Chapter 166
Chapter 166
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 166
Chapter Title: Sword Festival (9)
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As the sun set, twilight descended upon the land. A hazy glow flowed along the darkening horizon.
Ronan returned to the restaurant after finishing his conversation with Russell. His mind was complicated in many ways. As he opened the door, a wave of intensified heat, the smell of grilling meat, and people's exclamations poured out.
"Just how many bowls is that now?"
"Impressive. And with just three of them."
"The young lord barely touched his food...!"
Ronan, who had glanced around thinking a fight had broken out, let out a hollow laugh. Everyone's eyes were fixed on one spot. It was the table where Ronan's group sat. Naviroje, Rin, and Schlieffen faced each other.
At that moment, the apron-clad owner placed beer mugs made from ox horns and large platters in front of the three. The platters, bigger than average trays, were piled high with golden-brown roasted wild boar. He glanced at Naviroje and said,
"Y-You eat so well. Here's the beer and wild boar."
"Thank you. I think this is enough for me... Rin. Can you eat more?"
"Yeah. I want to."
Rin nodded at Naviroje's urging. They seemed to have grown close in the meantime. The owner's eyes twitched for a moment.
As he awkwardly flashed a business smile and headed to the kitchen, the onlookers erupted in cheers again. It was frightening to even guess how many platters they had devoured to elicit such a reaction. That's when Naviroje, who had been wiping Rin's mouth with a napkin, locked eyes with Ronan.
"Ronan. You're late."
"...Yeah, things just happened."
"Sit down. I already ordered for you."
Naviroje pointed to the chair across from her. Ronan plopped down on it and downed the beer mug in front of her in one go. His bobbing Adam's apple finally stopped after a long moment. Thud! He roughly set the empty mug down.
"Phew... This place packs a punch."
"Parzan's beer has always been famous for its taste. Some even join the festival just for this. But smoking and now drinking? You're bold."
"It's not Phileon, so what's the harm."
Ronan smirked. Even if someone held a knife to his throat and told him not to drink, he planned to tonight. He called the owner for more beer. Naviroje scanned him up and down and spoke.
"No bloodstains, so you finished him with sword aura, I assume?"
"Pardon?"
"The guy who told you to follow him. He looked all bulk but no substance, just as I thought."
It was about Russell. Whether due to the tense atmosphere or not, she seemed convinced he had killed the man under the pretext of a spar. Rin chewed her meat, eyes sparkling with interest. He shook his head.
"I didn't kill him."
"I know."
"Pardon?"
"I said it because your face looked so grim. Do I have to explain everything?"
Naviroje chuckled. She was even cracking jokes she wouldn't normally make, clearly in high spirits. Only then did Ronan notice her slightly flushed face. He raised an eyebrow.
"Just how much did you drink?"
"A bit. My beloved disciples are excelling at the Sword Festival—how could I stay calm as their master? Ahaha... I'm happy to see you all."
Ronan and Schlieffen's faces stiffened. If their ears weren't playing tricks, she had just called them her "beloved" disciples. She must have drunk more than a little. Unable to hold back, Ronan burst out laughing and said,
"Me too."
"That's right. Such cute kids."
Naviroje leaned forward and stroked their cheeks. She looked utterly affectionate, nothing like her usual self. She asked a couple more times if they had any worries, but Ronan just vaguely brushed it off, avoiding a real answer.
He wasn't sure if he could tell her. Especially not her. Rin, who had been watching Ronan intently, tugged at Naviroje's sleeve.
"Hm? What's wrong?"
"I need the bathroom."
"Ah. Exit the restaurant and turn right..."
"It's dark and scary. Come with me."
Rin said shamelessly. Not something a self-proclaimed lady would say. Naviroje stared blankly at her for a moment before nodding. As she stood, she patted her two disciples' heads.
"Eat slowly. I'll take a stroll too."
"Why not just adopt her? Char a bit and no one would doubt she's your daughter."
They held hands naturally, the perfect picture of mother and daughter. Smack! Naviroje lightly smacked Ronan's head before heading out. Just before the door closed, Rin winked at him. Ronan laughed in disbelief.
"That little rascal..."
Anyone could see she had deliberately made herself scarce. With the spectacle gone, the drunkards' attention scattered. Only Ronan and Schlieffen remained at the table.
"Not eating more?"
"I finished my meal an hour ago."
"You waited for me on purpose. As expected of nobility."
"I can leave if you want. Need time to think alone?"
"...No, stay. I can tell you."
Ronan shook his head. There was no one else to tell anyway. He relayed exactly what Russell had said: someone ominous climbing from the other side of the mountain, likely one of the Dawn Unit massacrers. And the story of the white-haired swordsman Naviroje had once met. Schlieffen, listening intently, nodded.
"That would certainly unsettle the instructor."
"Yeah. Better not risk it."
Russell's description of the demon matched the robe-wearer who betrayed the savior—the man presumed to be his birth father. It could be coincidence, but white hair and crimson eyes weren't common, as Russell said.
Of course, it probably wasn't the robe-wearer himself. The swordsmanship was similar, and the demon was clearly skilled, but the style differed. Still, Ronan couldn't shake the feeling of a major connection.
'What the hell is climbing up there.'
Ronan twisted his lips. It was frustrating not to have grounds to capture the demon right now. The glittering mana at the massacre site was visible only to him, and it could be from another accomplice. The wrist-slitting brutality was gruesome but not illegal by the book.
