Chapter 51
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Chapter 51
-----------------------------------------------------------------
```html
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: What Does It Matter?
-----------------------------------------------------------------
(5)
11.
After the bland second match came to an end.
The curtain rose on the next match without delay.
Two students made their entrances into the arena one after another. The military faculty professors' eyes lit up in unison. Both were students at the heart of all the buzz.
A young noble with brown curly hair.
A bare-chested barbarian.
Of the two, the one who monopolized the professors' attention first was undoubtedly the young noble.
"His stance is impeccable. Nice gait, too."
"Wasn't he at the intermediate knight level?"
"That's what it was at the entrance exam, but word is he broke through the wall recently."
"What? Already?"
A professor shot back in surprise.
With this newly revealed information, the professors eyed the young noble with even greater interest.
Himmel Deorg.
Heir to the blood of Count Deorg, one of the empire's five masters. It was only natural that eyes would turn his way.
"So he's advanced level now."
"For real? Incredible. He's barely nineteen and already an advanced knight..."
"As expected of the Deorg bloodline."
"Outstanding swordsmanship, sharp instincts to boot—a real prodigy with a bright future."
Praise flowed without end.
Once their mouths ran dry from compliments,
their gazes shifted to the other contender. Ullan. But the looks they gave him were worlds apart from those for Himmel.
If their stares at Himmel brimmed with curiosity, intrigue, and expectation, now it was the polar opposite.
"Honestly, it's unbelievable."
"That guy's an Expert?"
"Sure, the stunt at the entrance ceremony makes it somewhat plausible, but..."
Disgust, revulsion, skepticism—
not a shred of goodwill tainted the gazes fixed on Ullan. They even dismissed the latest rumors floating around.
"The rumors must be exaggerated."
"Agreed. If it were true, the whole faculty would've been in chaos by now."
"Fair point."
The professors nodded among themselves, settling the matter.
Meanwhile, not far off, Ethan—who'd been eavesdropping—clicked his tongue under his breath.
'Tch, morons.'
These were military faculty professors from Arsen Academy, the continent's premier institution.
Yet prejudice against a barbarian's origins blinded them to the gem staring them in the face. Pathetic.
'And the faculty's already been turned upside down.'
The military high command too.
Ullan was the empire's hottest topic. Deorg's lineage had long faded from relevance.
Oblivious to Ethan's thoughts, the professors pressed on with their guesses.
"So, what's his actual strength like?"
"Hmm, hard to say."
"Probably just hit intermediate, right?"
"The auditorium fiasco was shocking, but calling him an Expert on that alone is a stretch."
Actual professors thinking that crap.
Ethan sneered inwardly.
The "Expert" rumor had been downplayed. Then, abruptly, one professor turned to him.
"What about you, Professor Ethan?"
All eyes swiveled his way with the sudden query.
It made sense. Ethan Arnop was the military faculty's top dog, bar none.
An Expert himself.
'If I could...'
He'd say a hundred Himmels couldn't touch Ullan.
But no dice.
Higher-ups had slapped a gag order on all Ullan intel.
So he brushed it off.
"Just hope no one gets hurt bad."
An odd reply, but they got the gist.
"Haha, no worries there."
"Yeah. Himmel Deorg's the considerate type. That barbarian, though..."
"Ullan."
"Pardon?"
"Not 'barbarian.' Ullan."
Ethan's eyes flashed like daggers.
Fiercely cold.
A silent pressure bore down. The veteran professor coughed awkwardly, flustered.
"Ahem! R-right. Anyway, with a build like that? A few stabs or slashes won't faze him."
He'd flipped Ethan's words. Ethan meant protect Himmel, not Ullan.
No response needed.
Instead, gazing at Ullan, Ethan clasped his hands.
'Go easy, please.'
Victory was a given.
Best if no major wounds. Bonus if he hid his power while dropping him.
Praying to gods he didn't believe in,
Ethan wished it so.
12.
Meanwhile,
Ullan arrived at the arena and cocked his head. Time had dragged on, yet no sign of the fight kicking off.
Puzzled,
the reason soon dropped.
"Control room announcement: Mana saturation in the arena exceeds limits from the second match."
"Purification underway. Resume after. Contestants, stand by in arena."
Some glitch.
Wait it out, then. Axe at his feet, Ullan stretched lightly.
That's when—
"Hey, you."
Someone hailed him.
Light brown curls. Himmel Deorg, his foe. Displeasure plain on his face.
"What's Ivela to you?"
"Friends."
"What? Friends?"
Himmel scowled.
Like he'd heard nonsense.
"Ha! Friends? Hilarious."
Incredulous,
his eyes iced over. Then, out of nowhere:
"You know her past?"
"Nope."
"Perfect. I'll enlighten you."
"No thanks."
Not curious.
Politely passed. Ignored flat-out.
"Slum rat."
"..."
Himmel monologued.
Doesn't listen, huh. As that thought hit,
"Grew up in trash-choked alleys. No noble blood, get it?"
