Chapter 212: Pitch-Black Night (8)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 212: Pitch-Black Night (8)
An invitation from Valhalla.
Taken literally, an "invitation" sounded like a positive thing. But when preceded by the word "Valhalla," the implication completely changed. The Valhalla Empire only sent invitations on two occasions: to genuinely welcome an honored guest, or to mask a deeply insidious intent. Roman Dmitry was currently facing the latter.
Roman Dmitry read the parchment.
[Roman Dmitry. We wish to invite you as a representative warrior to the festival honoring the souls of fallen warriors. The deadline is one hundred days from now. If you do not arrive in Valhalla by the day before, we will consider it a refusal of our invitation.]
Every year, the Valhalla Empire held a grand festival to honor the souls of warriors who had perished on the battlefield.
On that day, the entirety of Valhalla would be swept up in a festive atmosphere. It was their unique tradition to select representative warriors to shed blood for the masses. They held a deep-seated superstition that the fiercer the battle, the more it would please the souls of the deceased.
Usually, it was a joyous occasion. The problem lay in the identity of the person confirmed as Valhalla's representative warrior this year.
Chris spoke up. "Valhalla's representative warrior this time is Barbosa, one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent. Their intention to publicly seek revenge for the death of Count Denver is clear."
One of the Twelve Swords of the Continent.
A 6-Star swordsman ranked sixth in Valhalla.
A monster ranked eleventh on the entire continent.
Barbosa was the absolute pride of the Valhalla Empire.
This moment perfectly highlighted the stark contrast between the Kronos and Valhalla Empires. Following the purge in Cairo, both empires hungered for revenge. Yet, their methods differed wildly. The Kronos Empire had openly declared an assassination attempt despite the dishonor it brought—they were a breed that would use any means necessary to achieve victory. The Valhalla Empire, however, chose an absurdly straightforward approach.
If he accepted the invitation, Roman Dmitry would face Barbosa.
By all common sense, he would surely meet his death. Valhalla's official stance was that if he somehow won, they would forget their past grudges. Of course, not a single person who had ever accepted Valhalla's invitation had survived. The representative warriors put forward by Valhalla were always figures of legendary renown across the continent. The citizens of Valhalla would simply bask in the festive atmosphere as they watched their opponents fall to brutal swordsmanship.
Their intention was blatant. Valhalla wanted blood for the Count Denver incident. Though they called it an invitation, the Valhalla Empire was displaying the exact same coercive, domineering nature as Kronos.
It was a death sentence. The moment he accepted, he would die.
Even Chris, who trusted Roman Dmitry implicitly, couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with worry.
"This is a proposal you have no reason to accept. Unlike two years ago, there are now many people who look only to you, my Lord. Please avoid this danger. You cannot personally shoulder every risk forever, just as you did when you took direct revenge on Écorché."
Roman understood Chris's concerns. However, he couldn't view the situation the same way.
"An invitation is just an invitation," Roman Dmitry said. "As you said, declining Valhalla won't cause immediate trouble. However, the Valhalla Empire places great importance on a warrior's honor. They will view a refusal as their victory, and they will use it as an excuse to tarnish my name. Valhalla is a pack of foxes wearing the masks of warriors. Death for me if I accept, and practical gains for them if I refuse. They must have drafted this invitation under the belief that it was a flawless plan."
The choice was ultimately his to make. If he prioritized safety, refusing was absolutely the right choice. But Roman did not believe that was the best course of action.
"Chris. To those who follow me, I must be a figure of absolute faith. In order to face enemies who seem impossible to defeat by common sense in the future, my people need the conviction that simply being with me guarantees victory. But if I refuse Valhalla's invitation, what do you think people will make of it? A single refusal, even if viewed as a natural choice to avoid danger, will create a microscopic crack in their faith. That is where division begins. Valhalla desires the division of Dmitry."
In all their wars so far, Dmitry had always emerged victorious. While it was initially due to Roman Dmitry's individual prowess, as time passed, the capabilities of his soldiers had also begun to shine.
