Chapter 168: The First Sword of Cairo (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 168: The First Sword of Cairo (3)
Number one in the Cairo rankings.
Richard Nicholas.
Although people acknowledged him as the First Sword of Cairo, they unanimously agreed on one thing: they would never want to live like him.
"What pleasure does Count Nicholas even find in life? He reached the peak long ago, yet instead of enjoying his wealth and fame, he spends his days shuttling between his home and the training ground. What a suffocating man. If I had his skills, I would have joined hands with Marquis Benedict and lived a life of luxury."
Once, Count Nicholas's daily routine had been brought to light.
It was incredibly tedious.
According to a servant's testimony, aside from a brief period of morning meditation, he practically lived at the training ground. From the absolute basics of swordsmanship to high-level techniques, Count Nicholas drenched himself in sweat every single day, relentlessly reviewing his skills and constantly summoning his subordinates for sparring sessions.
That was his entire daily schedule.
From morning till night.
Setting aside his external duties as a Royal Knight, Count Nicholas focused solely on his swordsmanship.
He was in his sixties.
While some might argue he was still in his prime as a martial artist, spending all day at a training ground hardly befitted a man of his social standing. Yet, Count Nicholas lived the exact same day, every single day. No matter what people said, from the moment he opened his eyes until he closed them, the sword never left his hand.
Why?
Did he simply enjoy it?
Was he a madman obsessed with the blade?
No.
At the end of each day, Count Nicholas would force his eyes shut against the wave of nausea rising from deep within his gut.
'I, too, do not wish to live so fiercely.'
Sixty years of life.
He had spent all of it serving the royal family.
Whipped since childhood whenever he slacked in his training, Count Nicholas had grown to become the central pillar supporting the Cairo royal family. He knew it better than anyone. The moment he showed even a shred of weakness, the royal family would crumble like a sandcastle under the pressure of the wicked forces coveting the throne.
He could not allow that.
The Cairo royal family was Nicholas's everything.
This blind loyalty, carved into his very mind, had become Count Nicholas's entire existence—no matter how tedious others found it. So, he gritted his teeth. When he heard the rumors that Roman Dmitry had defeated Butler, Count Nicholas went straight to the training ground, swinging his sword all day against an imaginary opponent.
Daniel Cairo.
And the former king.
With just a single smile, a single warm word from them, Count Nicholas found meaning in his life.
The man whom everyone hailed as great was, in the end, just a human being who believed in and followed his own purpose.
One day, his son—who lived a normal life unlike him—asked a question:
"Father, why do you go to such extremes?"
A father who returned home exhausted every day.
A father who came home looking wretched, a stark contrast to his brilliant reputation.
Facing the reproach of his son, who had abandoned the sword because he did not want to end up like him, Count Nicholas offered a sincere smile.
"My son, I am the First Sword of Cairo. People mock Cairo and call it a weak nation, but in this small well called Cairo, I must remain an existence that no one can ever touch. That is the purpose of my life."
And today.
The people did not know.
They didn't know that to face his young challenger, Roman Dmitry, Count Nicholas had been preparing ever since Roman declared the public ranking match a year ago.
The First Sword of Cairo.
Richard Nicholas was an entirely different beast from the opponents Roman had stepped over to get here.
* * *
Rumble!
The ground shook violently.
Through the raging sandstorm, Count Nicholas pressed Roman Dmitry hard.
Clang!
Clash! Clash! Clash!
The tide of the battle had turned.
While Roman Dmitry had driven the offense in the beginning, now it was Count Nicholas unleashing a relentless barrage of attacks.
'Roman Dmitry does not run.'
Over the past year, Count Nicholas had accumulated data in his mind.
Roman Dmitry's duel with Homeros, his battles on the Southern Front, the testimonies from when he defeated Butler—Nicholas had memorized every scrap of information. People might wonder why the number one ranker of Cairo would be so wary of a swordsman barely in his mid-twenties, but Count Nicholas gave his absolute best in every moment.
His opponent's talent was brilliant.
If he could not overwhelm him with talent, he would crush him with experience.
Boom!
An explosion erupted.
Knowing his opponent would not retreat, he intentionally pushed his Aura to its absolute limit.
Since an Aura that distorted the very air could not be evaded simply by dodging, Roman raised his sword to block the strike.
Clang!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
That was only the beginning.
His opponent's moves.
Nicholas targeted the best options Roman Dmitry could possibly conceive.
Rather than reacting to what he saw, he unleashed a frenzied assault under the assumption that his opponent would block every single strike. If he attacked the right, he immediately followed up to the left. If he attacked the left, he struck from above. Constantly shifting his attack patterns, he shut down every possibility, leaving Roman Dmitry no room to think.
A single breath.
The price of seizing that initial momentum was immense.
With a single fluid motion, the First Sword of Cairo completely seized control of the battle.
"Wow..."
"...So this is the First Sword of Cairo."
The spectators watching from afar could not help but marvel.
Though obscured by the swirling sandstorm, Count Nicholas exuded an overwhelming presence.
It was clear.
Count Nicholas was on an entirely different level.
While Oscar, ranked second, had never even grazed the bottom of the continental rankings, Count Nicholas had reached as high as 80th. And that was five years ago. Since then, Count Nicholas had not slacked in his training for a single day. People believed his rank would rise even higher if he challenged the continental rankings again.
He was in his sixties.
His body was beginning to age.
Yet, he was clearly demonstrating exactly why Cairo's power structure remained anchored around him.
Boom!
Rumble!
Aura exploded.
Count Nicholas charged through the sandstorm.
To protect the Cairo royal family, and to prove to this powerful challenger that he was still far from ready.
