Academy’s Genius Swordmaster
Academy’s Genius Swordmaster - Chapter 174: The Festival of Swords (17)

Chapter 174: The Festival of Swords (17)

“…You were right. The culprit is clear.”

Zaifa spoke. The bisected body of Nodrek was convulsing at her feet. Ronan frowned as he looked at the wound on her chest.

“Damn it, did you really have to confirm it like that? Hurry up and get treated.”

“It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”

Zaifa shook her head. It was an ignorant verification method. Of course, there was no better way to determine who the sword marks belonged to, but it was certainly a rash method. Red blood was seeping out over the coarse fur. After a moment of silence, she spoke again.

“…A single strike.”

“Huh?”

“I ended this bug’s life in a single strike. If I estimate the time it took, it was probably less than a second. Do you know what that means?”

A murky sadness flickered beyond her red eyes. Zaifa, who had been rummaging through her pockets, pulled something out. Dozens of flat insignias made of metal were threaded onto a long, thin leather strap. Ronan and Navirose’s eyes widened. They were recognition tags issued to imperial soldiers.

“If I had been with my subordinates just for a second longer, all of this wouldn’t have happened.”

The sound of grinding metal was poignant. Ronan was about to say something but stopped himself. Allowing the attack to happen, even though he could have easily prevented it, was his own way of mourning and atonement. Ronan gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath.

“…Fuck.”

“There were accomplices. At least two more.”

“Yeah. People who can handle a sword better than this guy.”

“We need to catch them all before summer comes. If you’re willing to cooperate, come find me.”

Ronan nodded his head. They were going to catch them as soon as possible anyway. Zaifa, putting away the recognition tags, turned to Navirose.

“You’ve become sharper. It seems like your Aura still has not manifested…”

“How did you know that…!”

“I can tell just by looking at you. In respect, let me give you a piece of advice.”

Navirose didn’t respond, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Zaifa spoke with a more serious tone.

“Life is about walking through storms. People naturally end up with countless scars, some of which never fade and remain as permanent reminders. I imagine the fact that you lost to me repeatedly has become such a scar for you.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

“You can’t erase scars. They are, quite literally, scars. However, how you choose to deal with them is entirely up to you.”

Suddenly, Zaifa pointed to her chest. Beneath her tattered clothes, a long scar was etched. It was the mark left by Navirose’s blade. She extended her hand for a handshake to Navirose.

“I’ve never once felt ashamed of this scar.”

“You…”

Navirose looked up at Zaifa, her gaze intense. Perhaps because the tiger spoke so impressively, she seemed like a granddaughter standing in front of her grandmother, despite usually appearing mature. After hesitating for a moment, Navirose clasped Zaifa’s hand. It was a historic moment. After a light handshake, Zaifa turned away.

“Then I’ll be waiting for the third challenge. Farewell, Ronan.”

With those words, Zaifa leaped away, making almost no sound upon landing or takeoff. With a single leap, she reached the pedestal where she had been standing. Ronan, still watching Zaifa converse with Allogin, spoke up.

“She doesn’t seem particularly dangerous, does she?”

“…The atmosphere has changed a lot. Ultimately, does all hatred fade away with time?”

“Hatred… What exactly happened with Zaifa in the past?”

Ronan asked, a long-standing curiosity. What could have happened to Zaifa in the past that made her issue such warnings? Navirose, who had been staring at Ronan, turned her head calmly.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself. Aren’t you close enough to drink together? Come to think of it, we’ve never had a drink together.”

“Ah, why is an adult so upset about something like that? So childish.”

“I’m not upset.”

With that, she walked briskly out of the arena, leaving Ronan behind. Only then did the officials, who had been watching cautiously, rush over to start clearing away Nodrek’s remains. The symmetrically dissected corpse was not a pleasant sight to linger on. Ronan watched as they swept the entrails into a bucket, hands in his pockets. Allogin, overseeing the process, tilted his head.

“Hmm… Aren’t you leaving?”

“It’s my turn anyway. Besides, I have the right to choose.”

“True, but… why don’t you rest a bit? You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m fine. It’s better to finish quickly and then rest. I’ll make my choice now.”

Ronan pointed towards the participants from Aran Parzan. It wasn’t so much a deliberate choice as it was simply pointing at someone. The man he happened to point at let out a sigh. He was a knight wearing full armor, looking somewhat formidable. Ronan flicked his finger dismissively, as if annoyed.