Their driving force lay in absolute trust.
Armed with the powerful conviction that they could defeat any enemy as long as they followed Roman Dmitry, they did not hesitate to lay down their lives on the battlefield. Even if they were to die, the certainty that he would genuinely mourn them and care for their families had turned seemingly impossible battles into overwhelming victories.
Roman Dmitry was the god of Dmitry. He knew that in the trials to come, never betraying that faith would be crucial.
"In one hundred days, I will accept Valhalla's invitation," Roman Dmitry declared. "Chris, just as you have your role, this is the role I must play."
In that moment, Chris was left speechless.
He had always known that he could never, ever live like Roman Dmitry.
* * *
Around that time, a chilling rumor began to spread through the assassination industry.
"Écorché took a contract to assassinate Roman Dmitry and was completely wiped out."
The source of the rumor was Dante. Dante had told those around him what he had seen and heard, and the tale spread like wildfire.
"When Dante reunited with Cort, the Sword of Écorché, he couldn't hide his bewilderment. Why? Because that renowned assassin of the Salamander Continent had been reduced to a miserable wreck from severe torture. Cort confessed that every single assassin who attacked Dmitry had been slaughtered. Then, Cort just died. Dmitry had cruelly released him while he was still poisoned. Cort collapsed on the ground, shivering violently and coughing up blood until his last breath. And, just as the world now knows, Roman Dmitry wasn't satisfied with merely wiping out the strike team; he crossed the border and annihilated Écorché's headquarters."
It was a vivid, horrifying testimony. Those who heard Dante's words gossiped feverishly about the incident.
The downfall of Écorché. It was impossible not to know about it. When people woke up in the morning, they were horrified to see Brakan's severed head hanging in the street.
It defied all common sense. While Écorché's failure to assassinate him was something people could marvel at and eventually move on from, crossing the border to seek revenge was an entirely different matter. Furthermore, the Emperor of Kronos had publicly declared Roman Dmitry's assassination. If trouble arose within Kronos's territory, one wouldn't expect to return alive—yet Roman Dmitry carried out his bloody vengeance to the very end.
This single example delivered a crystal-clear message to the world. Those in the assassination industry trembled with fear.
"Roman Dmitry has always been consistent. When the Barco family fell, people thought their defeat in the war drove them to their deaths. But those in the know are well aware that Roman Dmitry slaughtered every last member of Barco behind the scenes. That is the sheer ruthlessness of the man. Just as Écorché vanished overnight, if you plan to accept a contract to assassinate Roman Dmitry or his people in the future, keep in mind that you will be putting your own life on the line to pay the toll."
The price of assassination. Roman Dmitry had demonstrated it clearly.
Rather than uttering half-hearted, empty threats, his act of crossing the border served as a bloody testament to his relentless nature. Consequently, anyone who had shown even a sliver of interest in the assassination contract quickly turned away. While succeeding in what the Emperor of Kronos desired would bring immense wealth and fame, the task was simply suicidal.
Thanks to this, the number of assassination requests in the northeastern region dropped significantly. The underworld feared that if they carelessly touched anyone associated with Dmitry, they would pay the ultimate price.
Roman Dmitry's judgment had been flawless. A single brutal precedent had engraved terror into people's hearts far more effectively than a hundred warnings.
* * *
The downfall of Écorché left the world reeling.
Some felt admiration. Some felt shock. Others felt sheer terror. But Kevin, who followed Roman Dmitry, only felt an indescribable sense of helplessness.
'…Will I have to just stand by and watch my Lord face danger forever?'
This time, he had desperately wanted to go with him. Since it was a matter of risking one's life, he had wanted to be of help, but Roman Dmitry hadn't wished to bring anyone along. At the time, Roman Dmitry hadn't elaborated much. When he simply stated that they should each play their own roles, Kevin and the others couldn't dare to argue.
Everyone knew the bitter truth: if they followed Roman Dmitry, they might end up being a hindrance rather than a help.