"Gotcha."
Ullan flat.
No shake? Himmel's brows knit, irked.
"No need to fake it. Bet you're boiling. Rage away."
"Not mad."
True story. No trigger.
Never pegged her noble.
'If she were...'
No battlefield wandering past life.
Ullan's bland vibe baffled Himmel. Corner of mouth twitched—a sleazy smirk.
"Not all. Proves the slum: zero manners, etiquette. Like this one time..."
Himmel yapped on.
Ivela dirt only. Silent till Ullan scowled.
"So?"
"W-what?"
"What does it matter?"
Friends—that's it. Why yap from a stranger?
Asked why.
No straight answer. Just sneering glare and tone.
"...Cutting in? Manners lapse ain't just hers."
Face warped.
Tone frosted.
"Fine. Warning: Ditch Ivela today on."
"Huh?"
"Seen with her post-match? Deorg heir declares you enemy."
Threat sparked
savage aura crashing Ullan.
Fresh advanced knight's full killing intent. Normals'd choke.
Ullan? No.
Neither flesh nor mind.
Curious tilt.
"Count Deorg's house?"
"...Huh?"
Himmel blanked.
Face crimson rage.
"Filthy cur! Barbarian scum mocks my house?!"
"First I've heard. No mock."
"Lies! Brain-dead or not, can't ignore generations serving His Majesty—!"
"Dunno the emperor."
Speechless.
Then dawned: Ullan's eyes lied not. No provoke ploy.
Legit clueless.
No emperor? No count. Himmel deflated—
"Match starting soon!"
"To positions!"
Judges boomed.
Arena reset. Himmel wheeled, teeth grinding, snarled feral.
"Fine. Sword'll teach."
Glare locked Ullan.
"Deorg edge sharpness. And peel that fake Expert sham!"
Declaration done,
positions set.
Ref deemed ready, roared:
"Begin!"
Signal—Himmel lunged.
Blitz thrust.
No drawn-out brawl. Barbarian mongrel, honor-free.
'Blink-down.'
Prove rumor bunk. Gap closed, sword whipped.
Instant—
Claaang!
Blocked. Path-read—not bad barbarian. Then—
"...!"
Himmel's eyes bulged.
Realized. Twisted blade, deflected axe, frog-leap back.
'What power...'
Clash moment: truth hit.
Power tussle? Crushed fast.
'Power ain't all.'
Brute? Speed crush.
Short inhale, stabbing storm.
Pabababang!
Downpour assault.
Tricky guards targeted. Nick dull, one-shot endgame.
Trades dragged.
Flop again.
Near-all blocked/dodged. Scratchless shine. Lip bit.
Anxiety flickered.
'No—my edge.'
Ullan pure D. No strike, counter zilch.
Clear: Desperate block.
Convinced.
'One hitch...'
Clash unease. Ancient hand-tingle.
Dismissed.
Ullan drop priority. Full throttle blitz redux.
Time?
Himmel paled slow. Off-vibe.
'Desperate D too perfect...'
Flawless blocks/evades.
Proof: Pristine.
All nullified. Plus odd:
Ullan's mug.
Puzzled stare.
Head tilts. Teeth grind irritant—
Ullan shifted.
"...!"
Gap vanish.
Axe ripped air.
Dodge late!
Teeth grit, diagonal sweep deflect.
Claang!
Short ring.
Deflected barely.
Force slammed, shoved back.
"Huk—h-heuk!"
Breath wrecked.
Blow shook.
Ragged no-calm, eyes popped shock-laced.
'Impossible!'
Blow epiphany.
Ullan higher. Prior unease ID'd.
Pre-knight.
Sparred dad Count Deorg. Master realm first taste.
Now match.
'M-means...!'
No Expert.
Way up. Deorg peer maybe.
'No way!'
Quake-gaze, doubt root. Shaken lingered.
Meanwhile,
Ullan pierced stare.
First clash.
Himmel instinct-power-sense, deflect retreat. Talent praise.
'All she wrote.'
Nothing else.
Ivela? Opposite.
Same spot: Gap-close, fake-open attack.
Result.
Forged gap.
Talent pure.
Himmel failed.
Gap blatant. Eyes slitted doubt.
'Sword genius?'
Empire rep?
Doubt heavy.
Took hits light, probe spark.
Zilch.
'Final test...'
Ambush hidden check. Same nada.
Ivela ambush-to-counter leagues apart.
Verdict.
'Dilia erred.'
No genius.
No sword gift. Blade-handler mere. Ivela? Earthworm tier.
'Post-match: Tell her.'
Wrong intel.
Done thinking, axe gripped.
Match wrap.
'Win ways: Three.'
Disarm, incap, ref call.
Pick one: Spirit axe, sword-slice.
Wooooong!
Axe crimson blaze—
"W-wait!"
Desperate yell.
Himmel. Palms out frantic, jittery shout.
"Proposal."
"Proposal?"
"Yes! Yield match, aid goal."
Outta left.
Head cock.
"Know my goal?"
