Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Gran Cappadocia (1)
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"Naviroje?"
"Call me Instructor. And no smoking on academy grounds."
Bronze skin and pale gray hair. Former Sword Saint Naviroje stood there. Strapped diagonally across her back was an odachi longer than her own height.
Ronan knocked out the ash from his pipe and stood up.
"Long time no see. What brings you here?"
"That's what I want to ask you, Ronan. What's the deal with the Imperial Swordsmanship class?"
"They kicked me out for being too good. It was pitiful."
Ronan rummaged through his pocket and handed Naviroje his early completion certificate. She nodded as she examined the crumpled paper.
"It must've been boring after all. I figured as much."
"I learned something new, which was nice, but there's no sense of accomplishment. Self-studying your techniques was fun, though."
Ronan recalled imitating Naviroje's spinning sword strikes back at the inn. It had taken some time to get the hang of it, but it was rewarding.
Naviroje pondered for a moment before speaking.
"Draw your sword."
"Pardon?"
"Let's spar. You don't have anything else to do anyway."
"No, come on, a spar here?"
Instead of replying, Naviroje placed her hand on the hilt of her odachi. Ronan reluctantly drew his sword. She frowned at the state of the black iron sword.
"...You've been swinging this thing around nonstop?"
"Yeah. Until I get a new one this weekend."
"Treat your weapon with care. A sword is a swordsman's life."
"Nah, it's the wielder that matters, not the blade. They're all the same. Of course, I'll pick the sturdiest one I can."
"What did you say?"
Naviroje's face suddenly hardened. She let go of the hilt and let out a soft sigh.
"I wanted to gauge your skill first... but sparring's canceled. Hand over the sword."
"Huh."
Naviroje snatched Ronan's sword without a word. She began stroking the blade with her fingers. Her brow furrowed with every rough scar she felt.
"Neglected... no, you haven't maintained it at all. Why do you think swordsmen go crazy hunting for named blades? Why do they cherish their beloved swords like children?"
"Because their skills suck?"
"...You might not get it. You haven't even reached Sword User yet. It means nothing to someone who can't infuse mana into their weapon."
Ronan's eyes widened at her words.
"What? You knew?"
"Yeah. I couldn't believe you pulled off that level of skill without using mana at all."
"Damn it, it's not that I don't use it—it's that I can't. It's driving me nuts."
"Don't worry about it. You'll be able to use it someday. But if you don't start picking good weapons and maintaining them properly from now on, you'll regret it when you finally handle mana."
Naviroje walked to the lakeside. Ripples from the spring breeze danced across the expansive lake. She assumed an iai stance and spoke.
"Watch closely. I'll show you why weapons matter."
Whoosh! Naviroje's arm vanished from sight in an instant. The horizontal sword beam struck the center of the lake. Splash! A fan-shaped spray erupted, drenching the forest on the opposite shore.
"Whoa."
Ronan was impressed. It was an astonishingly clean strike. Naviroje tossed the black iron sword back to him.
"It's more useless than I thought. Just a lump of iron."
"That's harsh. Is it that much worse than your sword?"
Ronan tilted his head. Even comparing it to memories from his past life, it was an excellent strike. Naviroje was undoubtedly one of the top swordsmen on the continent right now.
Shing. Naviroje silently drew her own odachi. Her arm vanished again. Same stance. Same technique.
-Splaash!
A different result.
A wall of water filled his vision. The spray shot up from one end of the lake to the other, blocking out the sun. The sword beam that plunged into the water carved a slanted path from the surface straight to the lakebed.
Ronan's eyes nearly bulged out.
"What the hell..."
He followed the blue slope with his gaze. At the bottom, the dry lakebed was visible.
Mud spurted from the wounded earth. Waterweed, tasting air for the first time, swayed gently. A few unlucky fish flopped, blinking their eyes.
"Enroll in my class, Ronan. It's normally for second-years, but I'll make an exception."
Roooar... The spray that had darkened the sky began pouring down as rain. Students strolling by the lake fled, covering their heads.
Against the backdrop of the lake closing with a roar, Naviroje said,
"One condition, though. Bring a weapon suited to you—one you can wield for a lifetime."
****
"...That's what happened."
