Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Sword Debate(?)
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"B-b-b-st-ri—"
Rona and Fienne were so shocked that their language skills temporarily failed them.
What kind of lewd, promiscuous bitch was this!?
The sudden outburst from the newly appeared woman was far too stimulating for these two pure young women, who prided themselves on knowing nothing of filthy acts.
Ex-true ancestor succubus, but still.
"Wow, Rishir. Pretty bold... huh? Better than I expected?"
"Must've been really lonely living here, right? Promising to strip for any random woman."
The two of them gazed at Rishir, flashing beautiful smiles.
Their faces smiled, but their eyes did not.
They thoroughly suppressed thoughts like 'Treating us like kids while—' and filled their stares with pure contempt.
Suddenly turned into the era's greatest philanderer for seducing their friends' mentor, Rishir frantically waved his hands.
"N-no, that's not—"
Flustered, he shot Dwenn a pleading glance for help.
"..."
But Dwenn avoided his eyes and turned her head away.
It was unmistakably the posture of a woman conscious of a man.
"I'm sorry. As you can see, you still affect me, but separately... I feel ready. Above all, I don't want to make you wait any longer. You must be at your limit too. I want to pay that promised price as soon as possible, even if just a day sooner."
She followed up with a calm string of loaded remarks.
Whoosh.
Flames ignited in the two women's eyes.
"Ah."
They said mixing truth into agitation made it effective.
Dwenn's words held not a shred of falsehood, yet brimmed with potential for misunderstanding.
How to even begin correcting that?
"Rishir?"
In this atmosphere, no less.
Rishir's vision went dark.
"Ah~ Well, that figures."
"I had a feeling it'd be something like that, right Rona?"
"Exactly. Rishir's a gentleman, isn't he? Not the type to mess with his friends' mentor or anything sleazy like that."
Rona and Fienne giggled playfully.
As if they'd known the whole incident meant nothing.
...It had taken a solid ten minutes of soul-stirring persuasion from Rishir.
His back was drenched in cold sweat before he knew it.
The greatest crisis he'd faced lately.
"Anyway, a cursed relic turning holy... Well, anything you touch ends up that way, huh."
Rona smirked at Dwenn's left hand.
Her smile radiated full understanding—and a strange sense of kinship.
Dwenn looked surprised at Rona's nonchalant demeanor.
She and her hero party had gone through immense confusion accepting the bizarre 'cursed relic sanctification' phenomenon.
To Dwenn, Rona's immediate acceptance was astonishing.
"Hard to swallow easily, I'm sure. You're used to this sort of thing?"
"Used to it... something like that."
I was a succubus who became a saint.
Rona glanced at Rishir and let out a silly laugh.
"So, is your hand completely fine now?"
Fienne spoke up, having stared intently at Dwenn's left hand for a while.
"Yes. At least, to me, it feels ready to be separated."
In truth—
Dwenn continued her explanation.
"On the other hand, I hesitate."
"Some other issue?"
Rishir asked worriedly.
Dwenn averted her gaze as she replied.
"Because I can't predict how I'll react to contact with you during separation. Being this aware of a specific man is a first for me. So, I planned to try removing it myself, without your help. But right before, I froze. I never pinpointed why exactly—but maybe my subconscious secretly craves contact with you."
Rona and Fienne processed her words, twisting them in their minds.
The solemn woman had laid it out plainly in her grave tone.
A frank translation went like this:
—I could handle it myself, but I crave touching you, so I asked you anyway.
Rona and Fienne's faces twisted in confusion.
This woman.
Promiscuous or diligent?
Her strict, earnest demeanor clashed so hard with her actions that it warped the listener's perception.
"Then... shouldn't you definitely do it yourself, without his help...?"
Fienne cautiously suggested to Dwenn.
"..."
Dwenn mulled it over, then nodded.
"Sound advice."
And without hesitation, she began removing her left glove—
Only for her solemn expression to melt into enchantment.
"..."
She stared at her hand, lost in thought.
"Looks like I need more time to think. Sorry, Rishir, Miss Fienne, Miss Rona. I've wasted your time for nothing."
With that, Dwenn left, eyes fixed on her hand.
Fienne and Rona watched her retreating figure with puzzled looks.
Beware that one.
After parting with Dwenn.
Rishir headed to the Gus mansion with Fienne and Rona as planned.
"Oho. Definitely buzzing, huh?"
That was Rishir's impression soon after entering the grounds.
Before leaving the mansion last time, he'd memorized most faces among the guests and staff.
But now.
The returned mansion teemed with unfamiliar faces.
Rona spoke at Rishir's reaction.
"Call it a turnover. While you were gone, most previous guests checked out. New ones filled the spots."
"Oh... Any among them I should know?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"We dragged you here for that person, after all."
Rishir recalled Fienne mentioning new guests at the Gus mansion.
The mansion belonged to Gus, owner of the trade caravans dominating Bondales' commerce—and hosted grand wizards and nobles.
