Chapter 159
Chapter 159
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 159
Chapter Title: Festival of the Sword (2)
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“Well, well, if it isn’t the hero who brought spring back to the capital?”
“Hm?”
Ronan turned his head. A neatly dressed young man stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, a stark contrast to Ronan, who looked like a beggar after five days of trudging through rough terrain.
He seemed like a noble’s son, but no matter how hard Ronan scrutinized him, the face didn’t ring any bells. The young man straightened his collar and extended a hand for a shake.
“A pleasure to meet you. Your name is... Onan, was it?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Instead of shaking hands, Ronan furrowed his brow. His first impression wasn’t great.
It wasn’t just the rotten pasta of a face or the rudeness of getting his name wrong from the start. Something about him didn’t scream “here for the Festival of the Sword.”
How the fuck did a loser like this make it all the way here?
For starters, he was too weak. The mana emanating from his core was barely at the entry level of sword expert. The ornate rapier at his waist looked more suited for ceremonies than combat.
Ronan glanced around and quickly figured out how this fool had arrived with such a pristine face. Two lightly armored knights stood about three paces away.
Aha.
The crest on their armor matched the embroidery on the young man’s uniform. They were probably family knights. Was it really worth going this far? The young man gave an awkward laugh at Ronan’s reaction.
“Ha... haha. This is a bit embarrassing. I’m Almas Lanizak de Pashaone, eldest son of the Pashaone family. Looks like the rumors about you being a commoner are true.”
“What?”
“Oh, no offense. I’m just surprised you don’t recognize our family crest. I suppose that makes sense.”
The guy—Almas or whatever—stuck out his neck stiffly. Ronan snorted. It had been a while since he’d seen this type. The kind who looked down on you first if you had achievements or a status difference.
He wanted to grab him by the hair and slap him three times right then, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out first. Ronan raised an eyebrow as if to say, “So?”
“What’s your point?”
“Join forces with me. I’ll make sure you reach the sacred grounds.”
“...Huh?”
“This is our third time participating. We’ve never quite made it to the sacred grounds, but we’ve gotten right up to the edge before.”
What bullshit is this? Suddenly, the young man leaned in close. His thick double eyelids were annoyingly tempting to punch. He whispered,
“Word is, this year’s festival is different. Seems the Parjan elders really did have those strange dreams. With a record number of participants, the trials to weed us out will be brutal.”
“Strange dreams? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Heh, your intel’s lagging behind. No worries, it happens.”
Ronan wanted to rip off his nose and shove it in his mouth for the snark, but squeezing out whatever info he could was smart. He nodded silently, letting the young man ramble on.
“According to a leak from one of the elders’ attendants, they dreamed of a white meteor crashing into the sacred grounds. A sword was embedded there, radiating brilliant light. Intriguing, isn’t it?”
“Damn, so all these people showed up because of some old coots’ delusions?”
“You could see it that way. But what if all seven elders had the exact same dream?”
Ronan’s eyes widened. Seven people sharing the same dream was no small thing.
“So? It’s not a bad deal for you, Onan. First time participating, right? Teaming up is the smart choice all around.”
“Why trust me?”
“Come on. Everyone knows you racked up feats on par with Archmage Rorhon when you caught the Winter Witch. The Flowing Fire Itargand and Rodolan inquisitors were just along for the ride.”
The young man let out a sleazy chuckle. Ronan’s lips twisted. It wasn’t entirely wrong, but belittling everyone else’s hard work rubbed him the wrong way.
“I’m not interested. Go find someone else. Schlieffen’s participating too—try him.”
“How could I compare a fading star to you, Onan? Think it over.”
The young man leaned in even closer. Ronan’s brow furrowed deeply.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You calling that guy a fading star?”
“It’s the truth, isn’t it? He was hailed as a genius as a kid, but lately? No real accomplishments. Schlieffen Sinivan’s just riding the Grancia coattails—a has-been.”
Suddenly, the young man was trash-talking Schlieffen. Ronan let out a hollow laugh. In person, he wouldn’t even make eye contact.
This is what happens when I steal all his spotlight.
Sticking to quiet training had led to this crap evaluation. Schlieffen becoming a straw man was largely Ronan’s fault since his return—he’d claimed most of the feats, Winter Witch included.
Why the hell am I so pissed?
Irritation surged. No way Schlieffen deserved shit from a moron like this. The guy was a bit unlucky, but solid otherwise. Ronan took a deep breath and swept back his bangs.
“I see... Yeah.”
“Right? Shall we get going? Time’s almost up.”
The young man urged him on, already treating Ronan like one of his knights. Ronan nodded slowly.
“...Sure. But you—got any real skill?”
“Haha. Not quite your level, Onan, but I’m confident in my quicksword.”
“Oh yeah?”
Ronan casually let his hand drift to his waist. The escort knights kept their eyes glued to the young man. Ronan rested his finger on the hilt and gathered mana.
Perfect chance to test how much faster I’ve gotten.
