Chapter 189
Chapter 189
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 189
Chapter Title: Mother of Fire (5)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
It had been a long time since he last slashed through fire. The line created by his sword strike split open, and a sudden gust of wind blew in. The wall of flames, torn into hundreds of pieces, scattered on the wind. Ronan turned to Tiber and growled.
"You brainless bastard, know your place before you charge in."
"Se-senpai...!"
Tiber's eyes widened as if they might burst. His idol stood right before him. Schlieffen, who had risen from his seat in the stands, muttered softly.
"...He's gotten even faster."
In his hand was a hilt without a blade. The wind that had scattered the split flames soon reformed into a blade. Even though he had drawn his sword the instant Itargand unleashed the fire, he had been one step too late.
Muttering to himself, Schlieffen sat back down. It looked like he would need to ramp up his training. Tiber, stunned speechless, finally stammered as he opened his mouth.
"Ro-Ronan sunbae. This is truly an honor. To throw yourself into danger to save me like this, I really, really...!"
Tiber could hardly believe what was unfolding. The humiliation of being knocked out in one hit by a freshman was already forgotten. The moment his lips curled up in uncontainable joy.
Pow! Ronan's fist flew in an instant and smashed the crown of his head.
"Keuk!"
"What are you grinning about? Wanna die?"
It was an impact strong enough to crack his skull. Tiber clutched his head with both hands and toppled over.
He deserved to be impaled alive on a spire for that stunt, but since there was no malice behind it, Ronan let it slide with just this one punch. Someday far in the future, when he realized what he'd done, he'd probably faint dead away. Ronan spun his sword once, sheathed it, and glared at Itargand.
"Hey, I get where you're coming from, but moderation, yeah?"
"...My oversight."
Itargand bowed his head, as if ashamed. Even so, he kept stealing glances up at his mother, looking just like a five-year-old who'd done something wrong.
Come to think of it, he hadn't even checked on the most important figure. Ronan took a deep breath and looked up at Navardoje. She gazed down at him with a blank expression.
'What? Why's she looking at me?'
Her stare was so intense it made him uncomfortable, and Ronan averted his eyes without thinking. Kratir, snapping out of it belatedly, declared the victor.
"M-match over. Winner: student Ir!"
"Woooaaah!"
Cheers erupted from every corner. Sure, it had ended abruptly with a third party intervening, but a win was a win. The medical team rushed in and loaded Tiber onto a stretcher. Kratir's telepathic voice rang in Ronan's head.
The crowd chanted Itargand's name. Ronan quietly returned to his original seat. The emperor, having fully folded his newspaper, let out a low chuckle.
"Impressive. As expected, I know how to pick 'em."
"It was nothing. Someone would have stopped it anyway."
"True enough. Still, if it hadn't been you, that gutsy kid might've lost a fistful of hair to the scorch."
Even as Ronan downplayed it, the emperor showered him with praise. He wasn't entirely wrong, really. With all these standout talents around, someone would have intervened—but Ronan had been the quickest. Suddenly, the emperor glanced back and forth between the arena and Ronan, tilting his head.
"By the way, did you do something to offend her?"
"Pardon? What brought that on...?"
"Navardoje's looking over here."
The emperor said. In that instant, every hair on Ronan's body stood on end. He whipped his head around to see Navardoje—legs crossed, just as the emperor described—staring their way.
Her gaze remained locked on Ronan. Eyes flickering with fiery hues bored into him. The vertically slit pupils were unmistakably draconic, not human.
'Shit, what the hell?'
Ronan scooted three seats over, just in case. Her gaze followed like a magnet. An ill omen crept up his spine.
'No way she's pissed I sliced her son's fire so recklessly?'
Ronan swallowed hard. It couldn't be that petty, but dragons were unpredictable as hell—he couldn't drop his guard. Unable to ask outright now, he focused on the entrance ceremony.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. The simple greetings wrapped up 9:1, with everyone but Tiber beating their freshman opponents. Blame Tiber's pathetic loss, but the remaining second-years gritted their teeth and gave it their all. Clang. The last freshman's sword slipped from his hand.
"Kuh... I lost."
"Nah. Polish it a bit, and you've got tons of potential. This freshman class is seriously strong."
"R-really?"
"Yep. You especially—you're a seed of pure talent. So, join our mounted combat club?"
No gloom or hard feelings from the freshmen side. A few monsters aside, losing to upperclassmen was expected. If anything, the seniors' unreal skills and encouraging attitudes inflated their excitement and sense of belonging to Phileon. Navardoje's brief speech closed the ceremony.
Whoosh! Flames bloomed in midair and swallowed her form. When they faded, only the chair Kratir had prepared remained, stark and empty.
Soon, the greatest roar since Phileon's founding exploded. No one had dreamed they'd not only see Navardoje but receive her blessing too. The freshmen, ceremony done, headed to the banquet hall under senior guidance. Ronan turned to the emperor for a goodbye.
"I'll head out then, Your Majesty. See you soon."
"Do that. Good work. Say, where'd Navardoje run off to all of a sudden?"
"Beats me. Wanted to ask if I'd messed up, but poof—gone. Guess I'll bug Ir about it."
Navardoje had stared at Ronan right up to the ceremony's end. He'd figured she'd say something, not just bail. As he started to rise from his chair.
"Huh...!"
A voice came from immediately to his left. Ronan jerked his head around with a sharp intake of breath. Navardoje—who'd vanished—was sitting beside him, legs crossed.
Even with Itargand still down in the arena, she stared solely at Ronan. Her red hair wafted a scent he'd never encountered, utterly captivating.
As Ronan froze in shock. The emperor rose and bowed courteously.
"The Emperor of the Empire greets the Mother of Fire."
"Couldn't let it go. Next time, the imperial palace."
Navardoje spoke with regret. It referred to the Winter Witch affair. Come to think of it, Itargand's dispatch to Rodolan stemmed from the emperor's request for aid from Adren.
'Crowned fool?'
Seemed Adren had some dragon boss figure. No clue if stronger than Navardoje. The emperor shook his head.
"No need. Itargand helped plenty."
"No doubt the greatest功 laborer."
"Understood. Stay well."
The emperor bowed once more and rose. The sight of the continent's mightiest ruler acting so spoke volumes of her stature.
Having tucked away his newspaper, the emperor departed with his guards. Once the area quieted, Navardoje turned back to Ronan.
"Y-yes."
Ronan flinched at the abrupt summons. She stroked her chin and recrossed her legs.
"Yes?"