Chapter 147
Chapter 147
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 147
Chapter Title: Focused Training (1)
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“Instead, there's a condition. For the remaining month, no sparring between you two.”
“Huh? Why?”
Ronan tilted his head at the unexpected statement. Schlieffen also froze, clearly puzzled. Naviroje explained.
“To properly determine who's superior. Your skills are truly evenly matched. Sparring like you usually do is fine, but this time, try a different approach.”
“Different how?”
“Exactly. Spend the next month devising ways to grow strong enough to definitively crush your opponent.”
“Ah.”
Only then did Ronan understand Naviroje's words, raising his eyebrows. It was a fresh idea. Clearing her throat, she openly conveyed her intent.
“Most people falter because their abilities can't keep up with their ambitions. It's a foreign concept to the blessed like you two.”
“That's true for you too, Instructor.”
“Quiet. I want you to use this chance to feel the desperation and tenacity of ordinary folk. The kind who'll do anything to get stronger...”
Naviroje's lips curved up. Her chilling smile resembled a scholar observing intriguing test subjects.
He wasn't without the urge to shout that he wasn't her monkey and spit on the floor, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to lose to Schlieffen, even if it killed him. Ronan raised his hand with a question.
“But what if we really do 'anything'? Like drinking a baby's blood to boost our strength?”
“I wouldn't have suggested it to scum like that. I'd have killed them myself by now. Don't be ashamed of your good nature.”
“Ugh...”
Ronan's face flushed red. It was exactly what he'd said to Erzsebet just a couple days ago. Naviroje smiled as if finding his reaction adorable.
“You're strong. Both of you have ample skill. Honestly, I bet about seventy percent of those mediocrities out there couldn't hold a candle to you.”
“Even in an official event like this, there are that many idiots?”
“Yes. But it's not all fools gathered there. The world's vast, full of talent. Among the remaining thirty percent, there might be swordsmen strong enough to crush you...”
Naviroje trailed off. She bit her lip, looking away, before turning back to them.
“...Maybe even someone who could dethrone that old cat as the next Sword Saint.”
A shadow of worry clouded her beautiful face. She still hadn't fully shaken off the despair of knowing she couldn't beat Zaifa herself.
'Well, wounds like that don't heal so easily.'
Her wavering gaze seemed to implore him. One of them had to become the Sword Saint. After a moment of silence, Naviroje spoke.
“Dismissed, then. You don't need to attend classes for the next month.”
The announcement ended. Ronan and Schlieffen left the arena for the training grounds. Sunset filtered between the spires, flowing along the streets. Walking in silence, Schlieffen finally spoke.
“I have no intention of losing to you.”
“Who does?”
“Please give it your all, Ronan. I will too.”
Ronan turned his head. Schlieffen was already staring at him.
He was always serious, but today his face seemed especially grave. It was burdensome. Ronan looked ahead again.
“Why are you so obsessed? Trying to find that holy sword or something?”
“Uncovering the holy sword is one of House Grancia's long-cherished goals.”
“It was real... What the hell is that holy sword anyway? No one's ever seen it. Does it even exist?”
“Its existence is certain. We just don't know what power it holds.”
Schlieffen firmly believed the holy sword existed. At this point, Ronan was getting curious about what kind of blade it was.
It'd be nice if it was a sword that could tear the stars' blessing even for an ordinary wielder. Then this guy could take my place without issue. Schlieffen continued.
“But that's not why I'm going all out.”
“Then why?”
“I don't want to lose to you. That's all.”
“Honest as ever. I like that.”
Ronan let out a hollow laugh. It was the most likable thing about the guy. Even from his lofty heights, he never grew complacent. Those dark blue eyes always looked upward.
“Too bad. You'll just be twiddling your thumbs at Phileon.”
Ronan snickered. Schlieffen smiled faintly instead of replying. Midway along their path, Schlieffen suddenly veered off.
“I have business elsewhere. Good luck.”
“Flail around hard for the next month.”
Schlieffen departed. Ronan trudged alone toward the dorms. His long shadow kept pace with his steps.
“Fuck.”