Ronan spoke with a serious expression. It was the first weekend at Phileon.
Asel and Marya, changed into casual clothes, were being dragged along by Ronan to who-knows-where.
"Pya!"
Cita, who had returned the day before yesterday, perched on Ronan's shoulder. Asel gaped in admiration at Naviroje's tale.
"Amazing... Weapons really do matter, huh."
"Yeah, once you can handle mana, they do. I've decided to be pickier about mine from now on."
"Good call. How was last week, though? Your schedule looked brutal..."
Asel knew about Ronan's killer timetable. Ronan sighed and pulled a stack of papers from his inner pocket, handing them to Asel.
"What's this?"
"Dismissal notices."
The crumpled papers were all early completion certificates. Asel's eyes widened.
"H-how many is this? Imperial Swordsmanship, Imperial Spearmanship, Basic Hand-to-Hand, Fundamentals of Shield..."
"Nine. My schedule's completely empty now."
Ronan grumbled. His packed timetable was crossed out with X's everywhere— all early completions.
"Introduce me to some decent classes if you know any. I'm just doing endless physical training."
Most of the early completions were basic martial arts courses. He'd gotten them waived in the same vein as Avar's class.
-There's nothing left for me to teach you.
-Good thing there aren't more cadets like you. I'd have starved.
-Be honest. Have you ever even held a spear before?
Marya frowned. Just yesterday, she'd been rolling around in Avar's hellish training.
"Must be nice. That's why I hate geniuses."
"Come on, if it were hard, fine, but it's basic stuff."
"You know how jealous your classmates are? If you could handle mana too, half of them might've dropped out by now."
At the mention of mana, Ronan quietly pulled out his pipe. Just thinking about it made his head throb. Asel tilted his head innocently.
"Ah, still no mana sensitivity?"
"...Yeah. They treated me like some monkey. Said something's fundamentally wrong."
Twice a week. Despite classes from top Imperial professors, Ronan still couldn't sense mana. He was the only one in his cohort short of Sword User.
"Top seat who can't sense mana. Hilarious, right? His Majesty bloomed aura at eleven."
Ronan chuckled self-mockingly. Asel clenched his fists tightly.
"Someday... no, soon, you'll get it...!"
"I know, man."
Ronan tapped Asel's head with his pipe. It was frustrating, but challenging it had its own rewards. Marya, with her hair tied back in a ponytail, said,
"I'll bring potions that help with mana sensitivity if I find any. So, where are we headed now?"
"R-right, I'm curious too."
They'd been walking forever with no sign of stopping. Asel eyed the increasingly shady streets uneasily.
"Ah. I thought about it, and since we're going anyway, better to go together."
"Going where?"
Ronan rummaged in his inner pocket and pulled out a metal plate. Marya recognized it instantly, her eyes going wide. Ronan tossed it in the air and caught it, saying,
"Somewhere that makes decent weapons."
****
The smithy Schlieffen had mentioned was at the far west end of the workshop district.
After another thirty minutes of walking, the trio arrived at a forge called [Hammer Hammer Hammer]—a ridiculously named place. Ronan tilted his head, sensing something off.
"...This the place?"
They looked around. Something was wrong. Never mind the dilapidated state—there were no signs of life.
"That guy wouldn't lie... Let's check inside first."
Ronan scanned the interior. It looked untouched for ages. The forge was cold, and the weapons on the walls were rusted solid.
"Anyone here?"
His voice echoed in the darkness. Then, a clattering came from the back, and a man emerged, clutching his head.
"Ugh, hangover... What're you kids?"
He was a giant, two heads taller than Ronan. Shirtless, his upper body was covered in thick fur. He looked more beast than man.
"Eek!"
Terrified, Asel hid behind the forge. Ronan frowned. The man reeked of booze, iron, and dog.
The man irritably snapped,
"What do you want?"
"Weapons. Heard you make good blades here."
"Haa... Talk about bad luck. Haven't done business in ages. Can't you see the forge is cold?"
He spat on the floor. Ronan took a deep breath to suppress his anger. Causing a scene might draw outsiders.
He pulled out the metal plate.
"Here, look."
"Huh?"
Ronan shoved it in the man's face. His eyes widened. He glanced between Ronan, the plate, Asel, and Marya, then snorted.
