Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Beyond Spring, Into Summer (2)
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"Let me see your sword."
Her voice carried a strangely excited tone. Ronan shrugged once and handed over Ramancha. The moment Naviroje lightly gripped the hilt...
Shwaaa! Blood-red mana began pouring along the blade.
"Shit. What the...!"
Ronan recoiled in shock. It looked exactly like the sword was bleeding. The vivid crimson mana gleamed like fresh blood, so thick it could be mistaken for liquid.
This was on a completely different scale from Balzac's display. The red mana kept surging out without stopping, quickly flooding the arena floor up to the students' ankles.
"Eek! W-What's this?!"
"Blood...?"
"This feels creepy...!"
The students fell into a panic. Ramancha's blade shimmered with an eerie red hue that made one question if that had always been its color. Naviroje, admiring the phenomenon, murmured softly.
"Fierce yet supple. Just like its owner."
"Damn it, what did you do to my sword?"
Instead of answering, she gripped the hilt tighter. The mana roiling across the entire arena began getting sucked back into Ramancha. Within seconds, the floor was spotless again. Naviroje turned to Ronan, her eyes leaving the blade.
"To cut to the chase, what you're seeing now is this sword's true form."
"That bloody red mess?"
"Exactly. When I infused it with mana, its latent power awakened."
Naviroje's eyes sparkled with interest, like a child who'd just received a new toy. She spun Ramancha once and continued.
"Finely crafted weapons add their own color to the user's strikes. Like my Urusa or the Grancia Duke's Pale Lord. Your sword is the same."
"Guess the rice-ball geezer put some real power into it."
"He did. It's more than worthy of being called a masterwork blade. Let me tell you just how little you knew about this sword."
Suddenly, she aimed at the scarecrow and swung. A liquid-like sword aura shot out along a narrow arc.
But it was vastly different from Balzac's. If his had been a bucket's splash, hers was a straight torrent. Boom! The scarecrow was uprooted and swept away by the aura's rush. But it didn't stop there.
"Huh?"
"Hm?"
Ronan and Naviroje's eyes widened simultaneously. The torrent slammed straight into the far wall. Kaboom! The sudden explosion drew every student's attention.
"Kyaaah! What now?!"
"I-Instructor!"
Dust soon settled. A section of the wall lay in ruins. The meter-thick stone, battered like a cliffside eroded by centuries of waves, was riddled with holes and spiderweb cracks.
"Holy shit..."
It was terrifying power. Ronan almost felt cheated by all the crude brawls he'd fought so far. Just imagining unleashing such a technique made his hands tremble.
But that wasn't the priority now. The wall looked precarious.
It'll collapse with a stiff breeze. Ronan was about to crack that kind of joke when...
Rumble! The damaged section gave way.
"Ah."
The students screamed. A fresh breeze tousled their bangs. Beyond the collapsed wall stretched a beautiful lawn. Ronan and Naviroje stood frozen, staring at the sight. Naviroje spoke.
"Harder to control the power than I thought."
"What now?"
"We'll fix it later. No choice."
Good thing Adeshan's not here. She muttered under her breath with a sigh and handed Ramancha back to Ronan. The moment he gripped the hilt, the red blade reverted to its original black.
"Shit."
Ronan scowled, oddly irritated. It partied wildly with others but went cold on him—like a girlfriend who lit up for everyone else. Fine, Naviroje was a former Sword Saint, but failing to draw the blade's power like Balzac the mosquito had? Unbearable.
"Let's get started. I can't stand it anymore."
"Good. We'll begin with feeding mana into the sword. Take your stance and relax your body."
"Can't we skip to sword aura?"
"Everything has its order. Be patient and methodical, and you'll be a swordsman ready for the Sword Festival without issue."
Ronan perked up at "Sword Festival." He'd meant to ask but kept forgetting.
"Right. What's this Sword Festival anyway? Zaifa mentioned it too."
"Hm? You don't know?"
"I rolled around in the sticks before enrolling here."
"Simply put... it's a gathering for fools who think they're the strongest."
Naviroje explained. The Sword Festival was a continental ritual and conference where swordsmen gathered. Only proven elites could attend, and those who passed earned the right to seek the Holy Sword. Ronan tilted his head.
"Holy Sword?"
"Yes. The legendary weapon no one's ever found."
The Holy Sword was hidden somewhere in the sacred site of Parzan where the festival was held. The name was just a placeholder—no one knew its true form since none had seen it.
Still, colorful legends over the ages kept swordsmen coming. "[It appears before the strongest swordsman.]" "[It can cut anything.]" Tales to drive ambitious souls mad. Ronan nodded, intrigued.
"Sounds tempting."
"Even without the Holy Sword, it's worth attending. Top swordsmen from every nation and hidden masters gather. Most will accept a challenge."
"...Be honest. How many'd you kill?"
"Around twenty total. Not many deaths."
Her tone dripped with nostalgic fondness, like reminiscing beautiful memories. Ronan felt the hairs on his neck stand.
Zarodin said she pierced coconuts with her pinky and drank from them, right?
Better not piss her off for a while.
His questions answered, Ronan gripped the hilt. Naviroje taught him how to feed mana into the sword, as promised.
The key was moving mana from his body to the blade and holding it there. Soon, a faint glow crept up the blade. Naviroje nodded.
"Good. Hold it for five minutes. Then swing."
"Five minutes? Isn't that short?"
"Not for others. I'll time you."
"Others?"
What did that mean? Naviroje pulled out a pocket watch instead of answering. Ronan snorted. Shooting sword aura for even a modest duration? Five minutes was nothing.
