Chapter 84
Chapter 84
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 84
Chapter Title: The Season Passes from Spring to Summer (1)
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Naviroje's eyes widened. After calming her emotions with a deep breath, she continued speaking.
"Explain everything that happened with that old monster. Leave nothing out."
Her gaze was sharp. It seemed there was some connection to Zaifa. There was nothing he couldn't tell her, but it wasn't the kind of story suited for the main street. After pondering for a moment, Ronan opened his mouth.
"It's a bit hard to talk about here, so let's discuss it at my house."
"Isn't your hometown quite a distance away?"
"Yeah. We just moved in today. Almost became refugees on the first day because of someone."
"Ahem."
Naviroje cleared her throat. She had split the clouds apart, but it seemed she still had a conscience. Ronan guided the two women to his new home. Adeshan, who had ended up following along unexpectedly, hesitated and asked.
"Um, is it really okay for me to come too?"
"Of course. You have the right to hear it too, Senior."
It was a story about Zaifa, no one else. It would be a lie to claim she wasn't curious. They arrived at the house in less than three minutes. They had just opened the front door. Iril, apron-clad, came out to greet them.
"Oh, you're back, Ronan! You brought guests?"
"Yeah. Mind if I use the basement for a bit? Where are those guys?"
"Asel just left to find you, and Sir Schlieffen is still eating. Should I call him?"
"...Nah. Tell him to eat plenty."
Ronan shook his head as if it were absurd. He seemed intent on gorging until the pot cracked or his stomach burst. Seeing Iril, Adeshan gasped.
"...Wow."
She had never seen such a beautiful being in her life. Ophelia, whom she had seen before, was a stunning beauty, but she couldn't even compare.
She herself, needlessly tall and awkward, felt like a lightning-struck pine tree—utterly worthless. Suddenly, a prickling anxiety reared its head.
'...What's their relationship?'
Adeshan glanced back and forth between Ronan and Iril. They didn't look like family; their hair colors and appearances were too different.
No way.
For a moment, an unwelcome scenario flashed through her mind. Spotting Adeshan's outfit, Iril clapped her hands and said.
"Ah, you must attend the same academy as my little brother!"
"Little brother...?"
"Yes. I'm Iril, Ronan's older sister. Nice to meet you!"
Adeshan's face lit up. Realizing she had sighed too loudly in relief, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Ha...! I'm Adeshan, a second-year in the Martial Arts Department. Nice to meet you too."
"I'm Naviroje. I serve as a senior instructor in the Martial Arts Department at Phileon Academy."
Like Adeshan, Naviroje—who had been momentarily stunned—also offered a handshake to Iril. Hearing "instructor," Iril's eyes sparkled as she grasped her hand.
"Wow, you're a teacher! How's our Ronan doing? Learning well?"
"...He's a student worth watching in many ways."
Naviroje twisted her lips in a complicated expression. After saying no drinks were needed, Ronan headed to the basement.
The basement, equipped for use as an emergency shelter, featured various security measures. The moment the thick iron door shut, Naviroje spoke.
"Now talk. What happened with Zaifa Terugen?"
"Well... it's a ridiculously absurd story..."
Ronan explained everything from a couple of days ago. How he had tracked Nebula Klazie and encountered Zaifa. How he had massacred wyverns to thwart a bomb terror attack. Even how Zaifa and his subordinates had helped with his sister's move. Putting on a grave expression, Naviroje spoke.
"You nearly caused a disaster. Who would have thought they were targeting Romaira."
"Yeah. Those damn bastards are getting bolder by the day."
Even recalling it sent chills down his spine. If the Romaira mountain road had been destroyed, the damage would have been beyond imagination. There was a reason the Winter Witch—unknown even by name—had instantly become the empire's worst criminal.
"You did well. I'll report to the principal separately. But is that true?"
"Which part?"
"That Zaifa helped with your move."
Ronan nodded. Naviroje laughed in disbelief. It was the kind of reaction you'd expect from a sword you carried around suddenly offering to walk you home.