'If I go over and it's not him, I'm screwed.'
The biggest issue was that this was Parzan during the Sword Festival. Sneaking across was nearly impossible. To reach Aran Parzan, one had to cross the summit sanctuary—an inviolable zone guarded by the elders overseeing the festival. Each was at least a Sword Master.
'I have to catch him for sure.'
Showing the Dawn Badge might work, but the timing felt wrong. Ronan truly didn't want to let him escape. Better to strike decisively in the right place than rush and fail. Schlieffen voiced his thoughts.
"Confirmation first."
"Right."
Ronan nodded. Fortunately, the mountain narrowed higher up. Coming for the Sword Festival meant likely aiming for the holy sword. The closer to the goal, the harder to abandon. Finally deciding, he sighed.
"Damn, guess we have to go up. Poor bastards on the other side."
"Seems so. Finished eating?"
"Huh?"
"Spar with me. We should do what we can in the remaining time."
Schlieffen stood. Ronan blinked at him before chuckling. Looking back, this guy's consideration was always like this.
"Customer. The beer is... Huh?!"
Ronan snatched the beer the owner brought and downed it. His mind felt much lighter now.
"You know no one's taking responsibility if you die?"
Ronan cackled as he followed Schlieffen out. Minutes later, roars echoed from the mountainside. Exactly an hour after, they were banned from spars that day for terrain destruction.
The selection trials consisted of four stages. With two to three days of rest between each, completing all took about a week.
Ronan and his group passed the second trial smoothly. It was a flag capture battle between divided camps—far more fun now that the first trial had weeded out the mediocrity.
The survivors were all genuinely skilled. He even spotted a few he'd want as comrades later.
"Ronan. Come to our kingdom after the festival. I'll get you whatever you want."
"Why not join our house entirely? Break free from your birth-assigned status this time... What? Higher prestige than House Acalusia? No, but..."
Interestingly, many wanted Ronan. That night after the second trial, about twenty participants visited him one after another. Their words and offers varied, but the gist was the same: Become mine, or ours.
Among climbers from Gran Parzan, the top three were Ronan, Schlieffen, and Naviroje. The latter two had firm affiliations, so recruitment was impossible. Ronan, though a hero of the capital's spring, was still a student.
Precisely, a royal secret agent, but they didn't know that. To those scouting talent in Parzan, he was prime. His prowess in two trials far exceeded rumored hype, so they tempted him with sweet offers. But his reply was always the same.
"Talk at the summit, not here. Then I'll consider it seriously."
In short, prove your worth first. No matter the offer, Ronan was firm. Realizing compromise was impossible, they turned away with renewed determination. Some grumbled about his arrogance, but they weren't worth talking to anyway.
'Not all crowds are quality. Those who reach the top are the real deal.'
Ronan watched participants who didn't approach him. True talents stayed silent. He suddenly thought of the fast-footed boy and Zeifa, still unseen. If Zeifa entered the festival, they should've met by now—delivery success doubtful. Well, all would be clear in days.
Shaking off the crowd, Ronan began training as usual. On a massive rock gleaming under moonlight. The routine: meditation to unravel vascular curses and mana cultivation. Standing straight, eyes closed.
'Oh yeah, gotta finish unraveling that damn curse too.'
It had improved post-sea voyage, but the power restriction lingered. As he cleared stray thoughts and meditated deeply, Rin's voice came from behind.
"Working hard."
"Not sleeping?"
Ronan spoke with eyes shut. A cool night breeze answered for her. She'd gotten a new sword somehow and passed the second trial unremarkably, drawing no attention. Rin said,
"Why'd you come here?"
"'Cause the big-tits princess you like invited me."
"Pervert."
"Says the one grabbing my ass. Hands off."
Rin clicked her tongue and slyly dropped her arm. She always wandered like this during his training, like a kid seeking playtime.
"No interest in the holy sword?"
"Holy sword?"
"Yeah. Most come for that."
By footsteps, she circled the rock. Chewing on "holy sword," he spat,
"I don't buy fairy tales. Probably made up by those elders or money-grubbers like Marya. They'd starve without visitors."
"Who's Marya?"
"Someone. Strong, big chest."
"Oh. Wanna meet her."
Rin sounded intrigued. They debated chest anatomy for near thirty minutes. Ronan laughed hearing she'd gotten scolded for peeking down Naviroje's shirt.
"Hah, total perv. If you were a guy, your head would've rolled."
"Yeah. She got mad, scary."
"Crazy. Hey, after the festival, join our academy? Age fits, you've got skill."
"Huh?"
"It'll be fun. Introduce you to Marya and others. Fix that hand habit, and they'll love you."
The night wind tousled his bangs, chill from the altitude. Ronan realized this was his first "pitch" in Parzan. Rin broke the silence.
"...Are you hitting on me now?"
"Word choice. Well... could see it that way?"
"No."
Sharp refusal. Ronan's brow furrowed. As he opened his mouth,
"Fine, can't be helped..."
"Not here. Say it again at the summit."
"Huh?"
"Who knows? Might change my mind."
His own line to others. Ronan finally opened his eyes. Only he stood on the flat rock. Looking around frantically, he spotted Rin scampering far away, steps lighter than usual.
"Weirdo."
Ronan looked up at the night sky. Dawn and the third trial loomed in hours—the final gateway to confirm the demon's identity.