Chapter 148

Chapter 148

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HEL SCANS

[Translator – Peptobismol]

[Proofreader – Demon God]

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A month had passed. Even in the early hours of dawn, the training grounds of the Elite Adventure Club were ablaze with intensity. Ronan, covered in wounds, brandished his sword and shouted.

“Faster!”

“Raaaah!”

Swoosh!

Ronan’s blade narrowly grazed Itargand’s chest, eliciting a spurt of crimson blood along the wound.

Itargand’s body resembled a battered mess much like Ronan’s. Fury narrowed Itargand’s pupils as he yelled.

“You damned human!”

“Hehe... The most important thing in hand-to-hand combat is judgment... predict your opponent’s action and react accordingly.”

“Die!”

Itargand aimed at Ronan, extending his arm. A bracelet wrapped around his wrist shimmered. A crimson-colored blaze erupted like an exploding inferno from a magic circle drawn before his hand.

Kwaaaah! The crimson torrent swallowed Ronan’s form. Adeshan, watching the duel with sunglasses on, brought her hands to her mouth.

“Itargand, you must learn to control your anger. There are still many openings in your movements!”

“Shut up, wench. Don’t meddle in my affairs!”

Itargand snarled, flames flickering around his lips. At that moment, the torrent of flames split in half. Itargand’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Damn it...! I fell for it.”

“This guy. I warned you not to be so reckless with him, didn’t I?”

Ronan’s voice came from up ahead, but Itargand couldn’t see him. The crescent-shaped blade, slicing through the fire, had reached just before his eyes.

“Grrr!”

Itargand halted his magic hastily, swiftly withdrawing backward. He knew better than anyone he couldn’t defend against that blade.

Swoosh! The blade grazed his shoulder and simultaneously, wings spread from Itargand’s back. The odds were nearly against him in this duel. He was just about to take off.

“Gotcha.”

Thud! Ronan, charging forward, struck the ground with his right foot. Bright light emanated from beneath Itargand’s foot. He looked down hastily.

“Damn it, what’s this?”

Glittering roots firmly bound his legs. A white-glowing dagger was lodged about three steps away. It was Ymir, a dagger capable of replicating others’ Aura. Itargand gritted his teeth.

“This...!”

“What a waste. If you had flown, you wouldn’t have known.”

Ronan’s voice echoed from just in front. Itargand urgently turned his head.

Ronan had already closed the distance to within one step. The blade of Lamancha was about to touch his neck. Whoosh! Itargand’s form distorted and vanished from sight.

“He’s getting stronger the more time passes.”

Ronan confirmed victory, exhaling heavily. His arm was also covered with a black bracelet.

It was the space-type magic tool that he had used while training with the club members before entering the Mental World, to detect fatal wounds and move the user to safety. Ronan said, turning to Adeshan.

“Haa... what’s my record with this?”

“133 wins out of 152 fights. Itargand’s win rate is slowly increasing.”The initial posting of this chapter occurred via Ñøv€l-B!n.

“A dragon is a dragon after all. Looks like I wasn’t wrong.”

Ronan laughed. While catching his breath, he took off his jacket and threw it away. After sparring for an hour, sweat was pouring down from every inch of his body. Adeshan took a deep breath.

“Ro-Ronan...”

“Phew... It’s hot. What’s up, Sunbae?”

“...No, your body seems much better.”

Adeshan turned her head, casting a fleeting glance at Ronan. It seemed impolite to dismiss this level of improvement. His well-trained physique resembled a sculpture chiseled by a master.

The sparring partners rotated between club members and Itargand. Each session provided a learning opportunity as everyone’s skills improved significantly.

Particularly, Aselle had grown immensely stronger, now posing a serious challenge. He seemed to be absorbing the teachings of the Winter Witch quite well.

‘Still, a dragon is the best.’

However, the ultimate sparring partner remained Itargand. He was sturdy by nature, had a desire to grow stronger, and, above all, rapidly absorbed knowledge.

“That guy. Has he surpassed the Sword Expert rank already?”

“Yeah. He fired a sword energy the first day he held the hilt of a sword.”

Ronan chuckled. Provoking Itargand at the sunset street a month ago had indeed been an excellent choice.

Hand-to-hand combat, magic, swordsmanship—this arrogant Red Dragon was absorbing knowledge one after another, becoming Ronan’s rival in skill, approaching Shullifen’s level.

Yet, both sides benefitted—Ronan from the Dragon’s resilience, Itargand from human combat techniques. Ronan thought of Shullifen’s face.

“I wonder how he’s doing.”

“Probably fine. He’s the Little Duke of Garcia, after all.”

“He didn’t even visit our place?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“He must be undergoing some extraordinary training, not even showing his face.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. He had never seen Shullifen in the past month. Even though he tried to inquire, he only vaguely heard a rumor that he had explained the situation to Katir and left Philleon.

“I’m worried but also excited. It’s already tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s come so quickly.”

Ronan widened his eyes. He had been so busy that he almost forgot the decisive day tomorrow. Adeshan added.

“How about taking a good rest today? Training is good, but it’s better to adjust your condition the day before. You’ve been pushing yourself constantly.”

“Um... that makes sense, I guess?”

Ronan nodded. It was a reasonable argument. After all, pushing too hard the day before would only result in injustice if he fell ill. Donning his training garb again, he turned to Adeshan.

“Who do you think will win?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, take a guess. You’re good at these things.”

“I genuinely don’t know. Both of you are prodigies who will leave a mark in their time. But...”

Adeshan suddenly turned around. She reached out, gently stroking Ronan’s head, causing him to freeze. Adeshan, staring directly into Ronan’s eyes, spoke.

“I hope you win.”

Ronan didn’t respond. He felt tongue-tied, incapable of speaking. Suddenly, Adeshan’s face turned as red as an apple. It seemed she realized belatedly that she had done something quite embarrassing.

“Uh, I, I’ll see you...!”

She hurriedly covered her face with both hands and left the training grounds. Ronan chuckled wryly. His heart raced, not just from the intense sparring with Itargand.

“...Heh.”

He stood there for a while before returning to the dormitory. The final day passed in a flash.

Finally, it was tomorrow. Frankly, whether it was a sword competition or something else wasn’t particularly important.

‘Oh, now that I think about it, it’s the first time I’m facing off against that brat after the favor.’

That bastard’s words had left an indelible mark on Ronan’s determination not to lose even if he died. His heart was pounding rapidly.

“Wait for it, you unlucky bastard.”

His chest was racing, and sleep was nowhere to be found. It took swinging his sword in different directions a thousand times over before he could finally fall asleep. The belated exhaustion guided him into a deep slumber.

The news that half of the Dawn Brigade, tracking Nebula Clazier, had met its demise, arrived the next morning.

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HEL SCANS

[Translator – Peptobismol]

[Proofreader – Demon God]

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