Chapter 156
Chapter 156
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 156
Chapter Title: Toward the Holy Land (3)
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Naviroje walked to the water's edge. She still showed no intention of covering her body. Extending her finger, she said.
"Could you bring my clothes from over there."
"...Sure."
Naviroje's clothes were scattered in one corner by the lakeshore. Outerwear to underwear lay freely strewn about, as if representing her personality.
Conscientiously, this was something he shouldn't look at. After handing over the clothes, Ronan turned away. A playful voice came from behind.
"You're funny. Even though you've already enjoyed the view as much as you wanted."
"That's why I said it wasn't intentional. I didn't know you were bathing there."
"The only man who's seen me like this so far is you, so you can be happy about that. Come to think of it, even including women, it's only Adeshan. That girl was quite..."
Naviroje began recounting a time she had gone to the bathhouse with Adeshan. It was a truly intriguing topic, but the situation wasn't ideal. Ronan cut her off.
"So, what exactly happened?"
"Let's walk for a bit first."
Naviroje, now fully dressed, took the lead. Her greatsword was slung across her back. Water dripped from her undried hair.
The two slowly walked along the lakeshore. Every time the wind rustled the grass, the chorus of insects grew louder. She spoke up.
"You're right. This is a wound from my fight with Zaifa earlier this year."
"As expected, having no injuries meant..."
"Yeah. I lied out of pride."
Naviroje chuckled. She lifted her shirt up to her navel, revealing the scar. It was still a serious wound even on second glance.
"This wound decided the outcome. His guandao broke midway, so I thought I'd definitely won, but that damn cat was hiding his true strength. The claws flying at me like ten swords were beyond what I could handle."
"Fuck, isn't that cheating?"
"It was ridiculous, but his skill was real. And I lacked the courage to cry foul when I, wielding a famed sword forged by Master Doron, lost to mere claws."
Naviroje described her duel with Zaifa back then. The blade exchange itself could be seen as her victory, but once Zaifa unleashed his claws, she was overwhelmingly pushed back.
"As I said before, it felt utterly impossible to win. In truth, even the guandao shattered because it couldn't withstand his power, so I couldn't claim victory by sword. This wound tore not just my flesh, but my spirit as well."
"But weren't you fully recovered that day?"
Ronan recalled the sparring match with her right after returning from Haeyu. After it ended, Naviroje had worn a flawless smile. He had thought she'd shaken off the wound by then.
"I thought so too. Actually, after losing to you, my body improved remarkably."
"If anything, it wasn't a true loss. You weren't at full strength, Instructor."
"A loss is a loss. A pleasant one, though. Anyway, to get to the point: I thought I was healed, but I wasn't. The despair I felt then killed the snake living in my heart."
"The snake died, meaning..."
"Yeah. I can no longer manifest Aura."
Ronan's face hardened. Those words—"can no longer manifest Aura"—settled on his chest like heavy lead. Suddenly, something surged up from deep within.
"Damn, I don't get it. Did your core get damaged or something?"
"The core doesn't damage easily from physical trauma. The wound also missed my heart."
"Then why exactly..."
Ronan trailed off. It didn't make sense. Naviroje, silent with a bitter smile, finally spoke.
"Ronan. Do you know how Aura types are distinguished?"
"Why bring that up suddenly... Can we not change the subject?"
"It's not that. Answer me. Some summon a breeze that fades away, while others unleash storms that ravage kingdoms. Have you ever pondered this irrational divide?"
Ronan frowned at the abrupt topic. The precise criterion for how personal mana—Aura—manifested remained an unresolved mystery. Breathing raggedly, he shook his head.
"...No."
"It's just my theory, but I believe it's the self—the consciousness or ideals that define a person."
"Self?"
"Yeah. I was born in the southern great jungle. An adventurer found me abandoned at a beast-infested crossroads. I've never even seen my parents' faces."
Ronan's eyes widened at the sudden glimpse into her past. They got along well enough, but this was his first time hearing her personal history. Naviroje continued.
"The war-ravaged south was no place for a young girl. Especially an orphan with no one to watch her back."
"Instructor."
"To survive, I did whatever it took. All I had was my body, but thankfully, I had talent in martial arts, so I didn't end up as a whore. While girls my age took soldiers' coin in their arms, I sustained myself on bounties for killing them."
Naviroje's life had been brutal. Her path was paved with corpses. While Ronan in his previous life whined to Iril about potato stew growing tiresome, Naviroje had already been cashing in severed enemy noses and ears from the battlefield at camp.
"No period saw me chase strength more fiercely. My mind was consumed with overwhelming foes and avoiding disdain. That's when my Aura manifested."
