Chapter 167: The First Sword of Cairo (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 167: The First Sword of Cairo (2)
Inside the hollow halls of the royal palace, Daniel Cairo waited in anxious silence alongside a man dressed in a Royal Knight's uniform.
Creak.
The heavy doors opened. All eyes locked onto the entrance.
The knight who entered knelt, paying his respects to the King before delivering his report.
"It was an utterly overwhelming victory. He subdued Bruno, his first opponent, in a single blow. Now, less than thirty minutes later, he has defeated Oscar as well. Your Majesty, in just one day, Roman Dmitry has crushed every single ranker from ninth to second. There is no longer any justification to stop him from challenging the summit."
The knight's voice was grim. He knew exactly what this outcome meant. While the people of Cairo would cheer for this historic feat, Daniel Cairo couldn't bring himself to smile.
"...So, it has finally come to this."
The King's voice trembled as he looked down at the man standing right before him.
The man, his gray hair neatly swept back, possessed a robust build that completely belied his age of early sixties. The emblem of the Royal Knights was engraved on his chestplate. The sun shining above that crest proved his identity: the greatest swordsman among them.
"Count Nicholas."
"I am listening, Your Majesty."
"Is there truly no way to avoid this duel with Roman Dmitry? I do not doubt for a second that you are the First Sword of Cairo, but I cannot help but fear the worst-case scenario. Recently, the movements of the Noble Faction, led by Marquis Benedict, have been highly unusual. If the First Sword of Cairo were to fall now... my meager throne would instantly become prey for the nobles."
For years, Count Nicholas had been the absolute pillar supporting the Royalist Faction.
It was solely because of his sworn loyalty to the King that the Noble Faction hadn't dared to plot a rebellion. His presence was an absolute deterrent. In the past, Oscar had challenged him for the top spot, only to be overwhelmingly defeated in less than a minute. Since then, no one had dared to covet his position.
If he were to kneel, the crown's power would collapse.
The fall of such an absolute existence would cause the nobles' barely suppressed ambitions to burst forth like a broken dam.
Count Nicholas finally spoke.
"I understand your concerns, Your Majesty. But that is precisely why I cannot avoid this challenge. Marquis Benedict's Noble Faction hasn't refrained from rebelling due to a lack of strength. They simply loathe suffering even the slightest loss in our delicate balance of power. They have always possessed the military might to make a move at any moment. If I refuse Roman Dmitry's challenge, I might preserve my title as the First Sword of Cairo, but from that moment on, Marquis Benedict will no longer view me as a threat."
The four factions. This precarious balance of power had actually been the royal family's lifeline.
Because he had to consider the bloody aftermath of a rebellion, Marquis Benedict had refrained from making any reckless moves.
In the end, Count Nicholas was just one man.
While it was possible to defeat him, the scales of balance had been maintained solely because the nobles knew exactly how much blood he would spill in the process.
It was checkmate.
From the moment Roman Dmitry defeated Oscar, Count Nicholas had no other choice.
"An absolute power who turns away from challengers has no reason to exist. Please trust me. I will defeat Roman Dmitry and prove once again why I am called the First Sword of Cairo."
Roman was a powerful challenger.
That was exactly why this duel held such monumental meaning.
Count Nicholas rose from his seat, exuding the overwhelming aura of a giant.
"Then, I shall take my leave."
* * *
As he stepped out of the royal palace, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
"...Will you truly be alright? Regardless of the outcome, if you suffer even a minor injury, the hyenas of Cairo will not sit idly by."
It was Bentner—the man who had once sought out Roman Dmitry on behalf of the King. He looked at Count Nicholas with worried eyes.
"It has already been over sixty years since I began serving the royal family of Cairo. Whether I am alright or not is of no importance. This is something that must be done, and I will succeed—just as I always have."
Count Nicholas looked out the nearby window. As the dazzling sunlight poured in, memories of the past flooded his mind.
"Nicholas. I leave my son in your hands."
The former King, Daniel Cairo's father, had spoken those words to Count Nicholas just a few days before his death.
He had been a truly weak man.
Count Nicholas had lived for the Cairo royal family from the moment he was born, and the King had always been the sole object of his loyalty. Yet, the fragmentation of Cairo's power structure was entirely the former King's fault. If he hadn't stood by and allowed the seeds of discord to take root in the first place, the royal family might have maintained its absolute authority.
Even so, Nicholas couldn't bring himself to blame him.
Though weakness in a royal family symbolized incompetence, the King had been an incredibly good man.
Whenever he saw a young Nicholas despairing over his harsh daily training, the King would secretly slip him medicine. Sometimes, the King would sneak him out of the palace to slack off, and whenever there was delicious food, he would call everyone over to share it.
Those were good times.
That clueless young boy had grown to become the sword representing Cairo, while the King, who had once been like a brilliantly shining sun, had crumbled under the cruelty of power. There had been no way to protect him. The best Count Nicholas could do was eliminate physical threats, and so he had struggled desperately to become stronger.
But in the end, the King died.
People called Count Nicholas the First Sword of Cairo, but a sword could not defend against unseen, underhanded schemes.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips. Facing the sunlight outside the window, the former King's face kept coming to mind.
'Everyone called me a fool when I said I would serve King Daniel.'
After the former King's death, Count Nicholas had been offered countless temptations. Had he grasped even one of them, he would have lived a completely different life. But he never once regretted his choice.
"Bentner."
"...Yes, sir."
"Roman Dmitry—what kind of man is he?"