Exactly as he thought that, the glow faded. Ronan's brow furrowed.
"Huh?"
"47 seconds."
"Wait, hold on. Why'd it do that?"
"Don't take sword aura mastery for granted. Focus and try again."
Naviroje reset the watch as if she'd expected it. Pride stung, Ronan reset his stance.
His head was already spinning, but whatever. The glow rose again the instant he gripped the hilt.
***
"1 minute 23 seconds."
"Fuck!"
The glow faded. Dusk had fallen outside, the sunset leaking through the broken wall and dyeing the arena scarlet.
"Damn it...! Huff, why does it keep going out?"
His head throbbed. Sweat poured like rain. The arena was empty now that class had ended.
Ronan lowered the sword, cursing. He'd lost count of attempts. Naviroje spoke.
"That's enough for today. You know your body isn't like others'."
"Huff... Can't stop now..."
"How long then?"
"Obviously... until it works."
"Tch. So stubborn."
Naviroje turned and left. Bang! Her office door shut.
Fair enough, it'd get boring watching. Ronan chuckled idly before collapsing. His veins felt ready to burst.
"Fucking curse."
His record so far: 3 minutes 41 seconds. He belatedly realized why Naviroje had reacted that way.
His curse-bound mana pool was ridiculously small. Even reaching Sword User should make five minutes a breeze—or so she'd implied.
He truly felt how fucked his body was. Grumbling, Ronan lay flat. High ceiling and dust motes in the sunset filled his view. Suddenly, something cold hit his forehead. He bolted up.
"Damn, scared me. Who...?"
"Here."
"...Instructor?"
Naviroje stood with a large canteen. Condensation beaded on the tin, like it held ice water.
She silently offered it. Ronan drained it sitting, then wiped his mouth.
"Phew... What'd I do to deserve this?"
"Cool your head and give up so I can go home."
Naviroje said curtly—or tried to. Ronan chuckled, using the scabbard to stand. She pulled out her watch and spoke.
"Ronan. You're just bad at handling mana. You're already one of the strongest in school. You know that best."
"Yeah."
"Then why rush? You're a freshman; plenty of time."
Ronan twisted his lips bitterly. Normally, this training took months: infuse mana, deplete it, then meditate to expand capacity, repeat.
But he had no leeway. To wield mana like others, he'd need to scrape 20 years' worth from his veins. He stood using the scabbard.
"Not enough for me."
He caught his breath, then headed back to the scarecrow. Untouched, not a scratch from holding five minutes then slashing.
This won't cut it.
He needed a new approach. Transferring mana was fine; holding it wasn't. His meager pool couldn't sustain the blade's drain.
But the cold water cleared his head a bit. Then it hit him.
...Cool it down?
A flash of insight streaked through his mind, chaining from the cold water.
Cool the hot. Heat the cold. Trim the excess. Fill the lack. Reaching the conclusion, Ronan let out an incredulous laugh.
Just refill while using it...!
He'd been stuck on meditating in stance. Train aura use and mana simultaneously? Problem solved. Red glow rose along Ramancha. Naviroje raised her watch.
"Timing you."
Ronan nodded. He immediately tried Zarodin's mana training method. He'd vaguely recalled warnings about switching stances prematurely being risky, but screw it. After a few breaths, he smirked.
Doable.
Unfamiliar, but manageable. Shuuu— Soon, odd breathing leaked from his lips. Mana drained but refilled in tandem.
"Hm?"
Over two minutes, and Ramancha still glowed. Spotting the dual process, Naviroje chuckled.
Mastering parallel training before the season changes?
Nothing visible or audible. Only the mana cycling through sword and body lingered. How long? A tap on his shoulder snapped him out.
"Instructor?"
"...Time's up."
"Already?"
Felt like under three minutes. Naviroje silently flipped the watch, showing 12:13 from noon. Ronan's eyes widened.
"13 minutes...!"
"Now swing while holding that feel. You can manage that."
Ronan nodded silently. No need for words. Sword and hand vanished from view.
... Whoosh! The air-splitting sound came long after the slash. Naviroje nodded.
"Excellent."
Shhrip! Dozens of lines etched the scarecrow. As Ronan sheathed Ramancha, the body crumbled into chunks.
"...Ha."
Ronan grinned. Fingertips trembled at the novel sensation. Worlds beyond mana-flow slashes. Maintain this? Nothing uncuttable. Naviroje spoke.
"You did it. Can you hold it in real combat?"
"...A few minutes."
"Good enough. That's all for today."
Silence fell. Neither spoke. Naviroje turned to leave. Ronan, who'd stood still, suddenly grabbed her shoulders and yelled.
"Fuck yeah! You saw that, Naviroje?! Saw it?! I did it!"
"Yes. Well done."
"All thanks to you, sis! C'mere, damn it—I'll carry you around Phileon!"
"It's your achievement. And call me Instructor."
But Ronan ignored her, achievement high ruling him. Even grabbed mid-back-carry attempt, ears pinned, he kept laughing.
"Heh."
His antics were so ridiculous, a faint smile tugged Naviroje's lips. As she debated indulging once...
Rumble! The ground near the broken wall writhed. Both hands flew to hilts at the anomaly.
"What?"
It moved like it lived. Soon, the heaving earth rose, sealing the hole. Too fast to react.
The wall, seamless now, even restored its original reliefs. Naviroje frowned.
"This magic..."
"Long time no see, Naviroje."
A familiar voice from behind. They turned. A gaunt man stood in the sunset. Seeing her old acquaintance, she scowled.
"...Zarodin?"