Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Toward the Capital
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Clang. Something fell at Marya's feet. Two severed sword blades rolled around the ground beneath her.
"Huh...?"
Ronan rounded the corner and vanished from sight. Marya stared blankly at the two halved swords. The cut surfaces were flawlessly clean, without a single crack.
'When did they get sliced?'
Marya was certain she'd seen Ronan's sword swing through empty air. Even if it had connected then, her own sword couldn't possibly have been severed. He'd used his old, worn blade—not the black iron sword.
Marya stood frozen in place for a long while. Asel, who'd been watching her nervously, sidled up cautiously. He flashed an awkward smile and a quick nod.
"Um... good work."
Asel hurried off after Ronan. The empty clearing was left with only Marya standing there. A moment later, she tossed aside her sword and let out a chuckle.
"...What a ridiculous guy."
****
"Here, take it."
Marya kept her promise. Returning that evening, she handed over a pouch stuffed with exactly three times the agreed amount, along with a few books.
"What's all this?"
"You two grew on me. I've got to head to the capital tonight."
It was a compilation of every past written exam from Phileon. The thick leather binding marked it as no ordinary expensive item. Among them were notes Marya had compiled herself.
"You better pass. If both of you fail, I'll kill you."
Marya grabbed the boys by the napes of their necks. Asel choked and coughed, while Ronan laughed in disbelief and nodded.
"Don't be late on exam day."
The farewell, promising a reunion, was crisp. Marya waved exactly three times from the rooftop before flopping down. The Karabel Merchant Group departed Numbton amid the boys' send-off.
Even after the caravan vanished from sight, they lingered in place. Ronan spoke up.
"What a headstrong girl. Guess that rumor about big-chested women being sweethearts can't be trusted."
"Huh? Well... I thought she was okay..."
"Yeah. She was a good kid."
Ronan had a pipe clenched in his teeth. He blew smoke toward the nightscape of Marbas, then turned away. Merchants at the newly opened night market were calling out to customers.
"We should head back too."
"Yeah."
Ronan and Asel made straight for Numbton. Their luggage had piled up, but the mule made for a comfortable return trip.
They arrived in Numbton the next morning. Iril, digging potatoes, dropped her hoe and ran over.
"Ronan!"
"I'm back."
"Where'd you go this time? You didn't get hurt? And what's with the animal?"
Her warm voice dripped with worry. It was all because of his history of wandering into trouble everywhere.
"It's not just any animal—it's a mule. And this? A gift."
"A gift?"
Ronan took Iril's hand and led her inside. He set a box on the table. It was wooden, stamped with the Karabel Merchant Group's emblem on the lid.
"Open it."
"Aw, you didn't have to... Let's see what my little brother prepared~?"
Expecting flowers or food, Iril opened the box and froze solid. Inside, gold and silver coins were neatly arrayed like well-drilled soldiers. It was enough to buy a house at a glance.
"R-Ro-Ronan...? Wh-Wh-What's this...?"
"Leftover after tuition. Asel and I earned it."
"Asel...? That pretty boy? You took it from him?"
"We earned it, not stole it. We'll make more from now on."
A hint of bitterness laced Ronan's tone. Iril's threadbare clothes were stained with damp soil and root bits. It was always like this. She'd scrimped and saved for her no-good brother's sake but balked at buying even a cheap dress for herself.
Ronan gently scraped the dirt from the bridge of her nose.
"So, sis—no more digging potatoes."
With that, Ronan slipped out of the house. Best to dodge the barrage of questions. Even if he explained the money's source honestly, she probably wouldn't believe him.
He headed for the hill where he'd opened his eyes after regressing. The black iron sword hung at his waist. The landscape he'd failed to protect came into view.
"Techniques, huh... Damn, I really don't have any."
Overlooking the village, Ronan drew his sword. The pitch-black blade gleamed with the heavy sheen of a rainy night sky.
Honestly, he couldn't wrap his head around Phileon's practical exam. A swordsman just needed to kill well—what was this nonsense about showing off personal techniques?
'It must have some point.'
Still, he didn't dismiss it as pointless. Marya's mana-infused swordplay had struck him as refreshingly novel. If he could handle mana half as well, he'd be far stronger than now.
Besides, it was the school he desperately wanted to attend. Ronan silently raised his sword. The tip arced up over his head, then fell in a straight line.
'Something might come out of it if I keep at it.'
He began swinging vertically. Three thousand swings, then three thousand horizontal, followed by three thousand diagonal. It was the Penal Legion's simple, crude, but reliably effective training method.
Ronan had realized his body's limits catching Luna Goblins. Muscle pain the next day after just fourteen swings? Unacceptable.
His top priority was forcibly ripening this green body. After sword drills, he'd do basic fitness like running and push-ups.
"Nice. Black iron."
The blade traced a precise path without conscious effort. No wobble—definitely a fine sword. Ronan didn't return home until dusk. Iril, stirring stew, startled and shouted.
"Ronan, welcome ba... D-Deer?!"
His sweat-soaked shoulders bore a plump deer. Slaughtered with a single clean cut, its hide was nearly unscathed.
Ronan deftly separated meat and hide, then built a furnace. Less than an hour later, it looked quite respectable.
