Chapter 148
Chapter 148
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 148
Chapter Title: Focused Training (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A month had passed. Even though dawn was just breaking, the training ground of the Special Grade Adventure Club was ablaze with heat.
Wounds covering his body, Ronan thrust his sword and shouted.
"Faster!"
"Kraaaak!"
Slash! The tip of Ronan's sword grazed Itargand's chest. Red blood welled up along the wound.
His body was just as battered as Ronan's. Itargand's pupils narrowed vertically in rage.
"You damn human!"
"Huff... The most important thing in close combat is judgment... Huff, predict what your opponent will do and act."
"Die!"
Itargand extended his arm toward Ronan. The bracelet coiled around his wrist jingled. A magic circle formed in front of his hand, and crimson flames erupted like an explosion.
Kuwaaa! The crimson torrent swallowed Ronan's form.
Watching their spar from afar with sunglasses on, Adeshan cupped her hands over her mouth.
"Itargand. You need to control your anger. Your movements still have too many openings!"
"Shut up, wench. Don't interfere with me!"
Itargand bellowed. Sparks scattered from the corners of his mouth. At that moment, the flames split in half. Itargand's eyes widened in shock.
"Damn...! He didn't get hit."
"You bastard. Didn't I tell you not to talk to her like that?"
Ronan's voice came from right in front. But Itargand couldn't see him. The crescent-shaped sword aura that had sliced through the flames was already right before his eyes.
"Kuh!"
Itargand clenched his fist to cancel the spell and hastily leaped back. He knew better than anyone that he couldn't block that sword aura with a barrier.
Slash! The sword aura grazed his shoulder. At the same time, wings unfurled from Itargand's back. There was almost no chance of winning in close combat. Just as he was about to take flight.
"Got you."
Thud! Ronan, charging from the front, stomped the ground with his right foot. The area beneath Itargand's feet lit up brightly. Suddenly unable to move, he looked down.
"Damn it, what is this?"
Glowing roots had firmly wrapped around his legs. About three steps away, a white dagger was embedded in the ground. It was Imir, the dagger that could replicate aura. Itargand gritted his teeth.
"This...!"
"Close one. If you'd flown, I might not have caught you."
Ronan's voice came from right in front. Itargand whipped his head around.
Ronan was already within arm's reach. The blade of Ramancha was about to touch his throat. Wooong! Itargand's form distorted and vanished from sight.
"You're getting stronger every day."
Confirming his victory, Ronan let out a sigh. A black bracelet adorned his arm as well.
It was a spatial magic artifact that teleported the user upon detecting a fatal injury—one he'd found useful during training with the club members before heading to Hajoo. Ronan turned to Adeshan and said.
"Phew... So what's the score now?"
"152 matches, 133 wins. Itargand's win rate is steadily rising."
"A dragon's a dragon, huh. I knew I wasn't wrong."
Ronan chuckled. Catching his breath, he stripped off his top. After an hour of brawling, sweat poured from his body like rain. Adeshan gasped.
"Ro, Ronan..."
"Hoo... Hot. What's up, sunbae?"
"...Nothing. Your body's in great shape."
Adeshan turned her head but kept stealing glances at Ronan. Ignoring it would be rude at this point. His body, honed during training, resembled a statue carved by a master artisan.
His already broad shoulders spread at right angles from his neck, and the noticeably thicker forearms had veins bulging in stark relief. Had he reached the level he had during his penal legion days? Ronan tilted his head.
"Really? I wouldn't know."
"It has improved. Definitely looks good. Your training method."
"Thanks to you and that dragon. No pointers this time?"
Ronan asked. Adeshan hummed thoughtfully before speaking.
"Hm... Your basics and techniques are already on track. Just mind that new sword style you discovered. For the fifth thrust, try relaxing your left shoulder a bit more?"
"Ah, like this?"
Ronan immediately executed the second form of the Savior's Swordsmanship. Seven comet-like thrusts pierced the air before returning to the sheath. Paang! A delayed sonic boom echoed. Feeling the smoother motion, Ronan let out a hollow laugh.
"You're a genius, sunbae. How do you even see that?"
"Hehe, I just have a bit better eyes than most."
Adeshan smiled with her eyes. She'd gladly accepted his request to coach and came every dawn to oversee Ronan and Itargand.
Student council duties kept her from sticking as close as before, but she was more than helpful enough. As if struck by a thought, she clapped and handed Ronan a vial.
"Oh, right. Drink this."
"Ah... Damn. No getting out of it, huh?"
"Yeah. It only works if you take it consistently."
The liquid in the vial wasn't water. Seeing Adeshan's firm lips, compromise seemed impossible. It reminded him of his sister forcing "healthy" tea on him.