“Come down.”

“Hmph! How dare this scoundrel…!”

The knight grumbled, exhaling heavily, as he descended into the arena. It took precisely 3 minutes and 12 seconds for him to surrender, screaming for mercy like a child.

“Ugh! I-I was wrong! Please, have mercy!”

“I’m sorry for being such a scoundrel. No matter how much I learn, some things never change.”

The man threw down his main weapon, a lance, and fled. Ronan sheathed his sword upon hearing Allogin’s declaration of victory. The final test proceeded smoothly, like water flowing. Half failed, half passed. Aside from the divided body of Nodrek, there were no casualties. Shullifen grinned triumphantly, having taken exactly 44 seconds to emerge victorious.

“Hehe… what a shame, Ronan.”

“Ugh. Are all talented people like that?”

Ronan grimaced as if he were fed up. It seemed strange that he had manifested Storm Sword right from the start; perhaps it was all for this moment. He was deeply worried about the future of Garcia.

After tallying up the scores so far, Ronan and Shullifen were tied for first place. Ronan relinquished his right to be mentored by Zaifa to Shullifen. After all, he had just fought to exhaustion in the cave the other day. Zaifa, who had also fought against him, patted his shoulders and spoke.

“Hmm, you possess the most outstanding Aura I’ve seen. You show potential to surpass even me.”

“Thank you, Sword Saint.”

“I don’t have any specific advice, so just keep striving. I’m curious to see which of you two will become the next Sword Saint.”

Zaifa smiled satisfactorily as she alternated her gaze between Ronan and Shullifen. Her exposed fangs sparkled white. Despite being in the midst of melancholy, she seemed genuinely pleased.

“Well then, with this, the final test comes to an end. A farewell to both the victors and the vanquished. Parzan will never forget the blood and steel you’ve shed.”

The test didn’t end until late at night. Allogin, descending from the pedestal, shook hands with each participant.

The test did not end until late at night. Allogin came down from the podium and shook hands with everyone.

Those who passed returned to the base, while those who failed descended down the mountain. As they left the arena, they could see the Milky Way stretching across the sky from one end to the other. Ronan moved forward, realizing afresh that this long journey was coming to an end.

****

After dinner, Ronan returned to his lodgings. Shullifen, who had returned first, was busy cleaning his sword.

‘Damn bastard. Just look at how his facial expression has changed.’

Although the time he actually wielded his sword was short, so much had happened that Ronan felt mentally exhausted. He sighed as he lay down on the bed.

“Haa… Finally, tomorrow is the day. I wonder if those in Philleon are all doing well?”

“Nothing will happen. I’m just worried about Miss Iril.”

“Even with so many guards around? Just be honest and say that you miss her.”

Shullifen didn’t respond. His flushed ears looked somewhat amusing. In truth, Ronan wouldn’t have been so reassured if he hadn’t received a promise of protection from the Emperor.

He recalled the conversation he had with Allogin in the dining hall. The autopsy results confirmed that Nodrek was indeed Croden, the infamous Ferocious Sword. Ronan sighed as his thoughts became tangled.

‘Alright, he was healed because they could use him. But what was the purpose behind using a memory-sealing technique? And why did his hair and eyes change color like that?’

Although the urgent fire had been extinguished, many questions remained. Nodrek had a significantly different feeling from Nebula Clazier Ronan had encountered so far. He was still a despicable jerk, but there was something particularly irritating about him. He felt an alienation on a fundamental level.

‘He really resembles him. I could feel it.’

He thought the alienation might have something to do with Nodrek’s hair and eye color. It was clear he was involved with the betrayer bastard, but it wasn’t clear exactly how. Ronan raised himself up and questioned Shullifen.

“That Ferocious Sword bastard, why do you think he came here?”

“Wasn’t it to seek revenge on Instructor Navirose?”

“Nah. It felt like he had some ulterior motive. These guys are assholes with principles, making them even more despicable… Ah, damn it.”

Ronan wiped his face with his palm. Today, he just couldn’t seem to get his thoughts straight, and he felt like he needed some sleep. As he rummaged under the bed, he pulled out a bottle of liquor. Shullifen, recognizing the label on the bottle, raised an eyebrow.