"Grancia family note, huh. So what?"
"Pardon?"
"You Grancias or something? Damn, no idea where the info leaks from. Scram, brat."
The man scratched his crotch. Yawning widely, he leered at Marya and Asel.
"But leave those if you can."
"Those?"
"Those juicy little things. Look delicious."
He cackled vulgarly. Asel and Marya's faces stiffened. Ronan turned to them and spoke.
"Watch your mouth, pal. You might end up crippled for life."
"Saying delicious-looking kids look delicious—crime? Come at me if you're mad."
"Maybe I will."
Ronan gripped his hilt. The black iron sword's tip shot toward the man's shoulders. The moment it touched his skin—
-Clang!
A shock transmitted through his hand, followed by something shattering.
"What?"
"R-Ronan! Your sword!"
Ronan narrowed his brow. In his hand was a half-broken black iron sword. The other half was embedded in the wooden wall.
"...Not bad."
The man laughed incredulously. He hadn't even registered the strike. Marya, glaring at him, suddenly shouted.
"Whoa?! A-armor?"
The man's bare torso now wore armor. No one had seen him put it on.
He stroked the struck spot and sighed.
"Damn, enchantment breaks after one block. Needs more reinforcement."
"What sorcery was that?"
Ronan frowned. The sword's breakage meant it wasn't ordinary armor. Hardness on par with Lord Madros or better.
But it wasn't impenetrable. As Ronan raised the broken sword again, the man raised his hands placatingly.
"Whoa, whoa, stop. You're hired—come on in. Damn, first time seeing a strike that fast in my life."
"Hired?"
"Yeah. Can't just let some obvious non-Grancia waltz in with their plate. Had to test your skill. Who gave you the note?"
Ronan didn't answer. He thumbed back at Asel and Marya.
"Apologize to them first."
"Right, yeah. Sorry, folks. Wasn't serious."
The man bowed politely at once. Stunned, the two accepted awkwardly. Only then did Ronan reply.
"Schlieffen."
"That cheap young master? Weird."
The man chuckled and struck his leg with a hammer. A metallic clang rang out before it hit. Another set of armor appeared.
It fully encased his legs, seamlessly connected top and bottom—like knightly plate. Ronan sheathed his sword.
"Werewolf smith. That's a new one."
"What, figured it out?"
"The dog stench is brutal. You the owner?"
The man barked a laugh. He eyed the unflappable Ronan with interest.
"Nah, just the apprentice. The real bosses are downstairs."
"Then why not help with smithing? Anyone could guard the door."
"Wanted to test the new invisible armor. Was gonna demo it to blow the Grancia knights away, but you showed up."
With that, his body began transforming. His muzzle elongated, grayish-brown fur sprouted everywhere.
His head nearly touched the ceiling. Size rivaling a were-lion or were-tiger.
"Eeeeek!"
"W-werewolf?"
"Pyaargh...!"
Asel and Marya recoiled in horror. Cita puffed up threateningly. Ronan asked flatly,
"Why the sudden change?"
"To show off my masterpiece. See? It adjusts perfectly even when I shift—no slipping or breaking."
Indeed, uncanny. The bizarre armor's seams parted automatically, fitting the beastman's new frame precisely. He boasted proudly.
"Impressive, right? Magical forging is the cutting edge. Old-school smiths hammering plain metal are done for."
His passion for the craft shone through. Ronan smirked and sheathed the broken black iron sword.
"Makes sense they'd contract Grancia's weapons to your shop."
"You knew that too? Haha! Proud of my workplace."
His massive tail swished side to side. Grinning ear to ear, he extended a hand.
"Didikan."
"Ronan."
"Alright, Ronan. What's the exact purpose of your visit?"
"To get a decent weapon."
"Then you're in the right place. Come on in—with your friends too."
"In?"
"You think this is really the shop? Follow me."
The three humans and one bird followed Didikan deeper inside. It looked cramped from outside, but was surprisingly spacious.
Didikan stopped behind the forge.
"All stick close to me. Hope this fits everyone at once."
The group huddled around him. He groped the forge wall and pressed a spot.
The building vibrated faintly, and the floor beneath them began descending slowly.