"You must have really caught his eye. To show such favor to a human."
"Hmm, he did seem to like me."
"A warning in advance. Don't get too close to Zaifa. That old man is dangerous."
"That serious?"
"Yes. Perhaps more so than Nebula Klazie. Just look at the Night of Fangs."
At the mention of the Night of Fangs, Adeshan shuddered. Naviroje continued, lightly holding her hand.
"Back then, Zaifa alone killed over a thousand imperial soldiers. So when word spread that he had become the emperor's subordinate, no one could believe their ears."
"...He killed a lot."
Ronan stroked his chin. He had heard some things about Zaifa himself. The Butcher of the North. By all rights, he should have vanished as morning dew on the execution ground or been hounded by imperial pursuers long ago.
The beastman alliance led by Zaifa had seized the border fortress Vars in just three days. No one doubted they would march straight to the capital.
But Zaifa made a choice no one could have imagined. Recalling the memory, Naviroje twisted her lips.
"That cat knew. He knew that if he pushed to the end, defeat was inevitable."
Instead of fighting to the bitter end, Zaifa had negotiated, staking the already occupied border fortress and his own head. Withdraw the troops and pledge loyalty in exchange for leaving the northern beastmen alone.
The emperor, impressed by his ability and audacity, accepted the proposal. In the end, the northern beastmen regained their freedom and land, while the emperor gained the empire's sharpest sword.
Ronan hadn't known this backstory. He let out a dry chuckle.
"Smarter than I thought. I figured he was just a good fighter."
"That's precisely why he's more dangerous. You can never tell what he's thinking."
Naviroje reiterated that Zaifa's unpredictability made him a threat. Ronan neither affirmed nor denied her view. He merely let out a faint sigh at the thought of one more figure to keep tabs on.
'Things just keep piling up.'
Like the other powerhouses, Zaifa wouldn't show himself on the final battlefield. Someone harboring such instability warranted extra vigilance. Naviroje said.
"Let's head back for now. Classes are scheduled."
"Sure. I've got that club activity report to write too. Just include everything except the Nebula Klazie stuff, right?"
"...Poor Professor Baren. Handle it yourself."
Wrapping up their talk, the three headed straight for Phileon. Iril waved them off with a bright smile.
"Take care, both of you! Ronan, see you this weekend!"
"Thanks for everything."
"S-see you next time...!"
Naviroje gave a curt bow. Adeshan bowed deeply, as if facing a saint from some legend.
Ronan thought bringing them home had been the right call. It meant more people who could help if something happened to Iril. Naviroje said.
"By the way, I hear you've learned to manifest sword aura?"
"Yes. Rudimentarily, at best."
"That pathetic Jarodin earned his keep after all. Why didn't you come sooner?"
"Things were too hectic before... I'm exhausted, so I'll crash here for a bit."
"Do that. A short nap won't cut it, from the looks of you."
"Busted."
Naviroje clicked her tongue. Ronan's fatigue-etched face was far from reassuring. Suddenly recalling the earlier events, Ronan asked.
"Speaking of, what were you two doing out since morning? It's not even the weekend."
"Ah, well, that..."
Adeshan suddenly glanced at Naviroje. She offered no reply, merely quickening her pace. Noting the evasive reaction, Ronan tilted his head.
"Don't want to say? No need."
"No, that'd be unfair. I've heard your... valuable stories too."
Adeshan had learned about Nebula Klazie for the first time just now. And the intel on Zaifa as well. Leaning close to Ronan's ear, she whispered.
"...Went to the nearby imperial garrison."
"The garrison? Why?"
"The instructor had something to deliver to one of the officers there. Ended up not handing it over, though."
"Pretty heavy, huh?"
Adeshan gave an awkward smile and pulled a single letter envelope from her inner pocket. No matter how you looked at it, it wasn't something that needed carrying for her.
