Chapter 252
Chapter 252
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 252
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (11)
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“Where have you been?”
“Ugh... just dealing with a bit of a headache...”
The Professor emerged from between the priests who parted like the Red Sea before Moses, rubbing his face at the question.
“The steppe folk think fast and move fast.”
“Can’t be helped, right? When situations change, they pack up their entire homes and move. In those harsh, danger-filled steppes where spots to raise sheep are limited, they’ve got moving on the spot ingrained in them to claim territory before anyone else.”
“Ugh... but to set off right after one word...”
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- Deer Drug Please: Looks. So. Fun.
- Jokasss: February 17, 2058. Professor Park receives the notice: ‘Come out later, let’s talk.’
- DOOMgay: Kekekeke. A ragtag like you getting a heroine. The world must be upside down.
- Jobless: Hapbun isn’t ragtag. He’s just pure-hearted.
- Deer Drug Please: ?
- Heung An Mandu: ?
- Take a Look: Pure????
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Not that kind of pure. Probably means pure (唇獸)—beast on the lips, something like that.
- Jobless: It’s true. Hapbun’s a really gentle and soft person.
- Number Three: Metaljo-nim? Is Bex-nim still really sick?
- DOOMgay: Uh... sorry. Looks like he hasn’t recovered enough for society yet. Keeps spouting nonsense.
- Jobless: It’s true.
- Speed Wagon: Professor has many strengths, but... I can’t agree on that one.
- Heung An Mandu: Anyway, what about my rescue? You’re coming now, right? I really collapsed like two mountain peaks? The nearby mutants must be going berserk.
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- DOOMgay: Nah, no need. Thanks to that landslide, all the mutants there got buried. If you turn into a Type 3 mutant, I’ll come get you.
- Heung An Mandu: Kyaeeeeeee!!!!!
- Take a Look: Didn’t you say there’s plenty of food? Tough it out.
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Looking at the chat room just brought a sigh. With the kids online, it must be evening outside. Seeing them so cheerful made me want to log out, but imagining Dana’s icy glare made me think taking it slow wasn’t so bad...
[Oh my. What’s this memory? Anaya... my darling... Oh, the sharp memory of our first kiss turned my fateful compass around and backed away into oblivion... The desert woman waits endlessly for her beloved, but the silent lord who left for another woman’s arms—truly, the silence of the lord.]
‘Please, no.’
[You say it’s not a memory I brought? That thorny thing sticking up from way over there—it’s the memory you dredge up from the depths of your heart every time a mating issue arises.]
‘Ugh, the desert... I need to get there soon too.’
Lacksasha. Real name, Anaya.
Honestly, I never imagined I’d be agonizing over something like this. I spent my most innocent high school years on the battlefield, and after the war, lived fighting tooth and nail against everyone for everything—romantic entanglements, really!
[What are you gonna do? Weakening the named mutant, sending off the nomads this time—if the imperial and elven reinforcements succeed too, humanity’s forces will be bolstered enough to form an offensive unit instead of just defense. Then maybe you’ll have the leeway to head to the desert and get support there?]
‘Ugh... I don’t know! Think about it later, later!’
[No paradise awaits where you flee. Remember that, shell.]
The Professor cursed at his smirking inner Hyde and opened his eyes. Focus— the next match was just around the corner. Marquis Bildrant’s master knights. They’d finally arrived at the arena right before the Colosseum, surrounded by watchtowers.
Clop clop clop clop—
Before he knew it, the carriage had switched to a semi-final pegasus-drawn one for participants, and all the weird restrictions on gladiators were gone. The semi-finals meant the prime of Kuhn Taegis. A battle where you use every power and ability at your disposal to crush rivals and reach the Colosseum—that was the goal.
“The Empire’s support worries me.”
“Me too. Even local nomadic clans staked their tribesmen’s lives and charged like that. For imperial royalty, who knows how lavish the support will be. With these guys here, we don’t have to worry about black magic curses... but expect at least two elite guard knight orders decked out with eye-popping gear, every magic, blessing, and alchemical potion buffs stacked on.”
Normally, buffs can’t be stacked like that. Divine power clashes with magic, and those two forces that reject phenomena clash with alchemy that utilizes them.
But—if the Empire’s state religion, the Order of Courage’s specialty ‘Battle Potion’ comes into play, it’s different. This washbasin-sized comprehensive buff potion harmonizes buffs like [Agility Boost] and [Strength Boost] that would normally cancel each other out with no drawbacks, and has the miraculous effect of classifying and settling positive effects into the body without clashing.
Beyond its own [Strength, Agility, Stamina, Recovery, Perception, Mental Spell Resistance Boost], you can simultaneously receive a water mage’s [Water Purification] buff and a fire mage’s [Fire Resistance], plus an alchemist’s [Berserker—massive combat boost at cost of Lv.5 Control Impairment], [Lone Wolf—combat ability rises the fewer allies on the field], [Slime Essence—blunt attack resistance], [Medusa Gaze—focus gaze to inflict Overwhelm Lv.3 on enemy], and all sorts of wild effects, picking only the advantages without mixing issues.
In RPG terms, it’s like having a five-slot buff limit, but temporarily lifting it to stack every type. Of course, piling 30 or 40 would turn you into a cripple from backlash later, but for now, it means creating the ultimate loaded superhuman.