"Duh. Man here."
Firm nod.
Odd, clicked. Dudes crave power, prime gear.
'Still...'
Dubious.
Goal: Superhuman peak, ultimate weapon. Himmel? Nah.
Then—
Blindside bomb.
"Her body's target, yeah?"
"...What?"
"Ivela."
Mouth warp.
Smirk foul.
"Yield? Tonight, her in your bed. Family vow!"
"..."
"No bust fear. Caught? Fine. Born trash slut. Want nightly..."
Words choked.
Breath seized.
Query zilch, crush-pressure pinned.
"Kuhk! Euk!"
Rock-buried weight.
Limbs quake, air starved. Cause clicked.
"...!"
Ullan.
Goosebump kill-aura.
Master true intent. Non-peers crushed.
Paling slow—
Ullan lips parted.
"...Barbarian call? Fine."
Fact.
Brute, dumb, rude? Shrug.
But—
"Friend touch? Off-limits."
Ivela honor trashed.
Tongue flick.
Glare rage-loath heavy.
"Her honor no cheap rag for your yap."
Volcano rage cap.
Kill-intent yanked.
"Huk! H-heuk!"
Breath gasp.
Face ashen-blue. Locked truth: Ullan Master past Expert.
"U-ua. A-aaa!"
Terror truth? Intent faint-edge?
Flopped, scoot-back sword-clutched.
Dry watch.
"Apologize."
Last mercy tone.
"Find Ivela now, beg pardon sullied honor. Chalk words unheard."
"...What? A-apologize?"
Me? Bitch?
Absurd. Fear-quake, teeth grit yell.
"Won't...!"
"Then friend-proxy, restore honor. My way."
Scarlet gleam chill.
Flich instant. Grit redux.
"Don't—mock!"
Shame-rage twist. Sword vise, growl-snarl.
"You beg! Deorg firstborn! Heir sole!"
Loss-call, house flex. Petty peak.
True colors.
Ugly thrash frown—sword snap-pointed.
"Kneel now. Or smash you-family-bitch all!"
"..."
Blank Ullan.
Pause, axe dropped.
Himmel beamed. Drop=quit.
"Heh, yes."
Foul grin—
Ullan strode.
Himmel savored.
"Kneel spot. Quit-go, you spared..."
"Wh-what?"
No halt.
8-7-6 steps.
Shrink-gap, chill creep.
"St-stop! Closer no!"
Sword swing threat. No stop, attack launch.
Instant—
Grab!
Bare grip sword.
Glove-less palm.
Graze bleed trace.
"Br-brute fiend!"
Horror shriek.
Hero mark back-flash. Blind, grimace yell.
"Fine—finger chop!"
Force swing try—
Kwadduk! Paang!
Blade air-burst.
Grip crush. Shards fly. Shock stun.
"Wh-what! S-sword...! G-ghek!"
Choke gasp.
Collar vise.
Face thrust, devour-growl.
"Weapons for beasts-warriors only."
"Kuk! Ku-uuu! Uhk!"
"Coward fake? No need."
Himmel type two.
No warrior qualm. Ullan metric.
"Eyes wide: Coward fake soils warrior honor—what befalls."
End—
Body hoisted.
What ploy?
Ask mute, throat crushed.
Instant—
'Eh?'
Dark void.
Eerie crunch.
Kwaduk!
Smash echo, mouth dirt glut.
Grimy choke. Aware pre-, pain dizzy swarm.
"Ku-kuaaaaak!"
Nose pulverized.
Upside ground-spike.
Face-first slam.
Mug arena-raked, nose gush crimson.
No stop.
"Kuuu, aaak!"
Occiput snag.
Spin.
Cool gaze stands. Ivela spot.
Wide-shock orbs.
Lock eyes—
Head ground-pile.
─────!
Arena-quake roar.
Skull-worry smash. Worry nil. No easy blackout.
Wooong! Wooooong!
Spirit skull-veil.
No shatter. Pain pure pass.
"Th-thherr!"
Blood-mask mug.
Teeth shards? Slur warp. Late real, tear-blood beg.
"Pl-plea, mer-mercy...!"
"Not yet."
Ullan deaf.
Eye-stare lock.
"Tongue-trash honor. Blood sole wash."
Head re-slam. No bow? Force bow.
Kwaaaang!
Skull sink, floor vein-crack.
Kwajik!
Blood pool mire.
Puk! Puk-puk-puk!
Pain loop?
Quiver limp.
'Out?'
Fine. Spirit brain-zap revive.
Prep—
"St-stop! There!"
"Halt fight! Halt!"
Late ref rush.
Scene-stun snap-back.
Ullan scowl.
Obvious. Blood short honor-cleanse.
'Rest atonement...'
Next round.
Rile-worthy vow done, rag-Himmel floor-flung.
Third match close.
Blood arena hush.
Hush brief.
Guard swarm.
"He's there!"
"Chain now!"
Links bind.
Familiar déjà, Ullan guidance-dragged again.
```