WeTried Translations
Translator: Goku
Editor: Sty
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The War Hero in the NTR Game Wants to Die ◈
Chapter 023
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Lingering Light (4)
After a long time of just staring at each other, it was I who finally spoke first.
"...Rione."
"Yes. I told you to speak up, even now."
Saying so, she takes one step, then another, approaching.
"...Or maybe, if I just slightly cut your leg so you can't escape from here, there wouldn't be a problem."
As soon as the words ended, the sword came flying.
Targeting the thigh, diagonally across.
I parried with the flat of the blade and was about to push in and shove her with my shoulder, but Rione lightly retreated.
It seems she's being careful in her own way, having been hit once last time.
This is why I dislike people who learn quickly.
I only learn one thing after dying countless times, but that child, calling it talent, makes it her own just by glancing at it once.
And then she was always quick to scold me, saying I lacked effort.
The two of us stood facing each other with swords drawn, slowly gauging the distance.
If we only confront each other with swordsmanship, there's no chance of victory.
Unless I slash her throat repeatedly, like when I faced the head of the household last time.
But a sword isn't everything.
Although it's often everything... at least in a confined space like this.
Rione has never killed a person before.
At most, she's only caught large magic beasts among living things.
There's a much deeper chasm than one might think between knowing how to do something and actually doing it.
I know that gap can be filled with talent... but for one or two times, I can push through with experience.
Rione took half a step back, then lightly thrust her sword again.
This time too, what she's aiming for is my leg.
The moment the blade rushed towards me, I forcibly twisted my wrist.
I opened the flat of my blade wide and obliquely struck away the sword tip.
Claang!
The blades clashed, and a sharp, tearing sound echoed in the air.
Our swords bounced off each other.
At that moment, I simply let go of my sword and pressed even closer to Rione.
It's inside the professor's office anyway.
There's nowhere else to retreat.
Perhaps because she didn't expect me to let go of my sword, a look of surprise crossed Rione's face.
"Wait, my, my arm......!"
Regardless, she was still swinging her sword at me from top to bottom.
The swordsmanship Rione learned, I also learned the same way.
So, when predetermined movements flow like water, I know, to some extent, how the next sword attack will be executed.
Although I don't know exactly which direction it will come from.
However, a downward sword strike is similar no matter where it's swung from.
Praying she hadn't put much strength into it, I pressed my body closer to Rione and brought up my left arm.
Fortunately, the blade stopped after digging about halfway into my arm.
In that opening, I grabbed Rione's collar with my right hand, pushed her against the wall, then threw my body forward and slammed my knee into her.
With a gasping sound, Rione's hand lost its strength.
"...Ah, cough, ugh, gasp!"
Whether she lost strength or not, I kept pushing Rione against the wall with my right hand and repeatedly drove my knee into her stomach.
Once, twice.
Rione, who initially tried to block with her hands, then fumbled with her arm, and grabbed the sleeve of my right arm, which was holding her neck.
However, with each knee strike, her hands seemed to lose strength, and each time a thin groan escaped, and her body flinched and folded beyond the collar she was holding.
In the end, she tried twisting her waist, drained of strength, but there was no way her captured body could avoid me approaching.
I thought it would feel a little cathartic, but it's just strange.
I hate this child.
Perhaps I hate the fact that she wields a sword like flowing water just with her talent.
We share the same blood, yet why did all the talent flow entirely to that child?
If they couldn't properly pass on talent, isn't that the parents' fault, not the child's?
Isn't the idiot head of the household the problem?
I was blindingly envious of that talent I didn't inherit.
Why, of all places, in Gryan, why, of all people, as my sister?
Even as tears welled up in Rione's eyes and dropped one by one with each knee strike into her stomach, this child never took her eyes off me.
What is she hoping for?
Is she hoping for even a bit of parental love from me?
Or is she hoping I'll just toss her some light affection as family?
If she wanted such things, she should have served me with utmost devotion.
Or at least, she shouldn't have treated me like human garbage.
My relationship with Rione wasn't like this from the start.
It just started, from a certain day, more precisely, from when Rione began to wield a sword better than me, that I started to be trampled under this child.