Kevin suppressed his true feelings. He could only watch as his Lord departed straight into the jaws of death.
'People say our growth is abnormally fast. But that alone isn't enough for us to stand by our Lord on the path he will walk. To face the Kronos Empire and the Valhalla Empire—the absolute predators that rule the continent—we need to become far stronger than we are now.'
Every day, he went to the training ground. He trained so relentlessly that he was completely exhausted by sunset, but he knew that simple training alone could not bring about growth that defied common sense. He needed a new method. He needed a way to drastically accelerate his growth while receiving Roman Dmitry's teachings and practicing his martial arts.
Then, an idea struck him. He recalled what Felix had said not long ago.
"Recently, I developed a magic circle that increases the mana concentration in a specific area. It's not perfect yet, but once all the margins of error are resolved, it will undoubtedly be helpful in many ways. Not only will it enhance the power of magic when cast, but Aura Swordsmen can also use it for 'training purposes.' Utilizing Aura in an environment with an unnaturally high concentration of mana… theoretically speaking, it can increase the amount of mana Aura Swordsmen absorb into their bodies and vastly amplify the power of their Aura."
It was a conversation Felix had shared with Chris. Felix had conducted numerous experiments for Dmitry, and as one of the results, he had succeeded in developing this specific magic circle.
In fact, it was something he had been researching since his time in Frank. Due to financial constraints, he had repeatedly postponed it until finally succeeding now. It was still in an incomplete stage, however. Although Felix had said it would take half a year to ensure definitive results and safety, Kevin could not afford to just sit and wait.
He immediately sought out Felix. To become even a little stronger, he was willing to do anything. Even if he had to become a guinea pig for an unstable magic circle, Kevin needed a way to show visible results right now.
However, there were already guests present. His comrades, including Henderson and McBurney.
Those among Roman Dmitry's followers who felt they were still lacking had already taken their places. Due to the Écorché incident, they had reached the exact same conclusion as Kevin.
Felix sighed. "…You are all truly reckless. As I have told you repeatedly, this technology's safety has not yet been verified. In the worst-case scenario, you could become the prime examples of its failure. Do you still insist on using this for training?"
"Sir Felix, you know why we came here," Henderson replied firmly. "What matters to us is being of even the slightest help to our Lord in the harsh reality we will soon face. Our current strength is simply not enough. No matter how much we grow, the enemies we must face in the future are empires that have reigned as absolute powerhouses for hundreds of years."
Felix understood. Because he had also felt that exact same helplessness, he looked at the gathered swordsmen and nodded.
"Understood. But keep this in mind: safety is the absolute priority. If you end up crippled before you can even do anything for our Lord, how could we face him? Besides, the Phoenix Magic Tower has received a vast amount of funding from our Lord, and I absolutely refuse to deliver bad news to him."
They knew the risks. They also knew they couldn't expect a miraculous overnight change. Even so, they chose to move forward, even if it was only step by step.
* * *
Half a month later.
An iron mine in Dmitry. While excavating a new vein and expanding the shafts, a sudden accident occurred.
Boom!
Rumble!
"The tunnel is collapsing!"
"Take cover!"
The mine shaft violently caved in.
Although they had thoroughly investigated the surroundings to ensure the bedrock was solid, sudden accidents were simply beyond human control. The workers evacuated quickly. In the past, a shaft collapse would have been a catastrophic disaster claiming dozens of lives. But now, a magical safety net was in place to protect them.
"[Air Shield]."
Whoosh—!
A powerful gust of wind rose. An invisible barrier formed in the air, catching the heavy debris falling from the ceiling. Thanks to this spell, the workers were able to secure enough time to escape with their lives.
After a long while, once the tremors ceased and the ground stabilized, Morcan, the chief supervisor inspecting the ruined shaft, witnessed a strange sight.
"…What on earth is this?"
Deep underground, a gaping hole had opened up in the rock face.
And at the end of it lay an underground passage—one that clearly showed the deliberate signs of human craftsmanship.