Nicholas changed the subject. There was no time to indulge in nostalgia. Reality was pressing down on them; it was time to focus on the present.
Bentner fell into thought for a moment. He had only spoken with Roman Dmitry once, but the memory of that encounter remained incredibly vivid.
"To be honest, I cannot say for certain what kind of man Roman Dmitry is. However, even back when he had yet to be properly recognized, he possessed absolute conviction in the path he walked. He is a born predator. If he weren't confident in his victory, he would never have made the extreme choice of a public ranking match. From ninety-ninth to first—everyone called it reckless, but just as he has ultimately appeared before you as a challenger, he will surely seek to prove himself again."
Bentner, too, believed in Count Nicholas. But this time, he could not be certain of his victory.
"So please, be careful. If you fall, the royal family of Cairo is finished."
* * *
Dawn broke the next day.
A massive crowd had gathered in Kairos, the capital of Cairo. The people filling the streets parted like the sea, clearing a path wherever he moved.
Step. Step.
Roman Dmitry walked forward. Gripping a single sword, he calmly accepted the heavy gazes of the crowd.
He stopped.
A massive mansion loomed ahead—he had arrived at his destination. Stepping through the wide-open gates, he saw the sea of spectators surrounding the courtyard, and the man waiting for him at the very center. The figure whom the Cairo Kingdom called the First Sword.
Count Nicholas looked at Roman Dmitry, who had finally appeared before him, and spoke.
"Roman Dmitry. I have faced countless challengers in my life, but none have been as arrogant and bold as you."
It was a statement of pure admiration.
From ninety-ninth to first, Roman Dmitry had climbed all the way from the very bottom. The people's doubts had turned to astonishment, and now they watched with bated breath, wondering if an impossible upset might actually occur.
"You are barely in your mid-twenties. Without a doubt, you were born with the talent to make a name for yourself not just in the Cairo Kingdom, but across the entire continent. But your time is not now. I, Richard Nicholas, will remain the First Sword of Cairo until the moment I find my eternal rest."
Shring.
He drew his sword. The atmosphere instantly grew heavy.
Though neither of them had made a move yet, the onlookers could only hold their breath in the suffocating tension.
"Come. I will show you the wall of reality."
At that moment, with the sharp flutter of a flag, Willas signaled the start.
Simultaneously, with a thunderous roar, Roman Dmitry lunged toward Count Nicholas.
* * *
Boom! Crash!
The duel was fierce from the very first second.
As if determined not to drag things out, Roman launched an immediate, explosive attack. But unlike his previous opponents, Count Nicholas met Roman's strike head-on. An explosion of aura erupted. Though the earth and sky seemed to shake every time their swords clashed, neither Roman Dmitry nor Count Nicholas retreated a single step.
Flash.
It was the exact same move that had defeated the tenth-ranked Jeron.
As the sword sliced through space, aiming to sever his forearm, Count Nicholas lunged forward and parried the blade upward.
Clang!
In the same fluid motion, he launched a counterattack.
Roman pulled back his sword to block the counter, instantly shifting to the method he had used to defeat the third-ranked opponent. It was a continuous chain of attacks executed while relentlessly driving forward. He gave his opponent no room to breathe, targeting the head, then the arm, then the torso, and finally the legs in a vicious onslaught that caused Count Nicholas's expression to tighten slightly.
The third-ranked opponent hadn't even been able to withstand the second strike aimed at his arm. It was incredibly fast and lethal, yet Count Nicholas's sword calmly deflected every single blow.
Clang! Cl-cl-cl-clang!
It was a breathtaking clash.
Ordinary onlookers could barely follow the high-speed exchange with their eyes, forced to stumble backward from the sheer shockwaves of power radiating outward.
Four attacks. Four defenses.
Count Nicholas's presence swelled.
Until now, Roman's duels had been completely one-sided. No one had been able to properly block even a single one of his attacks, suffering humiliating defeats that made their reputations as rankers look like a joke. Because of this, doubts had begun to creep into the minds of the public. It was true that Count Nicholas was the First Sword of Cairo, but perhaps he wasn't actually as strong as they remembered, just like the others. Especially after watching the second-ranked Oscar crumble so helplessly, people had started to question their own memories of the Count's strength.
But their memories were not wrong.
Count Nicholas's skill was truly worthy of his legendary reputation. Unlike the other rankers of Cairo who couldn't even withstand five exchanges, he had already traded over twenty blows with the monster.
Then, it happened.
Tap.
In the briefest gap between attacks, Count Nicholas's eyes shifted.
A powerful vortex of aura erupted from his blade, and he lunged forward with explosive force to slash his opponent.
It was his trump card. A highly lethal strike.
This time, he intended to land a solid, decisive blow on Roman Dmitry.
However, with a resounding boom, Roman Dmitry blocked the attack as if it were nothing. It wasn't a pre-planned movement, but a pure, instinctual reaction based solely on what he had seen.
Slide.
Count Nicholas, pushed back by the sheer impact, smirked.
"You really are an interesting fellow."
From beginning to end, Roman Dmitry hadn't shown the attitude of a challenger for even a single second. As if he were already the First Sword of Cairo, he relentlessly pressed forward without yielding an inch.
It was exhilarating. He was definitely different. Roman Dmitry didn't fear him in the slightest.
'One wrong move, and I will lose.'
That was an unacceptable reality.
Clack.
He readjusted his grip on his sword. Mana boiled within him.
The First Sword of Cairo—his true attack was only just beginning.