Chapter 377
Chapter 377
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 377
Chapter Title: Sword and Star (7)
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"How..."
Schlieffen muttered in bewilderment.
The one pointing a sword at him was unmistakably Ronan.
He couldn't fathom what had happened for Ronan to show up in Zaifa's place.
Despite being invited to the Sword Saint Selection Battle countless times, the man had never once accepted.
Suddenly, a deep voice rang out from the stands.
"Why don't you explain instead of just standing there...? From what I see... cough, cough. It doesn't look like a trivial matter."
"Ah. Your Retired Majesty."
It was a kindly voice.
Ronan turned his head with a bright smile.
A frail old man on the verge of death sat beside the emperor.
He hadn't been there moments ago—must have stepped out to the restroom or something.
Schlieffen hurriedly dropped to one knee.
"Schlieffen de Sinivan Grancia greets His Retired Majesty."
"Ah, right. Ronan... no, Ronan de Valture greets you as well. Er, Your Retired Majesty. It's been so long, it's confusing."
Ronan scratched his head.
Court etiquette just never stuck with him.
The onlookers gasped at the botched greeting.
The old man's identity was none other than the former emperor, Valon the 44th.
Despite the rudeness, the retired emperor waved it off with a calm smile.
"No need for such formalities... to an old man who's no longer emperor... cough! Cough!"
"What? Are you okay?"
"Of course not, but don't worry. It's only natural at my age. I guarantee you, even if I dropped dead right here, no one would mourn it as a tragic loss in the prime of life."
Valon the 44th chuckled.
Ronan gave a wry smile at the sight.
He looked like a completely different person from the one who had awarded him the Dawn Medal in the imperial palace long ago.
His hair was entirely white, and the wrinkles covering his skin were as dense as the rings of an ancient tree.
His neck was so thin it seemed unable to support even a crown.
"You should be back at the palace playing spot-the-difference with the palace maids instead of coming to a chilly place like this..."
Ronan muttered to himself.
He wasn't joking—if startled too much, the old man might just keel over on the spot.
Technically a heart attack, but at that age, death by anything counted as natural causes.
Ronan's narrowed gaze turned to the emperor right beside him.
"Your Majesty..."
"W-Why are you looking at Us like that? We and the ministers tried to dissuade him several times."
Valon the 45th, who had met eyes with him, shook his head in alarm.
The man, who had only ascended the throne nearing fifty, found Ronan somewhat intimidating.
It was partly because Ronan had been so close to his predecessor, and partly because he had witnessed the full spectacle of Ronan slaughtering the giants from start to finish.
He knew Ronan had contributed more to the empire than anyone, but honestly, he was a bit scary.
"I haven't said a word yet, Your Majesty."
"Ahem, your gaze is just too sharp. It makes one wonder if they've committed some sin."
"How could a sage ruler like Your Majesty ever do such a thing? Forgive my impertinence."
"No, if you put it that way, what does that make Us? Why are you only perfect with etiquette at times like this?"
Valon the 45th let out a bewildered mutter.
He wanted to ask the Grand General to rein in her husband, but she wasn't present.
Ronan lifted his bowed head with a chuckle.
For better or worse, he personally liked the current emperor.
Like planting beans and harvesting beans, he took after his excellent monarch father in both looks and ability.
They'd even gone hunting together as couples a few times—why the discomfort?
The retired emperor spoke.
"So, what exactly happened? Where's that friend Zaifa, and why are you here?"
"Ah... it's really nothing much. The spar just got too intense."
"Spar?"
"Yes. The day before yesterday, I think? I was playing catch with my son when Zaifa shows up out of nowhere and challenges me to a bout. My body was itching for a fight anyway, so I figured I'd check out the old man's skills after all this time. But good lord, he'd gotten ridiculously strong—beyond imagination."
Recalling the moment, Ronan stuck out his thumb.
The spar with the reborn Zaifa had been the most thrilling and meaningful experience lately.
The rejuvenated tiger master hounded Ronan like a black lightning bolt.
His new weapons, the pair of short spears, were fangs that tore space asunder.
He wasn't someone you could hold back against, so Ronan had to get serious for the first time in ages.
"...Don't tell me Zaifa's dead?"
"What kind of terrifying nonsense is that? He's one of my few friends—why would I do that? I just put him in a cool underground spot to cool his head."
The match had ended at dawn when the sun had fully set.
After a fierce clash of strength, he had slammed Zaifa deep into a valley gorge and knocked him out.
It was a deeply satisfying victory, but there was one problem.
No one left to represent in the Sword Saint Selection Battle.
Ronan sighed.
"Hoo... Honestly, I wanted to just run away. I'm the type who prefers spending time at home with family no matter what. But everywhere I went, there were huge posters saying Zaifa was in the Sword Saint Selection Battle. Damn old fart."
"So you're stepping in for the defeated Zaifa."
"That's right. Sorry to disappoint those who were expecting him."
Ronan waved toward the stands.
The crowd remained frozen in chill silence.
It wasn't just because Zaifa couldn't compete—it was because Ronan had appeared so casually after defeating the reborn warrior.
"Ronan...! Didn't he completely retire from active duty after the war?"
"See, what did I tell you? A hero who saved the world can't be weak. This settles those idiot debates about his skills once and for all."
"Prep the article right now! Empire's Rising Star Clashes with the Hero at Parzan's Summit! Front page for sure!"
