WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ Reformation of the Deadbeat Noble

Chapter 8

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Krono Fencing Hall (2)

It started from the front.

The trainees closest to Ahmed froze at his sudden appearance, faces going stiff.

It felt like the air around them had turned heavy in an instant.

"What is this..."

"Ugh!"

Those in the middle and at the back couldn't escape it either. Within moments, the entire auditorium had filled with the pressure radiating from Instructor Ahmed.

The trainees, feeling this weight for the first time in their lives, couldn't hide their distress.

"Gack."

"Ugh... ughhh..."

Most of the trainees wore pained expressions.

These were kids who'd walked the sword's path for at least three years. But their bodies and minds weren't ready to withstand the pressure of a true master.

They couldn't even hold out ten seconds before collapsing to the floor.

"Hoo, huff, hooo."

"Haaah..."

Not everyone reacted that way, of course.

A handful possessed something beyond mere talent, the kind of gift that earned the word prodigy.

Those children weathered Instructor Ahmed's pressure.

Some drew on inborn temperament.

Some drew on mental fortitude, others on sheer physical superiority.

None of which applied to Airen, of course.

"......"

The boy didn't buckle.

He wasn't gasping for breath, wasn't swaying on his feet. He simply stood there, expression set, eyes closed in silence.

Given how badly the other kids were faring, he could have felt proud of himself.

But Airen wasn't gloating.

He was only gripping the sword-shaped pendant hanging from his neck, feeling the grain of the wood beneath his fingers.

'Thanks, Kiril.'

A gift his sister had made with love, for a brother taking on his first real challenge in life.

It didn't actually do anything special.

It helped calm the mind, sure, but that alone wasn't enough to withstand Instructor Ahmed's pressure.

Still, just holding a "sword" was enough.

Whenever that man held a sword in his dreams, he pushed through no matter what the world threw at him.

'I've got nothing on him, but...'

Airen let out a thin breath.

He'd watched the man in his dreams for over a month now.

Thanks to that, as long as he clung to the sword, he could borrow a sliver of that iron will, if only a little.

Yeah. That was all this was.

It wasn't that he was strong enough to endure the instructor's pressure on his own merits. That was what the deadbeat young lord told himself.

'That old man didn't recommend me for nothing.'

Instructor Ahmed, watching the trainees scattered across the auditorium, let his eyes settle on Airen Farreira and light up.

He didn't yet know how that frail body was still standing.

But the reason didn't matter. What mattered was that the boy was holding out. The reasons could wait to be uncovered later.

Ahmed's mouth curved up slightly as his gaze drifted to a few other spots.

A girl with hair the fierce red of coals pulled from a furnace.

The Lloyd boy who'd puffed himself up so grandly in front of him earlier.

And a silver-haired child, calmer than any of the others, staring straight back at him.

'The second prodigy of House Lindsay, the sword house. Word was her talent outstrips even her brother's. Living up to the reputation, I see.'

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Muttering to himself, Ahmed reined in his aura.

The pressure vanished as if it had never been there. The children who'd been slumped on the floor, faces on the verge of tears, gasped in ragged relief.

He paid them no mind.

He simply continued speaking as though nothing had happened at all.

"As I said before, none of you are trainees yet. You're trainee candidates. You've probably heard already, but this fencing hall's training program is brutal, and the two evaluations are even worse."

"......"

"......"

"If you survive all of that and you're still standing here a year from now, that's when we'll drop the 'candidate' from your title. Of course, once you're a proper trainee, an even harsher hell will be waiting for you."

Instructor Ahmed chuckled, and the trainee candidates looked at him with expressions of dread.

Laying down threats before they'd even had a proper induction ceremony.

Given that the average age gathered here was twelve or thirteen, it wouldn't have been strange if someone burst into tears.

But not a single one of them did.

Every eye in the room was burning bright.

Legs still trembling from the pressure, sweat pouring down every inch of their bodies, and none of them cared.

Anyone weak enough to break under that wouldn't have made it through Krono Fencing Hall's gates in the first place.

Instructor Ahmed knew that as well as anyone.

He smiled and snapped his fingers.

"No fussy induction ceremony here. We'll assign your quarters first, then hand out the smaller details separately. Understood?"

"Understood!"

"From now on, keep your answers short. Just 'Yes, sir.' Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good. Follow the assistant instructors' directions."

With that, Instructor Ahmed left the auditorium. Immediately, the flat voices of assistant instructors rang out from every direction.

"Listen up, trainee candidates. Each of you has a candidate number assigned. Numbers one through one hundred, over here."

"One hundred one through two hundred, come this way!"

"Two hundred one through three hundred, follow me!"

"You there! Move it, move it!"

Swept up in the overbearing atmosphere, the children scrambled into motion. Airen Farreira was no exception.

Having grown up his whole life like a flower shielded from the sun, he found the fencing hall's rough manner of speech more than a little jarring.

Fortunately, he made no mistakes.

Following the assistant instructors' directions without complaint, Airen managed to finish his meal, wash up, and finally lie down on the bed in his assigned room. A private room, no less.

But he couldn't relax.

He felt scared, anxious. A small part of him even regretted coming.

Still, the boy shook his head and pulled the unfamiliar blanket up over his head.

