Chapter 228: The Valhalla Empire (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 228: The Valhalla Empire (3)
At that moment, Baron Paulo, who was attending to his duties within the castle, received an urgent report from a subordinate.
"My Lord! We have a situation! Right now, in Paulo Square, Roman Dmitry is fighting against the people of Valhalla! The problem is, none of the warriors who stepped up to face him can hold their ground—they're all crying out in surrender!"
"...What on earth are you talking about?!"
Slam!
Baron Paulo leaped to his feet.
The report grated on his nerves from start to finish.
It was absurd enough that Roman Dmitry, a mere outsider, was initiating duels, but for men calling themselves warriors of Valhalla to cry out in surrender instead of fighting to the bitter end? That was absolutely unacceptable in this empire. Especially now, during the festival with countless foreigners watching—what would they think of Valhalla's pride?
The subordinate quickly explained the details.
Even though Roman Dmitry was reportedly employing brutal, calculated violence specifically to force those surrenders, Baron Paulo could not suppress his boiling anger.
"Roman Dmitry. You've finally caused trouble."
He already knew about Dmitry's journey to Valhalla.
The higher-ups had sent down a briefing well in advance. According to the rumors, Roman Dmitry commanded an unrivaled presence wherever he went.
Starting in Dmitry, he had elevated his name by intervening in the war against the Barco Family. Since then, he had turned the continent upside down with unprecedented feats on the Southern Front and in the Public Ranking Match. Furthermore, recent whispers suggested he was the driving force behind the regime change in the Redford Kingdom.
An awl in a pocket. Even if one tried to hide a sharp awl inside a pocket, its tip would eventually pierce the fabric and reveal itself. But Roman Dmitry had never even bothered to hide.
In truth, even Valhalla's leadership hadn't been certain that Roman Dmitry would accept their invitation.
Facing Barbosa meant risking his very life, yet Roman had boldly chosen to march straight into Valhalla.
Because of this, the leadership had issued a strict directive:
"Roman Dmitry is a sacrifice meant to elevate the prestige of the Valhalla Empire. Before he steps onto the main stage, show him exactly what kind of place Valhalla is. Show him that we are fundamentally different from a tiny well like Dmitry. Make him suffer every possible hardship on his way to the capital, so his spirit is utterly broken before the duel even begins."
For that very reason, they hadn't provided him with a guide.
The original plan was to let him suffer the harsh xenophobia of the Valhalla people, breaking his pride before finally sending an official to "resolve" the situation and escort him to the capital. However, things had gone completely awry. If Roman Dmitry was going to assert his dominance through a brutal show of force, they had to crush him as quickly as possible.
Baron Paulo's voice was cold. "Summon the Wildmen. I will personally show Roman Dmitry what kind of place Valhalla truly is."
"Understood."
As Baron Paulo stormed out of his office, his contorted face betrayed an anger on the verge of exploding.
* * *
"Ugh..."
"...Argh."
Men groaned in agony.
Over a dozen warriors already littered the ground.
Those who had boldly stepped forward to face Roman Dmitry were defeated so effortlessly it was embarrassing—especially considering how loudly they had mocked the previous challengers for yielding. The relentless violence battered them, deliberately keeping them awake to feel every ounce of pain. The famed Valhalla spirit, praised by the world as being forged of "steel," melted away helplessly in the face of absolute power.
Yet, the foolish challenges continued.
Just as a desperate surrender escaped the bloody lips of yet another challenger, Baron Paulo arrived with his troops in tow.
"What on earth is going on here?!" he bellowed the moment he stepped into the square.
The surrounding area was a scene of utter devastation.
But it wasn't the battered men groaning on the cobblestones that caught Baron Paulo's attention—it was the horrified expressions of the onlookers. It was as if the indomitable pride of Valhalla, the very foundation of their beliefs, had been shattered into pieces. They had always believed that a warrior of Valhalla would never cry out in surrender, but the wretched scene before them was impossible to deny.
Baron Paulo demanded sharply, "Roman Dmitry. You are an outsider and merely a guest of Valhalla. Why are you committing such unprovoked acts of violence? If you cannot provide a justifiable reason, we will have no choice but to punish you."
"A justifiable reason? I thought Valhalla wanted things this way."
Roman Dmitry stood tall amidst the carnage.
Even after dismantling over a dozen seasoned warriors, his breathing was perfectly steady as he met Baron Paulo's gaze.