It had become Bondales' premier hotspot, with visitors streaming in daily.
They wouldn't call a couple ordinary guests 'new arrivals' anymore.
"Some big shot, then?"
"Yes. A heavyweight who needs no introduction."
"...Fienne says that? Who the hell?"
"Know the name Gray Wolf?"
"Gray Wolf? Ah."
Gray Wolf.
A name no knight could ignore—a legendary swordsman's title.
Even Rishir, once a bastard son of a sword family dreaming of knighthood, knew it well.
Long past his prime.
The old warrior had set down his massive titles of 'Swordmaster' and 'Grand Knight Commander' to wander the world.
He'd once dyed the continent in glory with countless feats—
A swordsman ranked among the world's top five with the blade.
"The Gray Wolf's here?"
"Yes. Personal ties with Palrag, it seems. Heard he was staying here and dropped by."
"Ooh... At Duke Palrag's level, he's on first-name terms with legends like Gray Wolf."
Rishir nodded deeply.
"So, he called me because of Gray Wolf? That guy's the one who wants me?"
"Nah, not quite."
"Then, Duke Palrag summoning me to introduce to Gray Wolf?"
"Palrag is looking for you, but—we sought you out on our own."
"Hm?"
Then why?
As Rishir voiced his doubt—
"Here."
Fienne announced their arrival.
A room in the Gus mansion's annex.
Several people crowded around a desk there.
The swords at their waists.
Or their stances, builds, auras.
Rishir spotted what united them.
"...Swordsmen?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Rishir, ever heard of sword debate?"
"Sword debate? Ah, that thing where swordsmen argue with words?"
"Sounds weird put that way. Not entirely wrong, though."
"Back in Bendel, I'd see knights doing that stationary nonsense they called 'another spar.' Thought it was dumb—turns out it was sword debate."
Why bring up sword debate now?
A third party answered Rishir's question.
"Mind if I explain from there?"
"Lord Drey?"
Drey had appeared behind them with his attendant Maisie.
Fienne and Rona gave courteous nods; Drey returned them politely.
Respect from a grand noble.
A privilege(?) only Rishir's acquaintances enjoyed.
"What brings you here, Lord Drey?"
"Same business as you. Or rather, same as the friends who dragged you here."
Drey pushed through the crowd to the central desk.
"Ah, Lord Drey...!"
The swordsmen recognized him and promptly made way.
Revealing a peculiar chest atop the desk.
"And there, with Pallen Style First Form's Triple Slash—"
A bizarre scene.
A swordsman passionately debated his sword before the chest.
"Lord Drey."
Then.
A man guarding the chest beside the desk spotted Drey and approached.
"Rishir, let me introduce. This is Gorein, disciple of Gray Wolf. Astonishingly, he's eyed to inherit the 'Tyrant Sword' title his master left. And Gorein—this is Rishir. Astonishingly—"
After a brief pause to pick a descriptor, Drey continued.
"Rishir."
"...?"
Astonishingly Rishir, the Rishir?
What?
Confusion dawned on Gorein's face at Drey's words.
Anyway, they shook hands in greeting.
Confirming it, Drey told Rishir:
"Rishir, straight to it. Think you can win a sword debate against that chest?"
"...Too straight?"
"Haha, maybe? Forgive me—you're late. I'm dying of curiosity here. Everyone, pause and yield to him. Appreciate it."
"..."
The grand noble's abrupt call for a turn.
The swordsmen grumbled but yielded to his authority.
"Heh."
Rishir endured their glares and stepped before the chest.
—So. You're my next opponent?
A haughty voice echoed from somewhere.
Rishir focused on the chest.
The voice emanated from the worn, ornate box itself.
"A spirit...?"
As flustered Rishir stepped back, the chest began its spiel.
—I'll explain the rules. Our realm is six tiers; weapons are plain iron swords without traits. In that state, unleash your strongest single move. If your sword reaches me, you win. I'll grant the chest's rights.
"...Ah."
Rishir grasped the situation dimly.
'So, all these swordsmen gathered to beat the sword debate spirit(?) guarding the chest and open it?'
A sudden question struck him.
"How many have won so far? And how many wins to open it?"
"Zero for now."
"What?"
Rishir jumped at Drey's answer.
"Even Gray Wolf himself hasn't tried?"
"It's all nonsense anyway."
A gruff voice replied.
Gorein, Gray Wolf's disciple, eyed the chest disdainfully.
"Sword debate? Ridiculous way to gauge a swordsman. Duke Palrag will crack it open soon enough. Till then, just a silly diversion."
—The more you know, the more you see, pup. Your master's sword isn't that impressive. Is an arrow sharp because the arrow itself is strong?
"Shut it."
Watching the exchange between disciple and chest, Rishir pondered.
Finally, he spoke.
"Any sword-related power works, right? Any method?"
—Yes. Unleash your power freely.
"Then, first, I'll raise my realm to seven tiers via resonance and blue breathing for mana flow."
—Madman.