Chapter 226: The Valhalla Empire (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 226: The Valhalla Empire (1)
Around that time, rumors regarding Roman Dmitry began to spread across the continent.
"Have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"The Valhalla Empire is holding its annual festival to honor the souls of warriors again. Word is, they've chosen Roman Dmitry as the opponent for Barbosa, one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent. It means Valhalla has finally acknowledged his existence. If he actually manages to defeat Barbosa, he'll become the first high-ranking ranker in continental history to hail from outside the empires."
At first, the news simply delivered the facts.
The revelation that Roman Dmitry would face Barbosa spread like wildfire, but at some point, the tone of the rumors began to shift. Word got out that Roman Dmitry had yet to respond to Valhalla's invitation. This slight delay ignited a spark of doubt.
"He's scared."
"It's only natural. Barbosa is on a completely different level compared to the swordsmen Roman has faced so far. Sure, he defeated continental rankers like Butler, Count Nicholas, and Knight Commander Gustavo, but they're strictly low-tier. Honestly, even if those three attacked at once, they couldn't defeat Barbosa. Roman Dmitry's talent is undeniable, but it's far too early for him to challenge a monster like that."
"Just as I thought. People talk as if Roman Dmitry is the greatest talent in the world, but the continent is teeming with monsters far worse than him. In the end, he's nothing but a frog in a well."
People couldn't hide their disappointment.
Roman Dmitry. The reason he had won the public's recognition so quickly was that he had never once backed down from a fight. In the countless battles since Homeros, he had always been the underdog. Yet, he had defied everyone's expectations time and time again, crushing his opponents and proving his worth.
But now, he had tucked his tail between his legs.
While they understood exactly who his opponent was, this sudden departure from his usual fearless demeanor bred bitter disappointment.
The rumors swelled, morphing into blatant mockery. Even though there was still plenty of time left before the festival, the public had already concluded that Roman Dmitry had run away.
Before long, these whispers reached Roman Dmitry's ears.
'Valhalla is making a blatant move.'
The intent behind the rumors was crystal clear. They hadn't arisen naturally; Valhalla was manipulating the narrative to ensure they won no matter what choice he made. If Roman accepted the duel, they would show the world his bloody defeat at Barbosa's hands, achieving their revenge while elevating the empire's prestige.
Conversely, if he declined, they would use these rumors to completely shatter his reputation.
The masses would mock him for avoiding the fight, and it would only be a matter of time before he was permanently branded a coward. Valhalla's method was truly cunning. Even though a duel between Roman Dmitry and Barbosa was fundamentally unfair to begin with, they had deliberately blown the event out of proportion, backing him into a corner where he couldn't refuse.
Roman Dmitry did not like Valhalla's little scheme.
Was it because they were trying to seize the initiative? Because they were spreading malicious rumors?
No.
He had intended to accept their invitation from the very beginning. What annoyed him was their absolute, arrogant certainty—the blind presumption that Barbosa's victory was a foregone conclusion.
* * *
That evening, Kevin sought out Roman Dmitry.
"My lord, may I ask why I was excluded from the journey to Valhalla?"
For this trip, Chris and several other soldiers had been placed on the roster. The rest were ordered to remain in Dmitry, and much to his dismay, Kevin was among the latter.
Normally, Kevin never questioned his lord's decisions. If ordered to jump into a blazing fire pit clutching dry straw, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. But this felt different. It felt as though he was being excluded from his lord's trust. The journey to Valhalla would undoubtedly be fraught with danger, yet Roman Dmitry had made it clear that he did not need Kevin's sword.
During the brutal special training in preparation for Valhalla, Kevin had gritted his teeth and endured.
He had pushed his limits with the single-minded determination to be of use to his lord, so he couldn't just accept being left behind. If he was simply told he wasn't strong enough, he would accept it. It was an undeniable fact that Chris was stronger. Even if it bruised his pride, he had absolutely no intention of rebelling against his lord's will.
However, he needed to know the reason.
Roman Dmitry looked at him and replied, "This journey to Valhalla will be extremely dangerous. For forces like Kronos and Valhalla, who actively seek revenge against me, this trip is the perfect opportunity. I am publicly leaving Dmitry; they will definitely make a move to take my life. I know they will try to kill me by any means necessary, but I have no choice but to step onto the stage Valhalla has set."
It wasn't because he was being forced. Roman Dmitry couldn't care less about his public reputation, but he had decided to go to Valhalla from the very beginning because he deemed it absolutely necessary.
"In the wars to come, we will have to win battles that seem impossible. We have done well so far, but facing a continental predator like the Kronos Empire is an entirely different matter. What do you think would happen if our soldiers encountered one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent on the battlefield? They would be crushed by the sheer weight of that title alone. Fear would spread like a plague, dictating the flow of the entire war. That is why we need a precedent. A precedent proving that the Twelve Swords of the Continent are not absolute invincible gods. We need to instill the belief that even within Dmitry and the Kingdom Alliance, there is someone capable of striking them down. I decided that this is what we need right now."
Barbosa.
He was the perfect prey to set that precedent.
This wouldn't just end with Roman defeating one of the Twelve Swords and catapulting into the high ranks; it would serve as a rallying cry to fortify the soldiers' morale in the impending wars. A war could not be won by one person's strength alone. Even if Roman Dmitry was worth a hundred—or a thousand—men, a perfect victory required his soldiers to fight without fear.
Because of this, Roman had a very clear reason for leaving Kevin behind.
