole time, stopped.

The faint trace of a smile that had lingered on his face disappeared too. Wearing a serious expression now, he muttered to himself again.

"Well. Looks a lot better than a second ago, that's for sure."

"Should we start?"

"Yeah. Let's say the match starts the moment I finish counting to three."

Lance Patterson counted. Not too slow, not too fast. One, two.

Three.

Thud!

The moment the countdown ended, Lance Patterson stomped forward with tremendous force.

With that heavy charge, the match between two trainees of Krono Fencing Hall's 27th cohort began.

* * *

"Whoa!"

"He struck first!"

The swordsmen who'd been waiting for the match with sweaty palms looked shocked.

They couldn't help it.

Lance Patterson had never once taken the first strike before, so everyone had assumed he'd approach this match with the same easy composure.

They were wrong.

There was no composure in him at all. If anything, overflowing tension had dried his mouth out.

Anyone who'd lived through what happened five years ago would feel the exact same way.

Recalling the past, Lance Patterson clenched his jaw hard.

I have to overwhelm him before that insane strike shows up!

It still crept into his dreams sometimes.

That kid he'd never expected anything from, shuffling forward with a clumsy stance, swinging his sword like he didn't know what he was doing.

That sword clawing brutally across the training ground floor.

Even Instructor Karaka, who still felt like some kind of monster, stepping back with a look of pure shock on his face.

To beat a lunatic like that, you couldn't give him a single opening.

He had to finish it before the guy even had time to set his stance!

"Haaaah!"

Clang!

A tremendous crash rang out across the training grounds.

An impact almost too heavy to believe two swords had just met.

Airen's body, having taken the blow, screeched backward across the ground.

Everyone who witnessed Lance Patterson's full power was stunned.

But it wasn't over.

Correcting his stance, he immediately launched a second attack.

Clang!

A diagonal strike running from upper right to lower left.

The strongest attack a right hander could throw.

The same result seemed to play out again.

Except it didn't. Airen was pushed back even further this time than before.

Anyone watching could see Lance Patterson had the clear advantage.

But he wasn't smiling.

Instead, his expression turned serious as he reset his stance.

His opponent's skill had turned out to be sharper than he'd expected.

He rode the force out and put distance between us!

Lance Patterson found himself thinking back to the past again.

Airen was a genius. That much was certain.

Nobody but a genius could pull off swordsmanship that absurd.

But he wasn't a finished genius.

The result of this match was proof enough.

Compared to Illia Lindsay, who'd been flawless in every way, Airen Farreira had clear strengths and clear weaknesses.

Purely in terms of real combat, Lance felt he had nothing to lose to him either.

Of course...

Of course, he hadn't expected the guy to be exactly the same as five years ago.

He'd probably put in insane amounts of effort.

Airen had already been the hardest worker of the 27th cohort back then, so given how much sweat he must have poured out since, this level of skill made sense.

But taking his attacks this easily was another matter entirely.

And besides... something's off. This feels familiar!

Lance Patterson replayed the exchange in his head.

A defensive technique that deflected the opponent's assault in a smooth, curving arc.

It reminded him of someone he knew. The sense of deja vu made his skull itch.

But he didn't have time to dwell on that thought.

His opponent was already closing in. Just like him.

Not bad.

Lance Patterson dropped into a defensive stance. Honestly, defense suited him better than offense.

Only two people in the entire golden 27th cohort had ever managed to break through him while he stood solid as a boulder.

If Airen had taken up "that stance" from a distance, things might have gone differently, but there was no sign of that happening.

It looked like he intended to press the attack, same as Lance.

I won't back down!

Lance Patterson widened his stance.

Dodging and retreating never suited his temperament.

Stand heavy as a mountain rooted in the earth, then strike back the instant an opening appeared. That was the sword he'd built over all these years.

Come at me if you're going to.

The moment he shouted that in his mind, Airen Farreira's sword came crashing down.

Boom!

It came down.

Boom!

It came down again.

Boooom!

"Guh!"

Three straight overhead strikes, all in an instant.

A smooth yet ferocious attack that used the recoil of each swing to fuel the next, and Lance Patterson's body swayed under the barrage.

He stared at his opponent with disbelief in his eyes.

An offense stronger than he'd expected?

That was true.

But what shocked him even more was that he recognized this swordsmanship too, in this attack just now.

The most obnoxious person among his fellow trainees, but undeniably skilled.

Recalling the insufferably arrogant face of that red haired classmate, he thought to himself.

How is that even possible?

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