He'd acted nonchalant, but alone, various worries crashed in. Naviroje's proposal made sense.
Whether from Ha Ju lightening his body or time wearing down his hatred, he couldn't deny his edge had dulled compared to before.
'He's probably stronger than me right now.'
Ronan twisted his lips. Current Schlieffen might even be stronger. No, the odds were high. Even if he'd shed a tumor via Ha Ju and grown, two years' gap wasn't easily bridged.
'And he's not the type to rely on luck.'
Predicting that damn genius's two years of growth wasn't hard. He'd surely trained obsessively again. Because he was Schlieffen. This bet favored him overwhelmingly. As Grancia's eldest son, everything he wanted was within reach. He'd gorge on the best resources, receive top support, and train intensively.
'I have to crush him decisively.'
Ronan's situation allowed no such luxury. To surpass Schlieffen in a month, he'd have to skimp on eating and shitting. As he methodically planned, a voice called from above.
“Ronan.”
A familiar clear voice. Ronan looked up. Ten paces in the air, a handsome young man backlit by the sunset gazed down at him.
“You're...”
Ronan frowned. Massive red wings sprouted from the youth's back, flapping rhythmically.
Gusts tousled his platinum hair. It was ridiculous yet striking. Students passing by stared at the youth.
“W-what's that? Magic?”
“Is there a freshman like that...?”
“He's so handsome.”
The area grew noisy, but the youth remained composed. Understanding dragons would take time. Ronan sighed, rubbing his forehead.
“...Come down first.”
“Don't speak to me in commands.”
“Damn it... Will you come down?”
The youth nodded and landed before Ronan. His wings folded and vanished into his body, drawing gasps from onlookers. It was drawing a crowd.
“Itargand. Walk as much as possible in the academy. Unless you have 'dragon' tattooed on your forehead.”
“Why should I?”
“Hell, if you want to get stronger, I told you to learn and effort like a human. Effort's fine, but if your identity leaks, it'll hinder your studies big time?”
Itargand tilted his head. Teaching him every little thing felt daunting. He had to endure. Taking a deep breath, Ronan continued.
“You're a dragon. Think inversely. What if I polymorphed into a dragon and went to your city, but got found out as human?”
“I see. Understood.”
Fortunately, Itargand was sharp. He instantly grasped that students would shun or flee screaming if they knew he was a dragon. Itargand said.
“I handled enrollment as you said. Can I really get stronger this way?”
“Of course. No doubt.”
Ronan nodded confidently. He'd pushed Itargand to enroll at Phileon Academy to keep his promise of teaching him to grow stronger.
Krava Kratir had freaked out but eventually approved. Ronan had desperately argued that if a walking lion could teach, a dragon could learn.
Thus, Itargand became Phileon's first dragon freshman for a year.
“As you said, the humans here are decently skilled. Unlike other inferiors.”
“It's where the continent's top talents gather.”
“I'll follow your suggestion. Not sure what I can achieve in such a fleeting moment, though...”
Itargand smacked his lips in confusion. To him, a year was like days to a human.
Ronan's method was simple: learn and effort. So straightforward it might provoke murder in humans.
But effort and learning were rare concepts for inherently complete dragons. Similar to Naviroje's 'blessed' types.
His physical talent was needless to mention. Red Dragon. Direct descendant of Navardoje. It was natural. Ronan believed that with the right mindset, Itargand could far surpass other dragons.
“Good. See you in a month, then.”
“A month? Why?”
“Krati r said to rest while he discusses with the faculty. Perfect timing to visit Mother.”
Itargand said calmly. Ronan's eyes widened. It was the final piece for his training plan.
“So... you have a free month?”
“Yes.”
Itargand nodded. Ronan's lips curled. Dragon. Rapid growth. Sparring partner to replace Schlieffen.
After a brief talk, they headed to the club training grounds side by side. That day, Itargand didn't return to Adren.
A month passed like that. Covered in wounds, Ronan swung his sword and shouted.
“Faster!”
“Kraaaak!”
Slash! The tip of Ronan's blade grazed Itargand's chest.