Chapter 34
Chapter 34
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Chapter 34
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: A New Sky
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“...Tch. Boring. You just ruined my appetite for nothing.”
Manus, who had sent Dakan back to the clan first and remained alone to watch the match.
He kept frowning as if something displeased him, then soon rose from his seat.
And he wasn't the only one.
“......”
Andy Pallkion, the unparalleled genius born of the Sword Family, also slipped away quietly with an inscrutable expression.
The scouts from the Clonen Shadow Clan, and even the thunderbolt bastard from the collateral branch.
One by one, those watching the bout between Latent Dragon Squad and Crimson Squad began to depart.
Having reached the conclusion that ‘Latent Dragon Squad is a strike team worth watching for its continued growth potential.’
Yet no one spared a glance for Crimson Squad.
For them, Latent Dragon Squad was what mattered—not Crimson Squad.
“Aw, man, no interest in us after all.”
“Pointless hope anyway. Let's grab a drink on the way back.”
Once the clan's stars had all left, even the martial artists who had been milling about hoping for scraps in their eyes began returning to their posts.
Now that Ian's victory had been declared, no one paid the training ground any more mind.
Rumble!
The sun, which had lingered in the sky, sank toward the west, and the fickle southern weather grew thick with humidity.
Drip, drip!
Rain fell one drop, then two, soon swelling into a torrent beyond counting.
Pour!
As if the heavens themselves had torn open, the deluge crashed down, mirroring the squad's gloomy mood. Crimson Squad wore complicated expressions as they slowly prepared to leave the training ground.
“Captain, it's getting late...”
One of them started to call out to Heto, still kneeling in the downpour on the training ground.
Swish!
But Maruka, the vice-captain defeated by Ryu An Pallkion's blade, silently shook his head to stop him.
No words could comfort their captain now.
Better to leave him be.
“......”
Reading Maruka's intent, the squad member halted. No one else spoke to Heto.
Thus, everyone but Heto left the training ground.
All but one.
Splash!
The sound of a foot splashing into a rain-swollen puddle struck Heto's ears.
Soon, a small shadow of a foot entered the vision of Heto, who stared at the ground.
“......?”
The owner of that small foot before him.
Ian.
“Planning to just slump there forever?”
Ian asked in a level tone.
“...Hahaha. Salt in the wound, then balm?”
Drenched head to toe in rainwater, Heto let out a hollow chuckle.
“Spare me the cheap pity. I won't hold it against you even without that shallow, phony consideration. You just did your duty, and we were the ones who started the fight. It's on us to bear it.”
“Hmm...”
Not the response he sought— Ian's brow furrowed deeper.
“Crimson Squad's giving up on advancement. We'll just get by content with whatever missions come our way...”
“Is that really the life you want?”
Ian cut in abruptly on Heto's self-mocking words.
Why was that?
“...Then what? What are I supposed to do? What are we supposed to do?”
Heto's response to Ian's question unleashed a rage he'd never bared to another soul.
“You lot, born and bred in elite clans, could never understand—not even in death and rebirth! You, handed top-tier martial arts and rare elixirs on a silver platter, growing comfy all the way—how could you grasp our bitterness?”
“......”
“Weeds like us can't climb without the shade of those towering trees! With that lifeline snapped, any chance of rising higher is...”
He couldn't say why Ian of all people made him want to spill his guts.
Just... a feeling Ian might actually listen.
“Pathetic. Too pathetic to keep hearing.”
...Only for Ian's reply to slice like a razor.
“What... did you say?”
“Lifelines? Shade? Who cares. Get strong on your own power—that's it. Need any other excuse? None. Get strong, and anyone will scramble to recruit you. Failing to see that basic truth and scheming to cling to others' shade? That's why you're pathetic.”
Crunch!
How dare this cushy-born young master judge us?
“...Did you even hear me? Weeds like us can't get strong without grabbing a lifeline!”
Ian met Heto's frantic glare head-on.
“Is that so? Really?”
As if shoving the answer down Heto's throat.
“Weeds under shade never surpass the tree—they fear the world beyond. But weeds forged in storm, rain, and sun? They sometimes overrun whole forests.”
“......!!”
“One question. What training have you done this past month? Ever once pushed yourselves to death's door?”
For some reason, Heto couldn't meet Ian's gaze—far younger than he.
Because he had no answer.
-Crimson Squad's martial artists always trained on schedule, by the clock.
That was Captain Heto's creed.
“Why stick to that? Ever truly asked yourself?”
Heto had no reply to Ian's barrage.
‘...Why?’
He'd never pondered it deeply.
Just.
‘Because that's how it's done.’
Steady growth. Incremental strength.
Isn't that the path for the likes of us?
Ian pulled his eyes from Heto's wavering, confused stare and clapped his shoulder.
Tap, tap!
