Chapter 372
Chapter 372
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 372
Chapter Title: Side Story 57. Sword and Star (2)
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"Father."
"What is it, son?"
Ronan shrugged his eyebrows.
He was out on a family picnic, in the middle of playing catch with Lanse.
Clear autumn sunlight bathed the park.
Not far away, under a zelkova tree, Adeshan, Erin, and Sita were sitting on a picnic mat.
Lanse tossed the question along with the ball.
"Um, Father, why don't you challenge for Sword Saint?"
"That's a random question. Why don't you aim for top of the school? Because you don't feel like it?"
"Th-that's different...! It's a position every renowned swordsman covets. Come to think of it, you've never even entered a tournament. I wondered if there's a reason."
"What reason? I just never felt the need. And it's scary, too."
"Scary?"
"Yeah. That place is full of real sword maniacs. Recall the past winners."
Ronan caught the ball.
As his father said, Lanse recalled the lineup of past Sword Saints.
Schlieffen, Zaifa, Naviroje, Storm Sword Croden... They were all far from normal, without exception.
...But wasn't his father the same?
As Lanse searched for a retort,
"Schlieffen's one thing, but the current Sword Saint is Big Sis Naviroje. You want me to clash swords with her? Urk, just thinking about it makes me want to puke."
Ronan made a gagging sound.
He was one of the people who had witnessed Naviroje reclaiming the Sword Saint title firsthand.
Honestly, he'd gone hoping to see her clothes tear just right under Schlieffen's Storm Sword, but what he saw was completely different from his expectations.
He hadn't known back then that she'd reached the Exuviate Realm.
In the title match against Naviroje, Schlieffen was utterly demolished.
'It was gruesome. If it were me, I'd be stuck at home for a month.'
It was hardly worthy of being called a match.
Naviroje subdued Schlieffen without even drawing her sword properly, let alone manifesting sword energy.
Her greatsword slithered through the arena like a serpent.
Schlieffen's Storm Sword, which had never lost its majesty since his awakening, devolved into a mere gentle breeze on a fine day for an outing.
The match didn't take long.
When Naviroje sheathed her sword, Schlieffen lay sprawled on the ground, writhing like a bug.
Ronan couldn't say a word to him.
Even though he'd planned to mock him loudly enough for the whole audience if he lost.
'Pathetic guy. Sis was watching, too.'
He felt angry instead.
So he took it out on the reporters excitedly scribbling their articles.
Not venting anger, exactly—more like proper media control.
No matter how much attention-grabbing mattered, a headline like [Shock! Storm Sword Raped by the Serpent Empress!] was a bit much.
Keeping such trash articles from publishing was the only thing he could do for his friend.
Ronan threw the ball with a bit more force.
"Here, catch!"
"Whoa! Too high!"
The ball arced high.
Lanse, flailing, reinforced his legs with mana and leaped.
A splendid catch.
His movements, reminiscent of a well-trained hunting dog, drew applause from passersby.
Landing with a somersault, Lanse muttered,
"Still, Father could do it..."
"You're driving me crazy. You take Big Sis Naviroje's classes and still say that? Exuviate Realm isn't just about a great body and face, kid. Half the continent's swordsmen would wet themselves just clashing blades with her once. No chance unless you bring old man Zaifa. Or Schlieffen gets some amazing enlightenment."
"I-I know that... But Father's strong enough, too. Like that observer class before..."
"If you're talking about that quadriplegic or whatever, drop it. That guy's no joke—I could fight with a sword hilt up my ass and he'd still spin circles around me. Compare apples to apples."
Ronan clicked his tongue.
He still got mad thinking about it.
One senile old man causing so much suffering for people.
As Lanse was about to throw the ball again,
"You two, that's enough. Come eat lunch~"
Adeshan's voice came from the zelkova tree.
She was sitting on the mat, peeling an apple.
Beside her long legs were stacked lunchboxes she'd made herself.
Erin nodded vigorously.
"Yeah. Erin's hungry, been holding out. Sita too, right?"
"Ppe!"
Sita nodded.
The Dream Bird, once reaper of countless lives, was melted like butter on a frying pan.
Erin rolled around on Sita's fluffy feathers, munching apple slices from Mom.
"Yes, coming. Let's go."
Ronan took off his glove and waved it.
Lunchtime had arrived before he knew it.
Lanse grabbed the ball and followed.
Walking with hands in pockets, Ronan glanced at his son.
"By the way, your butt okay? The spot Mom spanked after the southern trip."
"That's old news...! Sita healed it right away, it's fine now."
"You were bawling and begging. All that bravado. Even Erin was tougher than you."
"Ugh...!"
Lanse's face reddened.
It was after the chaotic field trip.
He and Erin had been sentenced to corporal punishment for daring to parachute into a zombie horde.
The executor: Adeshan de Baltua.