Knowing that a single misstep in his offense could mean death, he never slowed his assault.
In that manner, Count Nicholas burned fiercely.
And as he blazed with all his might, Roman Dmitry, too, began to burn alongside him.
* * *
Count Nicholas.
He was strong.
Roman had met countless people since living as Roman Dmitry, but without a doubt, there was no swordsman stronger than this man.
'He is a step above Butler.'
A battle against the strong.
His blood boiled.
Maintaining his silence over the past year, Roman Dmitry had been waiting for a moment exactly like this.
Clang!
Clash! Clash! Clash!
He swung his sword.
Against his opponent's intentions, against his opponent's attacks, he met them all head-on.
Without retreating even an inch, Roman Dmitry countered directly, no matter how his opponent lunged.
Rumble!
A massive shockwave erupted.
Though a head-on clash was a draining choice, neither of them backed down.
Out of respect for the First Sword of Cairo?
It was nothing of the sort.
The stronger his opponent was, the more Roman Dmitry wanted to crush him with sheer power.
'Count Nicholas is strong. But in the end, he is only strong by Cairo's standards. There are dozens of people on the continent evaluated as stronger than him, and if we include those who have hidden their identities, the number is beyond estimation. Therefore, for my future plans, I must overwhelm someone of Count Nicholas's caliber.'
He acknowledged his opponent.
If Nicholas had been of the same caliber as Oscar, Roman Dmitry would not have dragged this out. He would have ended the match instantly.
Flash.
Nicholas attacked.
Like a meteor falling from the heavens, a sword wrapped in Aura plunged downward.
Roman charged forward.
Playing right into his opponent's intent, he unleashed his own Aura to meet the strike.
Boom!
Rumble!
It was a continuous series of clashes.
The two collided repeatedly.
As if backing down even a single step would mean defeat, neither yielded an inch.
Boom!
With one particular clash, Count Nicholas's expression contorted.
It was an incredibly minute difference, but he felt himself being pushed back slightly by the recoil.
Boom!
It was the same this time.
Even though he had channeled more power than before, he was pushed back even further.
Boom!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
With every subsequent clash, Count Nicholas was forced back bit by bit.
He had clearly held the upper hand at first, but as they clashed head-on, an unbelievable reality began to unfold.
Like clothes getting soaked in a gentle drizzle, the cumulative shock piled up.
Realizing too late that he had been pushed back more than five steps, Count Nicholas felt that something was terribly wrong.
'I am being overpowered.'
It was from that moment that the spectators began to realize the flow of the duel had turned strange.
* * *
This duel.
The spectators had envisioned a specific picture.
If Roman Dmitry were to pull off an upset, they believed it would definitely not be through a head-on clash.
"Roman Dmitry is only in his mid-twenties. No matter how great of a genius he is, there is no way he can face Count Nicholas's Aura—honed over sixty years of training—head-on. With Count Nicholas dominating in every aspect, Roman Dmitry would have to create some sort of variable to keep even a sliver of hope alive."
It was a logical assessment.
However, the reality unfolding before their eyes was entirely different.
Boom!
Count Nicholas was pushed back.
At first, the retreat was so subtle it was barely visible, but now, his backward steps were clear as day.
Boom!
This time, two steps back.
Count Nicholas gritted his teeth.
The more he clashed with Roman Dmitry's sword, the more a sickening sensation welled up inside him.
'This is impossible.'
He was horrified.
He was no different from the spectators.
Though he had prepared for a year to face Roman Dmitry, he had never imagined the youth would overpower him through sheer strength.
It wasn't arrogance. It was self-confidence. Having lived and experienced sixty years of life, he had been absolutely certain that his Aura would be stronger than someone who had only lived for twenty-odd years.
Common sense shattered.
His opponent was a monster.
People called Count Nicholas a genius, but even in the realm of geniuses, Roman Dmitry was a being beyond the heavens.
Boom!
Screeech!
He slid far back across the dirt.
"Cough!"
In that instant, he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The shock from the continuous clashes had accumulated. As if his internal organs had been torn to shreds, thick blood dripped from his mouth. Staring at the crimson droplets catching his eye, Count Nicholas let out a hollow laugh. He had struggled so desperately to remain standing as the pillar of the Cairo royal family, only to fall—not to the Noble Faction he had guarded against all this time, but to a rising new star.
If...
What would happen if he lost?
Roman Dmitry claimed neutrality, but that did not mean he would help Daniel Cairo.
According to Nicholas's investigations, his opponent was a pragmatic man.
Unlike himself, who had dedicated his life to a foolish romanticism, Roman Dmitry had no reason to sacrifice anything for the royal family.
'I absolutely cannot lose.'
He gritted his teeth.
He swallowed the blood.
Suppressing the nauseating, metallic taste in his mouth, he looked at his opponent.
It was absurd.
Roman Dmitry was giving him time.
It was as if the youth was telling him to calm his breathing and clash again with everything he had.
Seeing a mere challenger act with the arrogance of a champion, Count Nicholas channeled his Aura to its absolute maximum.
'Fine. I shall graciously accept your consideration.'
Rumble!
He raised his sword.
This was the end.
If even this failed, there would be no way to defeat Roman Dmitry.
With a swift step,
Rumble!
He kicked off the ground.
Roman Dmitry met him head-on once again.
He exploded his Aura.
Count Nicholas's secret technique.
As the power that had earned him the rank of 80th on the continent manifested, the Aura wrapping his sword blazed like an erupting volcano.
'This is the end.'
It was then.
Count Nicholas saw it clearly.
Even when facing an Aura that burned as if to swallow the world, even though he had read his opponent's intentions, Roman Dmitry did not dodge his attack.
Boom!
Crash! Crash! Crash!