Chapter 185
Chapter 185
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 185
Chapter Title: Mother of Fire (1)
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The sparring session didn't take long to wrap up. Confirming that no more club members were charging at him, Ronan flashed a satisfied smile.
"You all did great. Now, even if I tossed you into a decent battlefield, you'd survive."
It was sincere praise. In the two years he hadn't seen them, the club members' skills had improved astonishingly. It was the golden result of talent, effort, and excellent guidance meshing together. Of course, Ronan hadn't received a single death judgment, but that was to be expected, so there was no point in arguing about it.
"You guys have really leveled up."
Adding that one line, Ronan sheathed his sword. Click. The satisfying sound of blade meeting scabbard rang out. Ramancha, fused with Lin, now had a short pommel, allowing for more stable swings.
"Huff... huff... No way... I thought for sure I'd win this time..."
"Ooooh... Braum and now Hind too..."
"Ugh! Bleeech!"
The club members who had finished sparring were all battered wrecks. Marya and Braum lay sprawled out like starfish, while Asel, nearly drained of mana, clung to the wall and vomited. The only one who had surrendered before getting ugly, Ophelia, sat slumped in a chair, sipping a liquid she insisted was wine.
"Right now... you could probably hold your own against Balzac."
"Damn right. After all the hell I've been through."
Ronan chuckled. Balzac was a name he hadn't heard in a while. The Shadow Archduke's younger brother who fancied Ophelia. He wondered if both he and the guy who'd stolen the essence of fresh blood for Zarodin were doing well.
"Don't get too down. Look at what you guys did."
Ronan jerked his chin toward the wrecked training ground. It looked like an invisible giant beast had gone on a drunken rampage.
Where Marya's greatsword had struck, massive cracks accompanied each impact. Compared to the sword marks left by Ronan and Schlieffen, they were in no way inferior.
Braum had put up an incredible fight too. Though the temporary greatshield named Hind had met its end, if this were a battlefield and the enemy wasn't Ronan but some unspecified horde, he would have saved the lives of every club member.
"Ughhhh... You're too much. Even if it's aura, how is that even fair..."
Asel wiped his mouth and sniffled. The Winter Witch's voice emanated from Bajura in his pocket. Ronan's temper flared suddenly, and he drew his sword.
"What was that?"
Whoosh...! A crimson glow erupted from the blade, enveloping Asel. The distance between them shrank in an instant. Asel squeezed his eyes shut and opened them to find Ronan right in his face, his expression turning ghostly pale.
"Hyaaak! S-save me!"
"I don't want to hear that from you, asshole. 'Too much'? That's what you say about shit like that."
Ronan grabbed Asel's head with both hands and turned it toward the training ground. Ice spikes larger than buildings sprouted here and there. Seeping cold chilled the entire training hall. It was the same ice the Winter Witch wielded.
"You unleashed a dozen of those without batting an eye, and now 'too much'? Apologize to me and the other mages, punk. Say sorry for being born a genius."
"Shut it, lady. You're pushing it now."
Ignoring the Winter Witch, Ronan pinched Asel's cheeks and stretched them out. The soft flesh elongated.
"H-hurts! I was born ugly!"
"What's the difference between the telekinesis you've used since your goblin panty-thief days and my aura? Huh? Hell, I can even pull mine."
Asel flailed, but Ronan didn't let go easily. Twisting the pinched cheeks in opposite directions made Asel's screams even louder.
"Waaah! Let go!"
"Cheeky bastard. Should I just rip 'em off?"
Of course, Ronan's lips were curled up to his ears the whole time. He was indeed the talent Rorhon had scouted. If only he could pierce Star's Protection, Ronan could throw him at the giants right now. Suddenly recalling the faces of powerhouses lost in his previous life, Ronan gave a wry smile.
'That's the crux of it.'
He had to find a way to counter it somehow. Or become strong enough to tear all the giants apart himself. Releasing Asel's cheek, Ronan turned away. To catch up on the lessons missed during the sword festival, he needed to preview ahead.
"Here's some good news for you hard workers. Only the principal and I know, but I'll tell you special."
"G-good... news?"
"Yeah. Navardoje will attend the entrance ceremony in six days. Parental observation. If she roasts me for corrupting her son, deliver my ashes to my sister."
Silence fell. The flat tone, like recounting yesterday's meal, took time to sink in. Crash! Ophelia's wine glass slipped from her hand. Marya, barely regaining composure, spoke up.
"...What did you say is coming?"
"Red Dragon Navardoje. Won't change anything if you look her up, but just so you know. I'm out."
With that, Ronan left the club area. As he neared the top of the stairs, a scream-like sound came from behind. It didn't sound excited, at least.
Time flew by. Thanks to the delayed letter from Major Nemea, Ronan could focus on academy life for once.
Attending classes after so long, he realized nothing was easier than studying. Stroking Sita while reading the herbology textbook, Ronan muttered.
"I could just live like this forever..."
If not for those damn giants, he probably would have. Graduate the academy moderately, get a decent job, marry someone he loved moderately, and build a moderate family. Raise two kids who looked like them, maybe.
He couldn't understand those who rebelled against such peace. If they yearned for a rough life, send them to the southern warzone for three days' tour—they'd snap out of it. His gaze drifted to the calendar.