He felt Ramancha inside the sheath tint red. He had to fool not just the knights but a dozen onlookers too—the ones who’d gathered recognizing the now-famous Ronan.
“Onan?”
The moment the young man called out again, Ronan’s hand vanished from sight. A slash too fast to perceive grazed around the young man’s body. Dozens of straight lines etched across his clothes above and below.
-Slash!
“Ah?”
Sensing something amiss, the young man twitched his brow. At the same time, his clothes exploded outward. A timely gust carried the shredded fabric far away, like butterflies taking flight in a dreamy scene.
“Heek?!”
The now-naked young man screamed. Unlike Naviroje’s recent bare form, this was utterly pathetic. A nearby female swordswoman who’d been watching clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Kyaa! P-pervert!”
“A beast like that in the sacred Festival of the Sword! Guards!”
Outraged reactions erupted everywhere. Ronan shrugged and chuckled. It was a familiar, welcome sensation after so long.
“A-ahh...!”
The young man’s legs gave out, and he collapsed. The knights’ eyes bulged.
“W-what the—!”
“Young master!”
They rushed to him without even glancing at Ronan. They hadn’t noticed a thing. The slash hadn’t touched skin, slicing precisely to the underwear.
Nothing beats this for honing quicksword. Still got it.
Satisfying result. If he’d gotten the name right at the end, maybe mercy—but no such luck.
His mood lifting, Ronan turned to leave amid the chaos. Clink. Something caught at his feet.
“Hm?”
He looked down. A ornate dagger glinted there. The sheath bore the Pashaone family crest.
Spare weapon, huh.
Must’ve rolled here when his pants and coat flew off. Ronan scanned around. Everyone’s eyes were on the screaming young man.
Not bad.
Gem-encrusted—looked pricey. Fair compensation for wasted time. Casually bending down, Ronan pocketed it. No one noticed...
“Thief.”
“Shit.”
...or so he thought. A voice came from right behind. Ronan closed his eyes and cursed. He turned his head with a rusty creak. No one there.
“Huh?”
More precisely, no one paying him attention. As he tilted his head in confusion, the low voice rang out again.
“Over here.”
“Ah.”
Only then did Ronan realize the voice came from below. Looking down, he saw a white head. A tiny girl crouched at his feet.
“...You?”
“Saw everything.”
Her snow-white hair hung down to the ground, so lush it overflowed. The girl slowly stood. Even at full height, her head barely reached Ronan’s solar plexus. Looking up to meet his eyes, she spoke.
“That was you. Stripping that guy’s clothes too.”
“Huh? What’re you—”
“Don’t play dumb. Exactly 23 times.”
“What?”
“Number of swings.”
She answered flatly. A chill ran up Ronan’s spine. He hadn’t imagined anyone reading it that precisely.
His mind blank, fumbling for words, the girl suddenly raised her hand and patted his butt.
“It’s fine, though. You’re handsome, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Huh?”
“Your face is my type.”
Ronan stared blankly. Her expression seemed sincere—no joke or lie. Her bright eyes sparkled like clear water.
What the hell is this kid?
Now she was openly groping his butt. Her touch was sticky, like she’d done it plenty. Grabbing her hand to stop her, Ronan whispered,
“Quit groping, kid. So, you’re not saying anything?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks... I said quit it.”
Her twig-like hand was creeping up his thigh again. Ronan stopped her once more. Puffing one cheek, she muttered,
“It’s not like it’ll wear out. So stingy.”
“Quite the brazen little brat. A shrimp like you pulling shit my penal legion buddies would do drunk.”
Cute face, but her actions matched his boozed-up comrades. She shook her head firmly.
“Not a brat. A lady.”
“Ha.”
Ronan scoffed, reminded of Asel declaring himself manly.
“Lady, my ass. Generously, you’re thirteen or fourteen tops.”
“I’m older than you. And I’m a participant too.”
“What?”
“See? Sword.”
With that, she gathered her hair back. A longsword, about her height, emerged from hiding—slung sideways. The hilt was worn, but the blade hidden in the sheath made its quality hard to gauge. Releasing her hair, it vanished again. Ronan asked incredulously,
“Kids like you can join the Festival of the Sword?”
“Lady, not kid. I’m going now.”
“Sulking?”
She turned without answering. Her flowing hair lagged a beat.
“Ladies don’t sulk over this. It’s starting soon—head back.”
“Uh... yeah.”
“See you.”
She waved at the stunned Ronan. He called after her, but she melted into the crowd without looking back.
“...What the fuck.”
Ronan muttered at the spot she’d left. Seemed like he’d been running into weird kids lately.
The moment she’d nailed the swing count flashed in his mind. Twenty-three. Counting what others couldn’t even perceive. A belated thrill coursed through his limbs.
...Kinda exciting now.
He’d nearly been disappointed in the Festival of the Sword after meeting a moron first, but that void was filling. Ronan turned back toward the plaza.