Vorka, listening to my explanation from his seat in the carriage, furrowed his brow deeply at the mention of the Order of Courage’s support.
“Unbelievable. A holy water that grants both impact and slash resistance in one body. As expected of a religion that makes combat its banner...”
“Of course, since it infuses the body with the miraculous power of the God of Courage Da-Karza, non-Courage paladins suffer insane side effects—so they won’t roll out something like ‘all-attribute resistance, 50x strength, 50x agility perception-mental super loaded knight.’ Limits depend on faith, they say.”
As precious as its effects, but as the Empire’s state religion, it’s generous to high imperial demands. For a crucial match tied to the throne succession, you can assume they brought it.
“...If worst comes to worst, I’ll try blocking the outfield’s view as much as possible. Plenty of colorful banners around the Colosseum. Raise some dust, use severed banners to create blind spots...”
“And I’ll handle them in the gap?”
“Your position as saint makes it convenient, but hard to move freely, right? With all those admiring gazes.”
“Pretty much. Even if the Light God’s followers are brain-damaged, if the praised saint turns into a pitch-black eight-foot monster with two heads, four arms, and piles of severed limbs tripping their feet, they’d convert on the spot.”
[Who knows. Hard to say how those fanatics would take it. Might spawn a legend like ‘The Saint of Blood offered his flesh and blood, saying this is bread, this is wine—and with just those limbs, fed a starving village to satiety in a miracle—’]
‘Loaves and fishes, huh.’
Anyway, combat power was restricted. Couldn’t take hits recklessly like against mutants. Needed an excuse like ‘how the Lord mercifully revived him with a miracle’—if his head flies off and he survives, what would the followers think? Not a faith test.
Vorka meant to briefly block eyes, freeing me from constraints to go all out.
“Sounds good? Shall we plan more specifically?”
“Like last time, how about smashing the whole arena? While everyone’s dazed in the dust and debris storm, I cut the huge ornament linking central Colosseum to the arena...”
Clop, clop, clop!
“Keeek! Full speed! Full gallop! Benard Peng, Professor! Full gallop for you! Out of the way, all of you!”
As Vorka and I planned the ‘knight caught by monster while eyes averted’ scenario, a goblin (yes, on horseback) charged toward our carriage from the Colosseum at breakneck speed.
“Kek, keheuk, hek, heeek!”
“Must be in quite a hurry. What’s the urgent news?”
“Next match, next match starts in 22 hours, tomorrow at noon! Go back and rest, gladiator!”
The sudden goblin messenger left me, Vorka, the gathered spectators, and priests all stunned.
“Postponing the match out of nowhere? Why?”
“Keeek! Not postponed! Canceled! Marquis Bildrant forfeits! You advance by default! Finals tomorrow at noon in the Colosseum!”
“...What?”
This was beyond even a speck of prediction, needing time to process.
A tournament granting 1/8th rule over a city. Forfeit after reaching semis? Right before the match, in a key event central to the Second Prince’s long-term Haunuman absorption plan?
Did I miss something?
.
.
.
.
Silence fell over the crowd. As I and the chat room folk, all plunged into chaos, raised voices debating where it went wrong—
“Da-damn it. I’m screwed. I’m totally screwed!”
A plain man’s scream broke the silence. Those who bet on the marquis erupted in curses and wails, turning the arena into pandemonium amid cheers. The coachman, under Light Order escort, turned toward the inn through the chaotic streets.
Forfeit. Default win. And a goblin-delivered note so swift and stealthy even Vorka beside me missed it.
It was the upset in the smoothly progressing tournament—and the signal that the Empire’s hand infiltrating this year’s games had begun moving in earnest.
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Bang!
Inn first floor, cleared of other guests via church request. As Vorka and I gravely wet our throats, the party arrived through the frenzy and gathered at our table.
“Hero. Straight up: cause for celebration? Or things twisting up again?”
“Lucille. You always know my answer but still ask.”
“Ughhh...!!! I just ordered the top-grade dress, five chests of Haunuman silver worth, from the tailor yesterday! Time to grab it?”
“When’s it ready.”
“Tomorrow! Evening of the final day! Thought with a win, we’d stay till the next!”
“...Buy a new one in the capital.”
“Waaah#(*&$#@*&!!!!”
As Lucille bid farewell in her heart to the dress chosen after six hours’ deliberation, the Professor spread the goblin’s note on the table.
“Delivered with the forfeit declaration.”
“Figures... No way a knight bundled in imperial pride chickened out of your match. What is it?”
“One’s the imperial message, as Aldrich predicted.”
The Professor flipped the neater of the two notes, revealing a letter in elegant script with Marquis Bildrant’s seal.
“...Wow.”
“This is... beyond words... incredible.”
The sender’s dignity shone from the opening, leaving the party in awe.
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If you serve the God of Light, the Emperor is the God of this world. This is a letter ghostwritten on behalf of His direct lineage, the Second Prince. Thus, humbly accept as the One you serve commands.
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“...Someone swap it midway?”
“Wouldn’t swap so obviously...”
The phrasing would make priests retch, unable to process. The Professor rubbed his eyes. No doubt—straight from Marquis Bildrant.
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