'Tomorrow's the day.'
A crude flame drawing overlaid the number 13. Entrance ceremony. And Navardoje's arrival.
After consulting Rorhon, Kratir had decided to inform the emperor of Navardoje's visit. But since it was personal business, they agreed to keep it from the public as much as possible.
'Good luck hiding that.'
Of course, only if she polymorphed into human form. As the largest dragon known, if she came in true form, it was game over. As Ronan organized his notes, every hair on his body suddenly stood on end.
"What the...!"
"Shaaaa!"
His instincts screamed. Sita, jolted awake, hissed at the window. Then, a translucent, thin wave-like thing rushed in from outside. Ronan reflexively drew and swung his sword. Slash! The wave aiming for him tore apart and passed behind.
"Damn, what is that?"
He wasn't sure, but it felt like magic since it yielded to his blade. Suddenly, Ronan noticed Sita's hissing had stopped. Looking down in panic, he shouted.
"Sita? Hey, snap out of it!"
Sita was frozen mid-hiss. No blinking, no breathing—like turned to stone.
Only the very faint heartbeat and lingering warmth proved it alive. Then Ronan realized all sounds inside and outside the dorm had ceased.
"No way."
He flung open the window and stuck his head out. Students milling in the courtyard were frozen like Sita. Even the trees on the windless street hung motionless.
His mind reeled. He couldn't grasp what was happening. Then, distant footsteps echoed. Narrowing his eyes, he saw someone walking in the central plaza. Ronan gripped his hilt.
'That bastard.'
Instinct told him that figure cast the spell. A mage rivaling or surpassing Kratir to cover all of Phileon, but who cared.
"Hold on."
Ronan leaped from the window. His shoes clacked on the stone in the silence. Mana-reinforced thighs bulged. Aiming for the plaza, he closed 10 meters per stride. Then, the world went pitch black.
"What?"
His hairs stood again. Moonlight vanished instantly. Halting, Ronan looked up. Where stars should shine, utter darkness loomed.
'Am I dreaming?'
Darkness blanketed everywhere. Even craning his neck like a gymnast, same. Assuming it was the intruder's new spell, Ronan prepared to unleash sword aura. Suddenly, darkness lifted, stalled moonlight pouring on his face. Simultaneously, glimpsing the edge of the shadow, Ronan gasped.
"That's...!"
It was a wing's outline. Bat-like, one wing shrouded half of Phileon. Tracing right revealed a tail. Still dragging from behind the night sky, it resembled a divine whip of punishment. Staring dumbfounded at the shadow's contour, poof! The darkness vanished, vast night sky reappearing.
"What the fuck."
Ronan cursed. It happened in a blink. No trace of whatever flew overhead.
'A dream. Has to be.'
Ronan stood frozen even after it passed. Too much at once; his head wouldn't turn. How long? Voices drifted from the plaza ahead—a man and woman conversing.
"Entrance ceremony's tomorrow, so why come today?"
"You know how mortals treat me, and you ask? They'll be too intimidated to drink water properly. I need to talk to my son first."
Quiet surroundings made it clear without straining. Ronan frowned. The woman's voice was unfamiliar; the man's, very familiar.
Suppressing his presence, he crept closer. Itargand, polymorphed human, chatted with a robed woman. She raised a hand, caressing his cheek.
"Impressive, our Ir. Learning from humans, of all things?"
"It... just happened that way."
The haughty Itargand fidgeted. Moonlight revealed the woman's indescribably beautiful face. Fiery crimson hair spilled from her hood. On tiptoes, stroking his head, she leaned in.
"Such a good boy. Come here."
"M-Mother, not in front of mortals...!"
"They can't see or hear. So what? Come on."
She seemed about to kiss his cheek. Itargand flailed desperately in refusal. For a split second, her face froze in shock.
"Ir... you..."
"N-No, Mother... that's not..."
Itargand panicked, trying to soothe her. But she whipped her head away, already wounded. Dabbing imaginary tears, she began sobbing.
"How cruel. How long since you left the lair, and now you bully your mom? Sob... sniff..."
"I-I'm sorry, Mother. Don't cry. Please?"
Ronan watched, holding his breath. Guessing her identity was easy. Who else would Itargand call mother?
Just hard to believe this wasn't a dream but reality. Way off from expectations. Taking a deep breath, Ronan slowly backed away.
'Gonna quietly bail.'
Pretend he saw nothing. The time-stop magic didn't seem malicious; they'd lift it soon. Yeah, head back and sleep. As he backed up—
"Sob, so heartbreaking. How I raised you... huh?"
Her eyes met Ronan's by chance as she turned away sniffling. His heart dropped to his navel. Superhuman judgment halted him. Statue-level acting, but she'd already seen him move.
"...You. Unaffected by the spell?"
"What?! Mother, what do you...!"
Itargand gaped at her words. Ronan clung to self-suggestion: still a statue. She approached slowly, stopping before him. From her parted lips came a voice utterly different.
"......Hello. Lady Navardoje."
Ronan squeezed his eyes shut and spoke. Confirming the spell failed, Navardoje's face hardened fiercely. Itargand's shocked cry echoed in the silence.