Ronan realized anew how tamely he'd been living.
It was the kind of intense reaction you'd expect from invalids suddenly standing up.
Well, that's how I've lived by choice.
Suddenly, Ronan's gaze turned to Naviroje.
"You look good up there. As expected, sis looks coolest at the top."
"You."
She stared down at Ronan, rigid.
When something was too absurd, words failed.
Ronan stuck out his tongue, showing his bloodied hand.
"Zaifa probably won't make it. See how I'm injured too? My hand's still throbbing."
"...Doesn't matter. That idiot couldn't control his hot blood. Are you prepared to fight seriously?"
"Of course. Don't misunderstand—I didn't come out in Zaifa's place because I take this lightly. I'm a swordsman too, after all."
Suddenly, Ronan gripped his sword hilt with both hands.
The smile faded from his sunset-orange eyes.
He raised his sword vertically and offered a sword salute to Naviroje and Alogin.
"Naturally. We have to take it seriously."
"Good then."
Naviroje chuckled.
It was one reason she liked Ronan.
He seemed playful about everything, yet never took lightly what others valued.
Except for idiotic things like Nebula Klazie's ambitions...
"I, Ronan de Valture, permit participation in the Sword Saint Selection Battle. What say you, Lord Alogin?"
"I'm in favor too. This might be even more fun."
Alokin agreed.
The unexpected always pleased the old man.
Besides, it had been since the final war that he'd seen Ronan wield a sword.
With the emperor's approval for the matchup, all that remained was the opponent to face Ronan.
Ronan turned to Schlieffen.
After a few seconds of silence, he nodded.
"I agree."
"That's more like it."
Ronan smiled.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the stands.
Preparations for the match were completed in an instant.
Elite mages from each magic tower erected a barrier separating the stands from the arena.
Having already discussed much, the emperor and Sword Saints skipped their speeches.
Iril bounced excitedly and shouted.
"Ronan! Honey! Do your best, both of you!"
"Eek! Uncle and Daddy are really fighting!?"
Aria's eyes widened in shock.
Ronan smacked his lips as he glanced at the two.
Maybe I should've told my family too?
It felt oddly lonely not having his family's cheers.
"Must be a good husband and dad. Not bad."
"Hmph."
Confirming the barrier was up, the two faced each other.
The excited atmosphere settled.
Taut tension filled the air.
On Parzan's summit, where only the wind howled, Naviroje's voice rang out.
"Then, let the match begin."
The words had just ended.
Schlieffen's form vanished from sight.
No probing exchanges.
As Ronan blinked once, Schlieffen was right in front of his nose.
"Oh."
Ronan rounded his mouth in an O.
His footwork was so swift comparing it to before would be an insult.
No time to draw his sword.
Ronan merely placed his hand on the hilt and leaned back.
Slash!
A sharp slash grazed past his bangs.
"Not bad."
Severed hairs fluttered.
Ronan whistled.
The length was short, but landing it was what mattered.
Instead of straightening up, he twisted his body to the right.
A thrust of sword wind passed by his side with paper-thin margin.
The fluid chain of attacks gave no respite.
"Didn't you say you'd fight seriously?"
Schlieffen intoned.
As Ronan straightened, he furrowed his brow.
A slash aimed at his throat flew in.
He could dodge by retreating, but instead, he kicked off the ground and leaped.
Kwaaakwaaakwaaakwa!!
Three whirlwinds erupted from where Ronan had stood.
The ascending winds shattered the ground, shredding everything caught in them.
One step back, and he'd have been in tatters.
Less than two seconds had passed since the combo struck.
The moment Ronan flipped like a swallow over Schlieffen and landed.
"Yeah. I did."
"...?!"
Splurt!
Blood sprayed from above Schlieffen's shoulder.
A decent amount—it wasn't a shallow cut.
Iril, watching breathlessly, covered her mouth with both hands.
"Honey!"
"Ah, Daddy!"
Schlieffen staggered.
Dizziness surged from the sudden blood loss.
Ronan spun his sword once and spat out.
"See? I'm fighting seriously."
"...!"
Schlieffen's eyes widened.
He hadn't even realized when he'd been slashed.
He bit the inside of his cheek to steady himself.
The instant he tried to fall back and create distance.
Fwaaah!
Ronan's sword dyed crimson.
The power that felled giants pulled Schlieffen in.
Footwork lost meaning.
Dragging Schlieffen right before him, Ronan continued.
"You should drop the pretense and go all out too."
Ronan intoned.
No chance to counter.
Schlieffen raised his sword in guard.
Kaaaaang-!
With a piercing metallic clang, his body was flung back.
"Kuh!"
It felt less like a sword strike and more like being clubbed by a massive flail.
He should have been pushed much farther, but headwind blocked it.
Schlieffen's blade morphed into wind and scattered.
Regaining posture, he unleashed slashes.
Five sword auras, sharp enough to cleave the sky, flew at Ronan from different angles.
"Hm."
Ronan shrugged his brow.
Without wings, it would be unavoidable—but he never intended to dodge.
His crimson blade now burned red.
A wide slash drew a circle.
Blood-like sword auras sprayed outward.
Schlieffen's intercepted auras scattered like explosions.
Parzan fell silent as if doused in cold water.
Ronan, having dismantled every aura, drawled indifferently.
"Is this all you've got? And you thought you could take on old man Zaifa with it? Nothing's changed."