Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Empire's Rising Star
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#17
Martial Arts Department Second Place / Ronan
The pipe clenched in Ronan's mouth fell to the ground. For a split second, time stretched out endlessly.
The clamor of the plaza faded away, leaving only the silver letters blazing in the corner of his narrowed vision.
Second place.
The letters flashing before his name were unmistakably written that way.
Second place? What did that mean again? It wasn't bad, as far as he could recall. Was it named after a fruit?
Then, from somewhere, Asel's voice rang out.
"Ro, Ron, Ronan! Se-Second, second place!"
"Huh?"
"Second from the top! You did it!"
Right, that was the meaning.
Time began to flow again. Ronan snapped back to reality and looked down.
Asel's face, nearly in tears as he spoke, came into view. Marya came rushing over in a heartbeat and threw her arms around Ronan's neck.
"I told you you'd make it, didn't I? Huh?"
Marya clung to Ronan's neck and wouldn't let go. Ronan patted her back and gazed at the slightly smaller letters next to his name.
Martial Arts Department Second Place / Ronan: Practical 1st, Written 5712th
"Ha."
He couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. 5712th? It was such a wasteful rank even to calculate. He wondered just how many points they must have showered him with in the practical to end up with this result.
"You know how to read people, at least."
But it didn't matter. The important thing was that he was second from the top. There would undoubtedly be scholarships and all sorts of perks.
Martial Arts Department First Place / Schlieffen Sinivan de Grancia: Practical 2nd, Written 1st (3)
The only thing that nagged at him was that he'd smacked Schlieffen's ass in the practical, perhaps?
Recalling his past life memories, Ronan clicked his tongue.
'This could get annoying if I'm not careful.'
Schlieffen's skill was beyond doubt, but that peculiar competitive streak worried him.
He was the pinnacle of humans who couldn't stand the mere fact of someone being above them.
"Well, then... shall we head out now?"
It was the moment Ronan turned to leave with his friends. Suddenly, an inexplicable chill raced down his spine.
"Hm...!"
It felt like a frigid winter wind tearing through his entire body—an unpleasant yet familiar sensation. It was as if the sound of the wind was whispering in his ears.
"No way..."
Swallowing hard, Ronan slowly scanned his surroundings. His gaze soon fixed on one spot.
A boy in a blue uniform was striding toward them. Ronan squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.
"Damn it."
He knew that face. Even from over ten meters away, it was unmistakable.
The people who recognized the boy's face parted to the sides.
"Whoa... look at that guy. His face is like... huh?!"
"I-It’s the Empire's Rising Star."
"An honor to meet you!"
Finally, the boy stopped in front of Ronan. Marya was the first among the three to react. Looking up at the boy's face, her eyes widened in shock.
"Sch-Schieffen?!"
He was tall and strikingly handsome. His dark bluish hair was as deep as the ocean abyss.
Though he still had a youthful air due to his age, the cold impression carved like from a glacier remained unchanged.
This was the boy who would later become the continent's greatest swordsman, surpassing even the Empire. Schlieffen murmured lowly.
"You're Ronan."
"Huh? Nah, wrong guy."
Ronan whistled and averted his eyes. Asel and Marya's faces stiffened. A faint wrinkle creased Schlieffen's brow.
"Why are you lying?"
"Lying? Got any proof I'm Ronan? And who said you could talk to me like that, huh?"
"...Proof."
Schlieffen fell silent. He could present two pieces of evidence.
The first was that he'd overheard their conversation by chance. The second was the extraordinary aura emanating from Ronan.
Aura awakening. Having reached enlightenment, he could see it. The ring encircling Asel's heart, the mass growing in Marya's dantian. The inscrutable mana pulsing in Ronan's chest.
But Schlieffen explained neither.
"What the hell!"
Suddenly, Ronan cursed and gripped his sword hilt. In an instant, Schlieffen's hand vanished, and sparks flew in the air.
Clang! The belated clash of metal echoed.
"Kyaaah!"
"F-Fight!"
"Ronan!!"
Screams erupted from the surroundings. It had happened so fast that no one saw how Ronan and Schlieffen had come to cross swords.
Black iron and mithril. The two blades growled against each other in midair. Schlieffen murmured lowly.
"This is proof."
"What?"
"If you weren't the practical top, you couldn't have blocked it. I want to know what technique you used."
"Are you insane?!"
Ronan yelled, veins bulging. This level of obsession was beyond reason.
Even back on the battlefield in his past life, he'd thought the guy wasn't ordinary, but to think he'd matured into this.
"Fine, I'll show you!"
Either way, ignoring such provocation would make him either lame or crazy. Ronan gripped his hilt tight.
As the clinging blades separated, three slashes shot toward Schlieffen. For the first time, bewilderment flashed in Schlieffen's hitherto calm eyes.
"Ngh!"
Clang clang clang! Three bursts of sparks bloomed in rapid succession in the air. Ronan flicked his blade clean and spat on the ground.
"Satisfied now?"
"...Indeed worthy of practical top."
It was a strike that would have shattered an ordinary sword, but Schlieffen's mithril blade stubbornly withstood the impact. Ronan continued.