Clutching the sword pendant his sister had given him, the deadbeat young lord drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The second day at Krono Fencing Hall.

A little over four hundred trainee candidates gathered at the great training field at ten in the morning.

The schedule wasn't punishing. Maybe they were giving everyone time to recover from the journey.

Plenty of sleep, a solid breakfast, and a bit of rest time had all been guaranteed.

But Brett Lloyd, eldest son of House Lloyd, wasn't wearing a happy expression.

Even with his hair neatly groomed, more than usual, his mood hadn't improved.

He shot an uncomfortable look toward a silver-haired girl standing quietly in the distance.

'Illia Lindsay... what in the world does that girl lack...'

House Lindsay.

The finest sword house in the Adan Kingdom, and one of the continent's most renowned. A name that carried weight rivaling Krono Fencing Hall's own.

The house lord, Joshua Lindsay, ranked among the top ten swordsmen alive, and his eldest son, Carl Lindsay, was celebrated across the continent as one of the three greatest prodigies of his generation.

And Illia Lindsay, standing right there in front of him, was said to hold even greater potential than her own brother.

In other words, someone with absolutely no reason to be here.

'Damn it, that basically kills any chance I had at first place!'

Brett Lloyd ground his teeth as the thought crossed his mind.

It wasn't arrogance talking.

He'd trained with the sword since he was six years old. Over the years he'd studied under countless renowned masters, and his potential had been recognized time and again.

He'd run this road faster and earlier than most anyone else.

That was why he'd been certain.

Barring some truly rotten stroke of luck, he'd achieve results worthy of his own ambitions and raise his house's name even higher.

But...

"Damn it!"

Brett swore and kicked a stone off the ground.

He hadn't aimed at anyone. But the stone sailed a fair distance and happened to strike the foot of a boy standing nearby.

A blond boy, taller than the average trainee candidate by a good margin.

Brett Lloyd got a good look at his face and clicked his tongue loud enough to be heard.

"Tch. What's a guy that old doing here..."

Airen, was it? He couldn't quite remember the name.

Either way, his dislike for this one came from the exact opposite reason as his feelings toward Illia Lindsay.

It bothered him that some random nobody was dragging down the standards of Krono Fencing Hall.

The boy was clearly older than most everyone else here.

And yet his body showed no sign of any real training.

The implication was obvious.

'Must have connections. Or bribed his way in.'

Brett Lloyd was an aristocrat down to the bone, someone who placed heavy stock in bloodline and family name.

But he was also a boy with talent and drive to match that pride.

To someone like him, Airen Farreira, standing here without having put in any effort at all, was nothing but a leech dragging down the dignity of nobility itself.

'Worse than a commoner.'

Brett glanced to the side.

A girl with hair red as if painted stood there.

Her face was young and cute, but her body looked considerably trained, and her palms were thick with calluses.

'What was her name... Judith? Whatever.'

Yeah. This one, at least, was better.

Compared to an incompetent noble undeserving of respect, this commoner girl who'd clearly clawed her way here through sheer effort was...

That was the thought running through his head when the girl, who'd been staring back at him the whole time, spoke up.

"What are you looking at, punk."

"......?"

"I said, what are you gawking at."

"Ar, are you talking to me right now?"

"Who else is looking at me here besides you."

"Uh, uh..."

Brett was at a loss for words.

That a commoner girl was speaking to him so casually was shocking enough, but the cursing pushed it clean past shock.

It hit him harder than the moment he'd learned the scarred gatekeeper was actually an instructor.

Gathering himself with effort, he stammered out a reply.

"Y, you insolent brat! I'm the young lord of House Lloyd, an earl's house of distinguished standing in Gerbera Kingdom. For something like you to show such disrespect..."

"Screw off."

The red-haired girl, Judith, answered curtly.

Then she turned her head away sharply, as if she couldn't be bothered dealing with him.

Watching that, Brett went blank all over again.

But this time the daze passed much faster, and hot anger began settling into the boy's face soon after.

"You little..."

"Ah, everyone, attention."

Unfortunately for him, luck wasn't on Brett's side today.

An instructor appeared out of nowhere, forcing him to swallow both his words and his anger.

Among the trainee candidates who had gone quiet in an instant, he turned to look ahead.

A smiling man with a thick beard.

Just like the scarred instructor, he was one of the two gatekeepers who'd fooled them the day before.

'Damn it, this is genuinely awful.'

"Ha, good to see you all. I'm Karaka, one of the instructors who'll be teaching you going forward. How was everyone's sleep? Not bad, I hope?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And the food, was it decent?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Glad to hear it. Everyone looks to be in good shape too. Very good."

Whether Brett Lloyd's mood had soured or not, the new instructor, Karaka, carried on with what he had to say.

At least there was some relief in the fact that his personality felt gentler than Instructor Ahmed's.

After a few minutes of easy, meandering conversation in that relaxed mood, Instructor Karaka clapped his hands together sharply.

Despite the light gesture, the sound carried far across the field.

Sensing the shift in atmosphere, the trainee candidates turned tense eyes toward the instructor.

Was he savoring the mood? Or did he have something else in mind?

Karaka stood there for a long moment, his expression grave.

Then, after a while.

A smile spread across his face, and he finally opened his mouth to speak.

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