Naviroje explained that she'd forgotten who to give the envelope to, so they'd slowly toured the garrison for two hours. During that time, Adeshan had observed the soldiers' morning drills. Scratching her cheek, Adeshan asked.
"Get it?"
"Yeah. Crystal clear."
What a good person. The envelope was just an excuse to let Adeshan, who dreamed of becoming a soldier, build some insight. Naviroje was already walking far ahead. Watching her back, Ronan chuckled softly.
'Came to Phileon for the best.'
They soon passed through the gates. Parting from the two women, Ronan headed straight to the dorm.
'Come to think of it... forgot to ask about the Sword Festival.'
Those were Zaifa's parting words. It piqued his curiosity greatly, but right now, neither the Sword Festival nor the idiotic club report took priority over sleep. Back-to-back incidents had left him sleepless for nearly four days.
Ask tomorrow. With that thought, he opened the door—and spotted Lucy wiping down his desk with a rag. Ronan said.
"Hey, Lucy."
"Oh my. You've been so busy lately. Haven't seen you in days—what happened..."
"Hey, Lucy..."
Thud. Ronan collapsed face-first onto the floor. The rag slipped from Lucy's hand.
"Ro-Ronan?!"
She rushed over and shook his shoulder frantically. But he merely mumbled crude sleep-talk, eyes firmly shut. Soon, snores filled the room. Lucy muttered in disbelief.
"What in the world..."
He seemed fine health-wise. Grunting with effort, Lucy lifted Ronan onto the bed. She drew the curtains, tucked him in with the blanket, even removed his socks, then quietly left the room.
It was noon two days later when Ronan finally returned to Arena 1. He hadn't been slacking off; he'd simply woken up, washed, eaten, and come straight there. Yawning expansively, he grumbled irritably.
"Yaaawn... Damn it, this is stunting my growth..."
Still, the deep sleep had lightened his body considerably. Students were sparring or practicing swordsmanship here and there. In the distance, Naviroje stood with hands clasped behind her back. As she checked the students' forms, she spoke without turning.
"Ronan. You're finally here."
"Yeah... Kept you waiting."
"Good, you know it. We'll start the lesson right away—stand over there in the empty spot."
Naviroje pointed to the area lined with training dummies. Ronan complied. As he stretched languidly to shake off the lingering drowsiness, she approached.
"First, I need to see your skill level. Fire sword aura at the dummy."
"That's pretty far."
Ronan frowned. The distance to the dummy was at least thirty paces.
"Doesn't matter if you miss. Just shoot."
"Alright then."
Ronan focused his mind and swung his sword. Whoosh! Accompanied by the sensation of energy draining, a crescent-shaped sword aura shot forward. As expected, it fell short of the dummy. Naviroje nodded as she watched it fly nine paces before dissipating.
"Hmm. Not bad."
"Damn, this? It's as feeble as an old woman's dribble."
"It happens sometimes. With guys like you who don't know the word 'gradual.' Remember this—you skipped the user stage and jumped straight to sword expert."
Naviroje repeatedly urged him not to be impatient. But he couldn't afford to. With the curse blocking his mana circuits, even double the hours in a day wouldn't suffice.
He was about to press her to teach sword aura control techniques when a memory of Balzac in the mound flashed through his mind.
"Oh, right. Got a question—can you change the form of sword aura?"
"Possible. Size adjustment comes with moderate proficiency."
"No, not just size. Like a splash of water... so it doesn't even look like sword aura."
"Elaborate."
The splash-like sword aura had displayed far greater power than normal. Gesturing animatedly, Ronan described the sword aura Balzac had unleashed. Even how the blade of Ramancha had suddenly turned red. Having heard the tale, Naviroje raised an eyebrow.
"Hmm. Looks like Master Doron put considerable effort into crafting your weapon."
"What do you mean?"
"Hand me the sword."
Her tone carried an oddly excited edge. Shrugging once, Ronan handed over Ramancha.
It was the moment Naviroje lightly gripped the hilt. Splash! Blood-red mana began pouring along the blade.