"I am a guest invited to face Barbosa. I made that explicitly clear upon entering Paulo and asked the guards for a guide to the capital. Instead, they treated my party with hostility and refused to lift a finger. Since stepping foot in this city, I've faced a continuous stream of discrimination. No civilized country in the world treats an invited guest this way. But then, someone told me the truth: Valhalla is a world ruled by strength. So, I simply taught those who looked at me with hostility who stands above, and who stands below."
"...What?!"
Baron Paulo looked utterly dumbfounded.
This was far beyond anything he had anticipated. Roman Dmitry was more bellicose and aggressive than the people of Valhalla themselves. He had never imagined that the man would stage a brutal show of force—playing entirely by Valhalla's rules—simply because he was denied proper hospitality.
He couldn't entirely deny Roman's logic.
In truth, no matter his origins, a directly invited guest deserved proper treatment. But because Roman Dmitry was a target of revenge, the empire had deliberately shown him zero consideration. Furthermore, there was no legal ground to hold Roman accountable for this massacre. Although he had brutally beaten Valhalla's citizens, spontaneous duels were an everyday occurrence here.
The real problem was that Roman Dmitry had initiated it, and the people of Valhalla had suffered a humiliating, one-sided defeat.
If I let this end here, the leadership will surely have my head. Even if it's a stretch, I must restrain Roman Dmitry so he cannot run wild in our lands. Even if it means using the very force he desires.
"Even so, we cannot let this matter slide," Baron Paulo declared. "There is no law in Valhalla that allows you to trample on the defeated like this. A duel is meant to pursue the pure meaning of combat. It must be accompanied by respect for one's opponent. For now, submit to an investigation according to proper procedures. If you are cleared of any wrongdoing, I will personally guide you to the capital."
It was a trap with a predetermined conclusion.
Seeing Baron Paulo resort to such hypocritical logic, Roman Dmitry let out a cold smirk.
"And if I refuse?"
"...You do not have the right to refuse. This is the land of Valhalla."
"The land of Valhalla. In that case, I shall handle this matter according to the laws of Valhalla. I have heard that in this empire, when mutual responsibility is ambiguous, the situation is settled through a Trial by Combat. Therefore, I request a Trial by Combat. If you wish to take me in for an investigation, bind my hands and drag me away yourself. If you wish, Baron Paulo, you may mobilize every single soldier you brought with you."
It was a blatant provocation.
Baron Paulo's expression turned icy. Roman Dmitry's arrogance had crossed the line, but settling the situation through overwhelming force was exactly the development he wanted.
Taking a step back, he roared like thunder:
"Hear me, soldiers! Bind Roman Dmitry this instant!"
* * *
A Trial by Combat possessed no strict rules.
The circumstances differed every time, and Baron Paulo had legally ordered "multiple soldiers" to attack at once.
It was a one-versus-many battle.
The soldiers surged forward. Yet, even as they raised their weapons and bared their murderous intent, the men lined up behind Roman Dmitry didn't budge an inch.
"Attack!"
Whoosh!
The soldiers violently thrust their spears.
Roman Dmitry stepped lightly, letting the deadly strikes slide harmlessly past him. Just like in his previous duels, he didn't draw his weapon at all. His sword remained firmly sheathed at his waist. Enraged by this blatant disrespect, the soldiers swung their weapons even more fiercely. But every time their attacks met empty air, a devastating counter-impact slammed into their bodies.
Thwack!
Strength instantly drained from their limbs.
With a single, casual punch, a soldier's eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed to his knees.
From the very beginning, Roman Dmitry had ruled out using a blade. He intended to prove just how insurmountable the gap between them was using nothing but his bare hands and feet.
However...
"Sir Roman Dmitry. You would do well not to look down on Valhalla," Baron Paulo sneered.
At that exact moment, a soldier who took a direct hit to the face from Roman's fist did not fall. Instead, there was an immense recoil, as if Roman had punched solid steel. The soldier's face contorted hideously, and thick, coarse hair began to sprout across his skin.
"Grrrrrr..."
The soldier's true identity was revealed: he was one of the Wildmen.
As the transformation rapidly spread, the soldier morphed into a monstrous form that blurred the line between beast and human.
"Graaaah!"
The Wildman lunged.
He swiped at Roman Dmitry with razor-sharp talons. Around him, the other attacking soldiers underwent a chain reaction of gruesome transformations, shedding their human disguises to reveal their true nature. Their forms varied wildly—some took on the shape of wolves, others bears, and some even stags—unleashing a primal, bloodthirsty aura.
The Wildmen.
They were a minority tribe discovered deep within the Southern Jungle. Raised on the milk of beasts since birth, they became true Wildmen through a sacred ritual where they adopted the form of the animal their soul aligned with. They were a tribe renowned for possessing the highest combat capabilities within the entire empire. Though disguised as ordinary foot soldiers, this unit was actually Valhalla's hidden elite.