Because that's how it is in Gryan.
Because that's common sense in Gryan.
After all, even if one can't become a Sword Saint, not having talent in swords is absurd, isn't it?
Especially for the eldest son of the Gryan family.
"U-ugh... gasp, s-sorry... ah, hiccup! It hurts... Big Brother......"
Rione reached out a hand and tried to push my face away.
But as if no strength was in it, her hand soon slipped down to grasp my shoulder, and even that she couldn't hold, slowly sliding down.
Regardless, I kept Rione pinned to the wall and drove my knee in several more times.
This child was clinging to my wrist as if pleading.
Pathetically, just like when I begged this child to teach me even a little more about swords, or perhaps to get into any knight order.
As I drove my knee in one more time, Rione's skirt slowly became wet, and liquid subtly flowed down her leg.
The smell wasn't strong, but it was unpleasant.
For a child who would do this after just this much beating... had she always chattered so much with that damn, fucking mouth of hers?
Ignoring it, every time I kept slamming my knee into her with all my might, her arm would slowly go limp as if losing strength, yet she would desperately grasp the edge of my collar with her hand, twisting her fingers, trying somehow to hold onto my wrist.
Suddenly, a scene from a very young age seemed to flash by.
The little kid who used to drag a wooden sword, following a few steps behind, calling "Big Brother, Big Brother."
After trailing behind for a long time like that, if her foot ever tripped on the wooden sword in her hand and she fell, she would burst into tears just like now.
Now, I couldn't even distinguish if that was Riehen's memory, or a fantasy I had arbitrarily made up.
Aside from her early childhood, she, like me, had never properly received love.
In this cramped excuse for a home, we know nothing but how to dig at each other's empty places.
Blood flowed from my left arm, dripping from my fingertips.
My collar slowly turned red.
After staring at my throbbing left arm for a long time, I raised my head and met Rione's gaze.
And I released the force that was pushing my only sister against the wall.
As soon as I released my grip, Rione slumped down, unable to even think of standing up.
She was a mess.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, gathered at her chin, and slowly dripped one by one.
Saliva flowed from her half-open mouth, glistening down to her neck.
She didn't seem to have the thought, or the energy, to wipe it away.
She merely labored to draw in and exhale short, sharp breaths.
Her cheeks were flushed red as if with a fever.
I pressed a finger firmly against her subtly flushed cheek, but it didn't feel hot.
The eyes looking at me held no focus.
She was looking at me, but she wasn't seeing me.
It wasn't the kind of eyes that always looked at me like garbage, like an idiot, like a failure, like the family's disgrace, but eyes that were unfocused and loose.
So, I had made those eyes with my own hands.
That Rione, specifically.
Rione, who always ignored me, tormented me, and treated me like disgusting filth.
Is it a good sight?
Even though I don't feel satisfied.
But why is she looking up at me with such an expression?
What is she still hoping for, looking up at me?
My left arm throbs.
Blood was still flowing down.
The smell.
The smell of blood, urine, and each other's breath filled the room, making the space itself feel alien.
Should I say the situation itself is unbearable?
That unbearable feeling always spills out in words.
"...Why, of all people, you, why, of all things, something like you, was born as my sister?"
My voice came out trembling uncontrollably.
"If only you... if only it weren't you, perhaps... if only you hadn't been born......"
"......."
"Rione. Wouldn't it be better if we just lived without seeing each other's faces? Then things like this wouldn't happen, would they? Do you think it won't be like this next time? No matter how much we try to talk, whether it's you or me, eventually... we'll end up like this."
I rummaged through my clothes with my right hand, pulled out a cigarette, clamped it in my mouth, and barely lit it.
Then I squatted down in front of Rione.
Still struggling to breathe, she was still coughing and trying to catch her breath, yet she didn't avoid my gaze.
"Right. As you said... how did it come to this?"
What was I trying to do?
Right, Arin... I was going to find Arin.
But how did it suddenly become like this?
I didn't want Rione in front of my eyes, so I tried to get up.
My sister was still holding onto my collar, not letting go.
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