“The answer's out there. Find it, and opportunities will open for you. No guarantee you'll succeed—but if you do...”
The patting hand drifted toward Heto's face.
Speaking volumes to him.
“Then I'll take you in.”
Declaring himself Crimson Squad's new sky, here and now.
Heto stared blankly at Ian's outstretched hand.
What did this fresh-faced kid just say?
“...Sky? You?”
He double-checked.
“Yeah.”
Flat affirmation. No mistake.
“Ha, hahaha! Laughable. Utterly laughable. Beat a lowly strike squad like us and suddenly you're somebody? The clan's ‘minor stars’ must look like small-time nobodies to you.”
Ignorance breeds boldness, they say. This kid clearly doesn't grasp the clan's stars.
Handpicked geniuses, top of the Martial Clan.
Young as they were, already super-elites debating the clan's future.
Foremost among them: Ian's own brother, Alex.
“Family knows family least, eh? You haven't a clue about your brother's stature. Eldest Young Lord Alex especially...”
“Blah blah blah, shut your trap already.”
Ian, fed up, dug in his ear and cut Heto off.
“Those who set their own limits never see beyond.”
Ian seized Heto's arm, hauling him up.
“If you're that doubtful, hunt the answer. Watch with your own eyes. You'll know soon enough—qualified to be your sky or not.”
Whoosh!
Ian turned and strode from the training ground, leaving Heto upright behind.
Heto watched Ian's retreating back until it vanished.
Ian's brief words had rippled deep in his chest.
Sky—not strings.
Strings merely guide their holders. Sky embraces all.
Even the stars above.
“...From the start, he saw from a whole different height.”
Unlike Crimson Squad, scrambling to mend snapped strings or snag new ones.
That young master had eyes only upward.
Never once seeking another's string.
Perhaps this match's end was fated from the outset.
Drip, drip!
Only as the rain tapered, clouds parted, and midnight stars gleamed did Heto speak.
“...Strings, shade. Just get strong—that's it?”
Ian had said it.
A path to strength without strings existed.
How?
The proof lay in Ian and Latent Dragon Squad's display.
“...Chamber of Trials.”
Grip!
Sheathing his hurled sword, Heto brooded.
Was staking life and limb in that hell really right?
No safer path to power?
“As if.”
The Martial Clan always left the door open.
They just never walked through.
Simple reason: no burning desperation.
Moderate strings and handouts sufficed.
No more handouts for Crimson Squad.
No expectations either.
That truth kindled Heto's defiance.
“If they could... no reason we can't.”
Eyes gleaming like hope pierced despair—Heto had his answer, resolve set.
The Chamber of Trials, once the clan's sore spot,
Would one day unlock the Martial Clan's greatest era—sparked by Crimson Squad.
The Latent Dragon Squad vs. Crimson Squad bout drew more clan attention than expected.
A chance to gauge the true mettle of talented but discordant wild dogs from the families—led by Second Young Lord Ian.
Unsurprisingly, Eldest Young Lord Alex Lichtenauer had long known of it.
Yet unlike the other stars, he showed zero interest.
Rumors swirled, but truth was plain: no need to check.
His eyes were already inside Latent Dragon Squad.
The closest vantage.
Click!
Alex fetched two sparkling glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet.
Glug, glug!
Blood-red wine filled them, fragrant aroma flooding the room.
“Charlotte '25. Fine vintage—hope it suits you.”
Charlotte: continental legend. Cracking a 25-year like cheap ale.
Befitting a Martial Clan heir.
“...Thank you.”
The figure opposite Alex bowed slightly; Alex waved it off.
“No need. You got dragged into that Chamber of Trials mess—real sufferer there. Word is you had it rough inside?”
“......”
Silence met Alex's query. His adjutant Zodiac, standing behind, scowled fiercely.
“Before the Eldest Young Lord. Show respect.”
“......”
“Insolent...!!”
“Enough.”
Alex reined in Zodiac's twitching strike-pose.
“Wasn't your choice anyway. Wild dog who trusts no one—will ignored, must sting. Right?”
“......”
Still mute, but Alex grinned like it was the best joke.
“You're in luck. That attitude? Instant execution normally. But I'm in excellent spirits today.”
Thud!
Alex tossed a scroll before the other.
“...This?”
“Open it. Good stuff inside.”
“......”
Rustle, rustle!
Reluctant compliance. Pupils quaked visibly.
“Fun, eh?”
“This...! Unfair!”
Alex shrugged at the outburst, all oily charm.
“What can I do? You read it—no tricks from me. Purely their request. Skip the misunderstandings.”
“......!!”
Fierce glare at Alex—then slump onto the sofa, defeated.
Alex was right.
This wasn't his doing.
The scroll slipped from limp fingers, unfurling wide on impact.
Latent Dragon Squad's next mission, starkly inscribed.
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