"I was pursuing a notorious fugitive then. I'd already slashed his ankle with my sword ahead of time, so I simply followed the blood trail. Hours into crossing the jungle, a snake caught my eye."
"Snake? The one I know?"
"Yeah. A massive viper, its blue scales gleaming like jewels. Three monkeys—seemingly a family—were frozen before it, unable to move. Together, they might've fled or fought and saved one, but they didn't. Overwhelmed by terror, they'd lost their will to live."
"The snake began swallowing them one by one. Like picking up windfall fruit. I forgot the fugitive entirely and just watched them vanish into its maw."
"Uh... why?"
"Because that embodied the ideal I sought. Overwhelming foes before the clash even began—a supreme predator needing no effort to dominate. That snake revealed it as my true aspiration. And in that moment of realization, an arrow struck my arm from beyond my sight."
Whoosh-thunk! Suddenly, Naviroje raised her hand, mimicking an arrow embedding in her arm. Startled, Ronan recoiled.
"Shit, you scared me."
"Your face was so grave. You have a cute side like this."
"Cut it out. So what was with that arrow?"
"The fugitive had brought reinforcements. By then, I was a infamous bounty hunter myself. When I snapped to, I realized I was surrounded. The arrowhead was coated in poison."
Ronan nodded vigorously, twice per second, signaling rapt attention. Sweat beaded on his palms—her storytelling gripped him.
A barrage of arrows. A tightening noose. Fading awareness. As Naviroje painted the desperation, she halted abruptly.
"And right then, my Aura manifested."
"Whoa."
"A miracle. Darkness enveloped everything, and the viper from before appeared. The rest unfolded as you imagine."
Naviroje harvested the paralyzed fugitives' heads one by one. The scything sensation, like reaping crops, lingered vividly even now.
"What I'm getting at is... the force driving it all stemmed from the will to grow strong—to overwhelm others."
"Then the reason you can't wield Aura anymore..."
"Yeah. Consecutive defeats to Zaifa shattered that will. Or so I believe."
Naviroje's bitter smile returned. Stroking the scar, she murmured softly.
"The arrow missed, but the hole remains."
Ronan fell silent. He wanted to offer a solution, but none came.
It was an profoundly complex wound. Overt depression might've been preferable. In cases like this, only self-overcoming remained the answer.
"Strange. Meeting you makes me spill everything."
"Glad to hear it. Want this?"
Ronan subtly revealed the pipe from his pocket. Naviroje huffed a laugh.
"You keep forgetting your place as a student. What's so great about it that you indulge constantly?"
"So, no?"
"Fine..."
Naviroje took the pipe wordlessly and placed it in her mouth. With fluid motions like pouring water, Ronan packed it with tobacco and struck a match to light it.
"Haaaah..."
She drew deeply, exhaling toward the lake. Cloud-white smoke dispersed over the twin moons. Her form was flawless even now. Gazing at her profile, Ronan chuckled.
"You started young, huh? Probably while trudging through battlefields."
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"I did too."
Naviroje cocked her head. The inevitable question about battlefields followed, but Ronan replied with a grin. As he admired the lake, hands clasped behind his head.
"Oh, right—I have a question."
"What?"
"That swordsmanship you used against me. Who taught you?"
Ronan arched a brow. Context pointed to the Savior's style. He scratched his head.
"Uh... why?"
"It bore an uncanny resemblance to the swordsmanship of the one who dealt me my first defeat."
"Defeat? Wasn't Zaifa first?"
"One before him. He profoundly shaped my style. Zaifa would revert to a mere cat before that man's blade."
Ronan's eyes widened. A swordsman who could reduce Zaifa to a kitten. Only two he knew fit: the Savior and the Betrayer.
"By chance, was he white-haired?"
"Yeah. How'd you guess that too?"
"His face? Remember his face? Eye color, maybe?"
"Ancient history—not that clear. Ah, might not have mentioned..."
Naviroje trailed off. Turning, she gently caressed Ronan's cheek.
"He felt... similar to you. Thought so since you shaved Cardan bald for Adeshan. Nearly three years now."
"Similar how, exactly?"
"The vibe he gave off... You know, that intangible thing. Indescribable..."
Naviroje groaned, eyes shut. Absurd—she started it but couldn't pinpoint the likeness.
Her palm lingered on his cheek. Knowing it had just washed her body moments ago felt oddly intimate.
As he opened his mouth to speak, a piercing scream shattered the air.
"Eeeeeek! Help! Save me!"
"What the fuck."
Ronan whipped toward the sound. Flocks of birds erupted skyward. Naviroje spoke casually.
"Probably rookie poachers."
"Rookie poachers?"
"Yeah. About time if they've reached here. They prey on desperate wannabes chasing the Holy Sword's claim."