"Wh-When did you learn all this?"
"Eh... here and there? Let's eat together."
Skills picked up wandering and in the Penal Legion. He grilled the trimmed meat. Guts and blood weren't wasted—he cooked them separately. Iril, tasting her brother's cooking for the first time, was stunned.
"This is seriously delicious...!"
"Right? Eat up."
Forgetting the food in her mouth, she spoke. Rough-looking, but deeply flavorful—not the work of a novice. Ronan shoveled meat into his mouth.
"R-Ronan... slow down. You'll choke."
"I'm fine. You eat well too, sis."
This was part of his conditioning. Hammer in intense exercise and nutrient-rich meals—even a skeleton could become an ogre. That was his creed.
After the ferocious meal, Ronan retreated to his room and opened a book. The content wasn't hard, but the scope was insanely broad.
"Fuck. Why do I need to know northern dining etiquette?"
Studying for the first time ever was dull and sleepy. Still, Ronan kept reading. Frayed pages and dried bloodstains—traces of unknown efforts—kept him from ripping the book apart in rage.
'Come to think of it...'
Suddenly, Ronan realized he was making a genuine effort for the first time since birth.
It didn't feel bad. Investing time and action toward achieving something.
That night, Ronan replaced the room's candle for the first time. After studying, he collapsed into bed and passed out the instant his head hit the pillow. Come dawn, he was back on the hill with sword in hand.
Thus, a month passed.
****
"Oh, Asel."
"Ronan, long time."
The ripe breeze carried acacia scent. The boys, meeting at the village edge, greeted each other. After a month apart, they spoke in eerie unison.
"Kid, you changed a bit?"
"Your body's... really different."
Asel looked far better. His nagging to exercise daily had paid off. His perpetually hunched back was straighter, scrawny limbs faintly fleshed out.
The gloom shadowing his face had lifted too. His girly features remained, though.
"Studied much?"
"Eh... so-so? Marya organized it well."
"Tch, lucky bastard."
"By the way, Ronan... you didn't catch some disease, right?"
Asel asked worriedly. Ronan had bulked up too, but excessively. His boyish frame now rivaled an adult's sturdiness.
Shoulders broad enough to sleep sideways, height up by a handspan.
"Disease? Man, I've got ages to grow. This ain't even close to our Grand General."
"You could stop now... Grand General?"
"Long story. All packed?"
"Yeah."
Heavy-looking packs on their backs were surprisingly light—filled only with capital-trip essentials.
"See you later, sis."
"Yeah, be safe!"
Ronan turned. Iril beamed in send-off, her silver hair gleaming in spring sun.
"Wait! Ronan, your collar's messed up."
"It's fine rough like this."
"No way! Heading to the capital—you gotta look sharp!"
She tiptoed to fix his clothes. Ronan thought he needed to get her out of Numbton quick. In new attire, she looked inhumanly beautiful.
'Any punk touches her, I'll chop 'em up.'
During training, he'd purged threats to his sister. Prime example: Hans's gang. He'd ambushed the healing thugs, pummeled them anew, torched their hideout.
The punks, whimpering in spring rain on the ground, were snatched by sudden arrivals—mercenaries Ronan had tipped off.
'Huuu... damn, short on men.'
'What's up? I could help.'
'Huh? Who're you?'
The mercenary captain, met by chance at a tavern, fretted over manpower shortages. He needed arrow fodder for the southern front soon, but hires had fled.
Ronan mentioned bloodthirsty orphans—no loose ends as all were parentless. Added incentive.
'S-Spare us!'
'L-Let go! Ronan! Ronaaaaaan!'
The captain handed over bonus coin unasked. Clutching the wagon bars, howling orphans faded as Ronan recalled the morning stew's tastiness.
Iril, finished fussing, turned to Asel.
"Asel, do great on the exam!"
"Y-Yes! I'll do my best!"
Asel's reply sounded like a fresh recruit's. Seeing Iril up close for the first time, he got why this thug turned gentleman for her. Explained his nonchalance toward Marya.
Iril said,
"Take it easy! Fail and live here with sis forever!"
"Not a bad deal. Later."
Ronan pecked her cheek and left Numbton. Iril waved till they were dots.
"To Marbas. Two of us."
"Seven silvers."
"Want seven punches and full price?"
"Sorry. Five."
They rode to Marbas. Too far to lead the mule; no place to stable it anyway.
The travel carriage was comfy. Ronan stuck his head out the half-open window, smoking. First proper rest in nearly a month. Spring breeze tickled his nostrils.
"Haa... nice."
Sweet floral scent melted fatigue. He turned to the opposite seat. Asel polished his staff with cloth.
"Hey, how's that staff? Feels good using it?"
"Yeah. Glad I didn't sell. Power's up, focus too..."
"Must be great... not sneaking it up your ass or anything, right? Heh."
"Wh-What the hell?!"
"Oho, yelling now?"
Ronan snatched the staff, cackling. "Like this, say." He mimed vulgarly. Asel shrieked.
"S-Stop! Not there! Give it back!"
"Kuhahaha! Scream louder!"
Ronan laughed. Grave journey, but fun was fun. The driver's glance-back guffaw nearly caused an accident.