A relentless onslaught ensued.
The onlookers clenched their fists in anticipation. They believed that against the Wildmen, Roman Dmitry's arrogant refusal to draw his sword would finally be his downfall.
However, that hope was nothing but a fleeting illusion.
The moment a massive, bear-form Wildman charged forward, completely disregarding defense to land a killing blow—
Crack!
A fist slammed squarely into his snout. The massive beast's eyes instantly lost focus.
* * *
There was something the world fundamentally misunderstood.
The King of All Weapons.
The sword was the weapon that represented the Heavenly Demon Baek Joong-hyuk. With a single blade, Baek Joong-hyuk had conquered the Murim and etched his name into history as the undisputed Best Under Heaven.
But what was his second most proficient weapon?
While martial artists often debated, claiming Baek Joong-hyuk had mastered every weapon under the sun, the truth was far simpler. After the sword, the weapons he was most accustomed to were his own hands and feet. From the cold, wretched depths of his early life, merely surviving meant utilizing everything around him—and when there were no weapons to be found, his knuckles and shins became his blades.
Through that brutal struggle for existence, Baek Joong-hyuk had reached the absolute pinnacle of unarmed combat.
In an environment far wilder than any jungle, Baek Joong-hyuk had slaughtered countless beasts wearing human skin using nothing but his bare hands.
He was well acquainted with creatures like the Wildmen.
Although the mana within them surged explosively, Roman Dmitry couldn't care less.
Crunch!
"...Agh!"
The bear-form Wildman's face caved in. His incredibly thick, beastly skull cracked under the pressure, and the towering monster stumbled backward before crashing flat onto his back.
The shockwave of that single strike rippled through the square. The bear-form Wildmen were famous for possessing the greatest physical durability among their kind. No one could have ever predicted that one would collapse from a single punch—especially after wrapping its thick hide in Aura.
"Grrrr..."
"Grr... attack... grr... all at once!"
Pushed to the brink, the remaining Wildmen lunged simultaneously.
As they coordinated a pincer attack from both sides, Roman Dmitry lashed out with a devastating kick, shattering a wolf's jaw. When a bird-form Wildman swooped down from the sky, Roman casually reached up, grabbed it by the wings, and slammed it headfirst into the cobblestones.
Once again, their vaunted durability was utterly useless. Pierced by an agonizing pain that dug deep into their very bones, the Wildmen shrieked like dying animals.
A one-versus-many battle.
It was a fight where Roman Dmitry should have been at an overwhelming disadvantage. Without a weapon, logic dictated he would be torn apart by the Wildmen, whose entire bodies were forged into lethal weapons.
And yet, what on earth was happening?
While Baron Paulo stood frozen, his jaw hanging slack, the massacre concluded in the blink of an eye.
Thwack!
"Squeal!"
A stag-form Wildman's head whipped violently to the side before its body slumped lifelessly to the ground. Now, the only one left standing was a beast in the form of a massive wild bison.
Roman Dmitry slowly approached it.
"Say you surrender. Then, I'll end this quickly."
Slap!
He struck the beast across the cheek.
The Wildman didn't dare resist. Born with the sharp instincts of a wild animal, it was completely paralyzed by the suffocating aura of an apex predator. Trembling uncontrollably, the massive bison was dragged down by Roman's iron grip. Without a change in expression, Roman began to slap its face.
Slap.
Slap, slap.
In the Murim, there existed an absolute physical defense known as the Vajra Indestructible Body.
Yet, even martial artists who had forged their bodies into literal steel had begged for their lives, weeping for mercy in the face of the Heavenly Demon Baek Joong-hyuk's brutal violence. His strikes bypassed their defenses entirely, inflicting an agony that pierced straight through steel. It was a violence capable of warping iron itself.
Roman Dmitry didn't utter another word. In utter silence, he focused solely on slapping the Wildman's face.
Slap.
Blood splattered across the pavement.
Slap.
Broken teeth flew through the air.
Slap.
Looking into the beast's unfocused, rolling eyes, all traces of its wild nature had been completely eradicated. It was utterly dominated. The very moment its primal instincts accepted that Roman Dmitry was the ultimate predator, the Wildman squeezed out a pathetic, whimpering plea.
"...P-please spare me. I surrender."
That was the end of it.
Thud.
Roman released his grip, letting the massive beast drop to the dirt like a discarded rag.
Turning his cold gaze toward Baron Paulo, Roman Dmitry spoke.
"What will you do now?"
At those words, Baron Paulo took a trembling step backward without even realizing it.