"Yeah, kid. If you've always been first, learn to be content with second sometimes. Right?"
Schlieffen nodded, eyeing his severed coat hem. It had been a terrifyingly swift strike that could have taken his head.
Ronan was about to sheathe his sword, inwardly sighing in relief, when—
"But I can't accept that you surpassed me."
"What?"
"Show me everything you're hiding."
Suddenly serious, Schlieffen thrust. Ronan hastily raised his sword to parry. A shrill metallic screech tore through the air.
"Cut it out, you bastard! What's your damn problem?!"
Schlieffen didn't answer. Over a few seconds, more than ten exchanges flew. Parried slashes sparked, deflected thrusts grazed cheeks.
Ronan cursed himself for not leaving sooner. This highborn lunatic would undoubtedly keep this up until his curiosity was sated.
Suddenly, a foreboding premonition crossed Ronan's mind.
'This guy's about to activate his Aura, isn't he?'
Ronan dismissed most Aura users. They were flashy but often useless in real combat.
But Schlieffen was different. His so-called Stormblade Aura was a cheat skill treated like a strategic weapon.
Of course, having returned to the past, it wouldn't be at its former power yet—and no one would activate Aura in a crowd unless desperate—but he couldn't be sure. He needed to end this and slip away quickly.
As he pondered a solution, a flash of inspiration struck.
'Oh yeah, this.'
Ronan eyed Schlieffen's bluish-glowing blade. Undoubtedly mithril infused with mana. Rummaging swiftly in his inner pocket, a round lump appeared in his right hand.
He slipped his left hand behind his back and flashed a V-sign with index and middle fingers. Asel, who'd been watching anxiously from behind, widened his eyes. It was their signal set after the Luna Goblin incident.
Meaning: [Run]
"Ma-Marya. Let's go."
"Huh? Wh-where?!"
Asel grabbed Marya's hand and vanished into the crowd. At that moment, Schlieffen's slash came again.
Ronan lowered his sword and swiftly raised his right arm.
"Stop!"
"What...!"
Schlieffen hurriedly tensed to halt, but the blade was already at Ronan's face. The mithril edge struck his palm.
-Chaaaaang!!!
A bizarre metallic resonance boomed across the entire plaza.
"Grk?!"
The crowd clamped their ears at the unearthly wail. It was mithril's unique harmonic property.
The shock, like an earthquake wave, surged from his hand through his body. Schlieffen lost his grip on the hilt.
Seizing the opening, Ronan headbutted him. Crunch! Schlieffen clutched his nose and toppled.
"Ugh!"
"As expected of a phantom breed. Filial piety from birth."
Ronan grinned satisfactorily at the Dream Bird egg in his hand. As predicted, the shell was unscratched.
Only possible because of the mithril sword. Ronan pocketed the egg again.
Then he shouted at Schlieffen, staggering to his feet.
"Cool your head until orientation, kid! A real man accepts the results!"
"Ngh... stop right there...!"
Ronan turned and melted into the crowd. Soon after he left, armored guards rushed in.
Recognizing Schlieffen, they urgently supported him.
"Sch-Schlieffen, sir! Are you alright? What was that sound?!"
Schlieffen stood, pinching his bleeding nose. He tried extending his mana to track Ronan's group, but they were too far.
"...Yes. I'm fine."
"Who dared do this? Describe him and we'll...!"
"I'm technically still an examinee."
The guards tilted their heads, slow on the uptake. Only after seconds did they realize he meant no formal address.
"Ha...! Y-yes, sir... I mean, got it."
"And it was nothing. I requested a light spar, and he obliged. No need to concern yourselves."
"St-Still..."
"I guarantee it on the name of House Grancia."
With the Grancia heir saying that much, the guards had no more to say. They bowed ritually and withdrew.
Schlieffen picked up his fallen sword. Examining the blade, his eyes widened.
There was a hairline crack, faint but real.
'What in the world...?'
Something didn't add up.
The orb that had repelled his mithril blade was one issue, but the biggest was that the inscrutable mana he'd attributed to Ronan was actually emanating from the orb.
'No mana from him personally.'
Schlieffen recalled their exchange. He hadn't activated Aura, but he'd infused considerable mana into his blade.
He'd assumed Ronan had done the same...
'No, impossible.'
He briefly considered Ronan fighting without mana. But he shook his head. Unfeasible.
A more plausible hypothesis: Ronan wielded the ultra-rare hidden mana, shadow mana. That explained everything.
"...Damn."
The nosebleed stopped. Returning reason made the wind feel cold.
Ronan's words echoed: learn to accept results. He had to admit the shock of second in practical had overexcited him.
Schlieffen looked up. The passers' names still blazed across the sky with stars.
His gaze fixed on the two letters burning beneath his name.
"Ronan."
His hand tightened on the hilt. Phileon Academy. He'd thought it merely a stepping stone to Sword Saint, but apparently not.
Schlieffen turned toward the market street. His heart pounded at an unusual rhythm. The young genius didn't yet know that feeling was anticipation.