"The danger of this journey is not limited to me. The fact that I am exposing myself to the enemy by leaving Dmitry means that Dmitry itself will be vulnerable in my absence. Therefore, someone I absolutely trust must remain here to guard it. Kevin, I decided that you are the right person for the job. If the enemy plots some scheme while I am gone, you are the one who can bring about the best possible outcome on the battlefield."
I trust you.
Those words were more than enough.
The belief that he, not Chris, was the one Roman trusted to deliver the best results in a crisis melted his discontent away in an instant. Kevin, who had looked deeply sorrowful just moments ago, clenched his fists. His face filled with burning determination, as if he had never been upset in the first place.
"Thank you for trusting me, my lord. I will do my absolute best to protect Dmitry."
His face was practically glowing. Kevin was truly a simple man.
* * *
A few days later, Roman Dmitry headed to Valhalla accompanied by his selected troops.
Since they could not travel directly to the capital even via Warp Gate, their first stop was a border city named Paulo. Having an official invitation, there was no issue with their entry. However, from the moment they stepped foot into Paulo, Roman and his party could feel that Valhalla was fundamentally different from other nations.
"We will conduct a brief body search."
The city guards of Paulo barely glanced at the royal invitation before aggressively patting them down.
While the travelers who entered before them had been processed in about three minutes, the guards dragged out their search of Roman's party—meticulously rummaging through their luggage—for over thirty minutes. Naturally, they found nothing problematic. Since carrying minimal armaments was within the allowed limits for nobles, the guards reluctantly cleared the way, their expressions sour.
Even so, they couldn't resist a final jab. "Don't cause trouble inside. Paulo is not a city that welcomes outsiders."
They spat the warning in a deliberately provocative tone.
Paulo was exactly as the guards had described.
The streets were filled with people sporting Valhalla's characteristic copper skin, and upon spotting Roman's party, they all cast open, unpleasant glares. Even the street vendors hollering for customers deliberately ignored them, and pedestrians walking from the opposite direction abruptly turned around and walked away the moment they made eye contact.
If they had been an unarmed merchant group, the reaction would have been far worse. Rather than just keeping their distance, the locals would have actively picked fights by bumping shoulders—a thuggish behavior Valhalla was notorious for.
"It's exactly like the rumors," Chris remarked.
Before leaving for Valhalla, they had thoroughly researched the empire they were about to enter.
The Valhalla Empire was an extremely closed-off nation. Unlike the Kronos Empire, which had grown rapidly by absorbing diverse races and cultures, Valhalla had built its foundation in the harsh, isolated environment of the Southern Jungle. Just as they had once fiercely maintained the pure Valhalla bloodline through consanguineous marriage, they vehemently rejected anyone born outside their borders.
As they expanded into an empire, some of their policies had softened, but their core xenophobic nature remained untouched.
'The people of Valhalla are widely considered the most difficult demographic to deal with on the continent. Since open hostility toward anyone not born in Valhalla is socially justified here, outsiders despise visiting this place.'
There was a common saying among the public: if not for Valhalla's extreme isolationist culture, they might have already surpassed the Kronos Empire.
Yet, even while maintaining their close-minded traditions, Valhalla had built a great power capable of rivaling Kronos. The immediate problem, however, was that despite knowing Roman's party was arriving, the Valhalla Empire hadn't sent a single person to guide their "honored" guests.
* * *
At a run-down inn in Paulo, Roman Dmitry and his party finally unpacked their bags.
Every other decent lodging had flatly refused to accept outsiders. After making several fruitless trips across the city, they were only able to secure this shabby place by offering to pay a hefty premium.
Down in the inn's dining hall, Roman sat and drank a cup of tea that tasted just as unappealing as the room looked.
'Inviting me is one thing, but this is Valhalla's way of saying they still refuse to respect my existence.'
Valhalla had a unique culture—a culture of never acknowledging an opponent's worth unless they had experienced their strength firsthand. They had intentionally sent no escorts. They wanted Roman to prove his own worth and fight his way to the capital where the festival was being held.
It was almost amusing.
The cold stares and blatant mistreatment from the locals were the standard trials that every outsider entering the empire was forced to endure.
Just then—
"Tsk, you've completely ruined the taste of my drink."
Slam!
At a nearby table, a flushed drunkard slammed his mug down and glared at Roman. His burly companions wore similarly displeased expressions. From the moment Roman's party had entered the inn, these men had been glaring daggers at them.
"I don't know where you pale bastards crawled in from, but if you're outsiders, take your asses upstairs and go to sleep. Don't be so arrogant as to share a space where the people of Valhalla eat and drink. Just looking at you pisses me off. Your skin is so soft and glowing, like you've never suffered a single hard day in your lives."
The drunkard chuckled, swaggering over to loom over Roman's table. Although Chris and the other heavily armed soldiers stood right behind Roman, the drunkard paid absolutely no heed to their menacing aura.
"Hey, didn't you hear me?"
He shoved his face forward aggressively. Seeing Roman calmly sipping his tea without so much as a flinch, the drunkard's anger flared.
"This bastard keeps ignoring me. I said get the hell out. If you keep sitting there, I'll grab you by the hair and drag you upstairs myself. How about that? Sound good?"
Valhalla.
This was exactly the situation the empire wanted. The blatant discrimination and hostility commonly weaponized against foreigners.
Fully recognizing Valhalla's intent to test his reaction, Roman calmly set down his teacup and spoke.
"Chris."
"Yes, my lord."
"From this moment on, as we planned... let the people know we have arrived in Valhalla."
"What kind of bullshit are you mumbling?!" the drunkard spat, cutting in.
At that moment—
Grab.
Chris's hand shot out like lightning, snatching the back of the drunkard's neck.
And then—
Slam!
He smashed the man's face straight through the solid wooden table for everyone in the inn to see.