“Millenium Snowflower liquor. It’s quite rare. Where did you get that?”

“I secretly brought one with me when I was drinking with Zaifa.”

“…What?”

Shullifen narrowed his eyes. Without a word, Ronan uncorked the bottle. Since there were no cups, he drank straight from the bottle. The liquid going down his throat was sweet. After taking a few sips, Ronan offered the bottle to Shullifen.

“Do you want some?”

“Of course, thanks.”

“Yeah, alright. I thought so… Huh?”

Ronan’s eyes widened. He had expected a refusal, so it was an unexpected response. Taking the bottle offered by Ronan, Shullifen boldly tilted his head back and drank the liquor. Watching him gulp down the strong drink, Ronan exclaimed in shock,

“Hey, that’s quite potent!”

“Well… it’s better that way.”

“Do you have something troubling you? Like, did you blurt out some nonsense about proposing to my sister after returning or something?”

“No. It’s to calm my excitement since earlier… It’s not over just because I received praise from the Sword Saint.”

Ronan chuckled dryly. So, he was drinking to calm his inflated ego after receiving praise from Zaifa. Ronan had seen many people drink to forget their troubles, but this was a novel reason. Snatching the bottle back, Ronan shook his head.

“You’re insane. You’re probably the only one who drinks for a reason like that.”

“We must always… strive our best to… survive. So we can… protect the weak…”

“Alright, alright, just drink moderately. Your tone when you mumble reminds me of Elizabeth.”

Suddenly, memories of Elizabeth, drunk on the airship heading to the Dawn Magic Tower, came to mind. What trials had he endured to stop her from using fire magic inside the wooden ship? Ronan was about to say something when Shullifen, who had been silently mumbling, spoke up.

“…Ronan.”

“Huh?”

“I miss Miss Iril.”

“Damn it.”

Ronan’s face contorted. Shullifen lowered his head deeply and began praising Iril, his vocabulary seeming enough to fill a book.

Ronan couldn’t stand being with this drunkard, so he was about to gulp down the alcohol to pass out. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and it opened. A woman dressed as a guide appeared.

“Excuse me… Participant 44? Ah, there you are. I’m glad.”

“Huh? What’s going on?”

“Please accept this. I came to deliver this.”

The woman cautiously extended a letter envelope. The envelope was quite luxurious, with a magical seal engraved on it that would ignite if anyone other than the intended recipient attempted to open it. Ronan raised an eyebrow.

“Who sent this?”

“It’s from Mr. Russell, who was murdered by the Ferocious Sword this morning. We found it while cleaning up the lodging, and it was addressed to you.”

“…Russell?”

The woman nodded, then left the room. She seemed quite busy, perhaps due to the recent events involving the Ferocious Sword. Ronan scratched his head and tore open the letter envelope. Unlike the envelope, the letter inside was made of ordinary paper. Small letters filled one side of the paper.

“What did you write that made you put so much effort into it?”

Ronan slowly began reading the letter. The beginning and middle were what he had expected. “Apologies for my rudeness.” “Thank you for your help.” “I truly trust you, but I want to make sure to finish things off firmly…”

The letter detailed a plan to ambush the Ferocious Sword, concocted with the participants of Aran Parzan. A plan that ended in a miserable failure, leaving everyone torn to pieces. Ronan clicked his tongue as he read.

“…Damn it.”

If he had just stayed still, no one would have had to die. The taste of the alcohol suddenly seemed to diminish. Even though he had read up to that point, there was still about half of the content left. Ronan’s eyes widened as he read the middle and later parts of the letter. The location and internal structure of the ruins where he had encountered the Ferocious Sword, along with information he had gathered while tracking the Ferocious Sword, were all written there.

“This stupid old man…”

Ronan let out a deep sigh. Among the information were also the locations of places presumed to be bases of the Nebula Clazier. It was incredibly valuable information. It seemed that deploying Imperial troops here would likely be his first mission as the Dawn.

The moment on the cliff where Ronan had threatened him flashed before his eyes. Even the female knight Riley, who sat across from him drinking, came to mind. Folding the letter neatly, Ronan muttered as he grabbed the bottle.

“Rest well.”

Ronan downed the liquor. With its robust flavor, the scent of the Millennium Snowflower filled his mouth. The end of the journey was imminent. Tomorrow, he would finally set foot in the Holy Land.