Her loving strike etched an unforgettable trauma deep into Lanse's tailbone.
Ronan, chuckling, ruffled Lanse's hair wildly.
"Couldn't say it then, but you were pretty cool. Diving in to save strangers without a drop of blood shared ain't easy. I'm on Mom's side, but you lived, so it's fine. You did great, son."
"It wasn't that big a deal..."
"Kid. When I praise you, just say 'Yes! Thank you, Father!!' No posing. No girlfriend to show off to anyway... Wait, there's Sechika. You two kiss yet?"
"S-Se-Sechika's name out of nowhere?! We're just friends!"
Lanse's face burned brighter.
They'd end up dating anyway, but what a show.
Frustrating.
I wasn't like that.
Anyway, it was a fine day.
Perfectly cool weather, trees starting to turn.
People strolling the park with smiles.
Bickering as they walked, Ronan grinned.
"Son. I'd rather play another round of catch with you than enter the Sword Saint finals."
"Huh?"
"That's a million times better use of time. For real. You'll get it someday."
Lanse furrowed his brow.
His face said he couldn't grasp why the exalted Sword Saint title was worth less than catch.
Ronan didn't explain.
Some things you had to experience yourself.
Suddenly, a voice from behind.
"But there are those in the world who must prove themselves."
"What..."
The low, heavy voice was familiar.
Ronan drew his sword hilt.
The vanished blade tip reappeared at the speaker's throat.
A were-tiger covered in pitch-black fur looked down at them.
Zaifa smiled.
"Long time no see, brat."
"Your fur's gleaming. The rejuvenation rumors true, huh?"
Ronan's lip curled up.
It had been quite a while.
Scanning Zaifa top to bottom, Ronan realized the exuviate rumors were real.
His ink-black fur, like he'd bathed in ink, brimmed with vitality.
Muscles seemed ready to burst, far denser than he remembered.
"Those little ones your kids? Grown a lot."
"Kids grow fast. Son, greet Dad's friend. Zaifa, know him? Former-former Sword Saint."
"R-real Zaifa? The youth rumors too...!"
Frozen stiff, Lanse finally spoke.
His heart pounded like it would burst.
One of his lifelong idols stood before him.
He'd met him young, no memory.
Zaifa nodded.
"Yeah. Got an unintended enlightenment thanks to that young lion brat. Anyway..."
Suddenly, Zaifa's gaze shifted behind Ronan.
Erin clung to Sita's back, cat-like, wary of Zaifa.
Beside her, Adeshan had risen, staring him down.
Her gray eyes emanated a subtle glow.
"Ease up a bit. My legs are numb."
"Ah. You came so quietly, reflex... Long time, Lord Zaifa."
Adeshan smiled.
The glow faded.
The mental pressure crushing Zaifa from within lifted.
Feeling lighter, Zaifa sighed.
"Phew... Still not used to that ability. Empire's army's lucky to have a commander like you."
"You're no slouch, staying conscious after that. What brings a northern resident here?"
Ronan tapped his hilt.
The guy loved surprises; couldn't let guard down.
Their first meeting, he'd swung his glaive as a "greeting."
Zaifa scratched his head.
"Eh, nothing big... Came to talk. About the Sword Saint tournament. I'm entering this time."
"You too? Pass. I'm not."
"Talking with me might change your mind."
"Talking? With words?"
Zaifa chuckled at the question.
His laugh was sprightly, thanks to youth.
He now carried two short spears on his back, not the glaive.
The two facing each other stopped smiling almost simultaneously.
"Of course not."
"Knew it."
The crack of a whip, and a four-horse carriage halted.
A luxury vehicle, out of place on the rough trail.
The door opened, and a girl with jet-black hair leaped out.
"Waaah! We're here, we're here!"
Aria, out of the carriage, bounced excitedly.
Normally, she'd get scolded for unladylike behavior, but not today.
The teachers and butlers in charge of nagging were all back at Grancia Manor.
Iril followed, beaming.
"Heehee, our Aria's that excited?"
"Yeah! Coming with Mom and Dad's so fun! But where's this?"
A humble rural scene unfolded.
Shrubs lining the path, a narrow river curving around the village, a raft tied to a post.
Village kids clustered, fishing for cherry salmon.
Aria's eyes sparkled.
"So cool..."
"Ehehe, right?"
Utterly ordinary, but fresh to Aria, who spent most time in Grancia territory and the capital.
Iril hugged her from behind.
"This is Nimberton. Mom's hometown."
"Hometown? Where you were born and raised?"
"Yeah. Ronan and I lived here almost our whole lives."
Iril nodded.
Over ten years ago, but days in Nimberton felt vivid, within reach.
Schlieffen, last out with luggage, looked around.
"This is..."
"Shh."
As he started to speak,
Iril pressed a finger to his lips, grinning mischievously.
"Just follow me today. Got something to show you."