"Ugh..."
Reluctantly taking the vial, Ronan gulped it down. The slightly bitter liquid turned into intangible energy as it passed his throat, spreading through his body.
His stamina rapidly recovered, and wounds across his body began to heal. It was a potion from the Dancing Mule Workshop, reward for reclaiming spring.
"Ugh, bitter."
"It seems effective, though? Your mana flow is noticeably increasing."
"Of course it works, tasting like this."
At that moment, an enraged shout boomed. Ronan and Adeshan turned simultaneously. Bang! The club building's door burst open.
"Damn it!"
It was the respawn point he'd set. Covered in wounds, Itargand stormed out, fuming. Spotting Ronan, he yelled.
"You cheater! What trick did you pull this time?!"
"Cheater's a bit harsh. Using the tools at hand to exploit weaknesses is solid human strategy."
"This time, I'll shatter your filthy tricks in one go. Come at me!"
"Let's call it here for today. Time for class soon."
"...Damn it!"
Hearing "class," Itargand grudgingly backed off. Ronan had brainwashed him that classes were sacred and untouchable no matter what.
Downing a potion like Ronan's in one go, he left the training ground. Bang! Bang! Bang! His footsteps thundered up the stairs. Watching his back, Ronan spoke.
"And yet he'll show up for evening training."
"Yeah."
It was obvious. Adeshan nodded as if accustomed. That competitive spirit was Itargand's greatest strength.
Ronan's special training was simple. Fight a lot. Eat well. Maintain proper form.
Rewards from defeating the witch covered the eating part. Gifts from merchant groups and alchemists included pricey potions and elixirs galore.
After much effort, Ronan halved their volume. Herbaceous scents wafted every time he opened his mouth.
Adeshan was key for proper form. Her senses, vastly improved from two years ago, guided him expertly.
Club members and Itargand alternated as sparring partners. Everyone had improved tremendously, offering lessons each bout.
Asel especially had grown so strong that without full seriousness, Ronan would lose in seconds. He must be absorbing the Winter Witch's teachings well.
'Still, dragon's the best.'
But Itargand was the top partner. Tough by nature, eager to grow, and learned ridiculously fast.
"That guy's already past Sword Expert, right?"
"Yeah. He fired sword aura the day he first gripped a hilt."
Ronan grinned. Seducing Itargand on that sunset street a month ago was a brilliant choice.
Close combat, magic, swordsmanship... The arrogant red dragon absorbed every lesson, becoming Ronan's rival on Schlieffen's level.
Being a young dragon made levels match—a boon. An adult red dragon would've turned them to ash, scattering in spring winds.
Ronan learned draconic toughness; Itargand, human combat. Win-win. Recalling Schlieffen, Ronan spoke.
"Wonder how that guy's doing."
"Probably fine. He's Grancia's young lord."
"Hasn't come to our place either?"
"Nope. Far as I know."
"What kinda training keeps him from showing his face?"
Ronan shrugged. He hadn't seen Schlieffen in a month. Inquiries only vaguely confirmed he'd explained to Kratir and left Phileon.
"Worried but excited. It's tomorrow already."
"Ah, has it been that long?"
Ronan widened his eyes. Too busy to notice tomorrow was the showdown. Adeshan said.
"How about resting fully today? Training's good, but the day before, manage condition. You've gone nonstop."
"Mm... Yeah, makes sense."
Ronan nodded. Logical. Overdoing it and getting sick would be the worst. Donning his top again, he turned to her.
"Who do you think wins?"
"No idea."
"C'mon, guess. You're good at this."
"Really no idea. Both are era-defining geniuses. But..."
Suddenly, Adeshan turned. Reaching out, she gently stroked Ronan's head. This flustered him. Staring into his eyes, she said.
"I want you to win."
Ronan didn't reply. Speechless was more accurate. Adeshan's face flushed like a peach. Realizing post-facto how embarrassing it was.
"A-anyway, good work. I'm heading out...!"
Covering her face, she fled the training ground. Ronan chuckled dryly. His racing heart wasn't just from sparring Itargand.
"...Hoo."
He stood there a while before returning to the dorm. The final day flew by.
Tomorrow had arrived. Honestly, the Sword Festival or whatever mattered little.
'First real match since Hajoo. Damn bastard.'
Only the refusal to lose—even in death—that the jerk mentioned pulsed strongly. Lying in bed, Ronan muttered at the ceiling.
"Wait up, you unlucky prick."
Heart pounding, sleep evaded. Ronan swung his sword a thousand times per direction before sleep claimed him. Long-overdue fatigue dragged him into deep slumber.
The news that half the Dawn Unit pursuing Nebula Klazier had been annihilated arrived the next morning.