Chapter 231: A Festival for the Festival (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 231: A Festival for the Festival (2)
The crowd's expressions stiffened as blood pooled on the ground.
They weren't shocked by the death itself; dying in combat as a warrior of Valhalla was an incredibly common occurrence. The problem was how Bartolo had died. Bartolo was a Valhalla Ranker. He was a powerhouse who could never be taken lightly. Wary of Roman Dmitry, he had carefully observed his opponent's movements until the very last moment before launching a surprise attack.
In that sequence of events, Bartolo had held the upper hand.
The crowd had expected to see a flustered Roman Dmitry forced onto the defensive.
But instead, Bartolo had been struck down in a single blow.
Ordinary eyes couldn't even track the strike; Bartolo had simply staggered and collapsed. It was a shocking sight. The onlookers couldn't hide the tremor in their eyes as a terrifying thought crossed their minds: the rumor of him defeating Knight Commander Gustavo in a single blow might actually be true.
"Next."
Roman Dmitry's voice was perfectly calm.
Treating it as nothing more than a triviality, he averted his gaze from Bartolo's corpse.
Paulo and Marin.
The purpose of the duels in these two cities was completely different.
If Paulo had been a demonstration of force to announce his entry into the country, Marin was a stage to prove exactly what kind of man would be facing Barbosa. There was no longer any need to force a surrender through overwhelming violence. This was a clear message: those who challenged him must be prepared to die. Rather than a hundred words, a single duel drove home the gravity of the situation.
Had this been any country other than Valhalla, the crowd might have backed away.
But for those who truly followed the ways of Valhalla, the realization that Roman Dmitry's strength was the real deal only ignited their competitive spirit.
"For Valhalla!"
A nameless man stepped forward.
Even knowing he would likely die, he wished for his existence to shine brightly against the blade of a true powerhouse.
"This time, I will be your opponent."
The proving grounds.
The stage to test Roman Dmitry was only just beginning.
* * *
There was no referee.
There were no rules.
It was simply a place to clash with raw strength. As the challenger stepped forward, the crowd naturally parted to make room.
That was all the signal they needed.
The challenger rushed forward like a madman.
Swish!
He opened by throwing a barrage of daggers.
The duels of Valhalla's warriors spared no means or methods. While an unagreed-upon group ambush under the guise of a duel would be problematic, using concealed weapons like throwing daggers was perfectly normal. Striking vital points, biting ears, or gouging eyes were all fair game. On a battlefield rife with blood and death, surviving by any means necessary was the highest virtue in Valhalla.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The challenger had thrown the daggers to cut off his opponent's evasion paths, but Roman Dmitry didn't budge an inch.
The blades sailed harmlessly past him.
Gritting his teeth, the challenger erupted with Aura and thrust his sword straight toward Roman's heart.
Flash!
Spurt!
His head flew off.
As blood sprayed like a fountain, his headless body, still carrying the momentum of its forward charge, tumbled past Roman and rolled onto the ground.
Patter.
Blood rained down from above.
Roman Dmitry didn't bother to dodge it.
On the battlefield, embracing the blood was the way of the Demonic Cult.
"Next."
"I am Gatu of Valhalla."
This time, it was a Valhalla Ranker.
Even though his rank wasn't much different from Bartolo's, Gatu stared at Roman Dmitry with a flushed, excited face. It had been an awe-inspiring display of martial prowess. To die at the hands of a true powerhouse was a blessing permitted to Valhalla's warriors. Seeing the previous results, Gatu felt that even if he died testing Roman Dmitry, his life would not be wasted.
Whoosh!
Gatu initiated the attack.
Wielding a heavy flail attached to a chain, he flexed his massive muscles and swung the weapon down at his opponent.
Crash!
The ground shattered under the tremendous display of strength.
Aura flared as he freely manipulated the chain, pulling the flail back to cut off Roman Dmitry's path of retreat. It was a highly unorthodox style. While typical Aura Swordsmen used the sword as a universal medium, the warriors of the Valhalla Empire utilized Aura in their own distinct, brutal ways.
This was the secret to Valhalla's strength.
Unorthodox attacks caught opponents off guard, and those truly worthy of being called warriors of Valhalla burned hotter the stronger their opponent was. The men who had spoken of surrender in Paulo might have shared the same Valhalla heritage, but the ones standing here in Marin truly represented the core of the empire.
Rumble!
"Where do you think you're going?!"
Gatu unleashed his Aura.
Changing the trajectory of the flail mid-air, he gritted his teeth, determined to crush Roman Dmitry by any means necessary.
At that moment—
Swish!
A sharp gust of wind blew past.
The Aura-enveloped chain was severed in an instant. Losing its momentum, the heavy iron flail crashed uselessly to the ground. It was the exact moment Gatu sensed his impending death. If he didn't surrender now, his head would be severed by Roman Dmitry's sword. Yet, without hesitation, Gatu gripped the severed chain in his bare hand and swung the jagged links toward Roman Dmitry.
"Die— urgh!"
Slash.
A flash of a sword.
Gatu's head flew off, his face still twisted in madness.
He had died almost ecstatic at the sheer, overwhelming power of his foe.
Thud.
Roll, roll.
His head rolled across the blood-soaked ground.
"Next."
The duels continued.
Warriors who did not fear death stepped up to challenge Roman Dmitry, but not a single one could put up a meaningful fight. The corpses piled up. While the crowd had held onto the hope of a victory when the first one or two died, their faces turned ashen as the body count rose past a dozen.
It was the same story just now.
The 57th Ranker of Valhalla had stepped forward, but after exchanging only a few blows, a deep, fatal gash was carved across his chest.
Spurt!
Trembling violently, the Ranker collapsed to his knees.
The onlookers couldn't help but take a subconscious step back.
"Next."
The cold word echoed again.
The crowd exchanged uneasy glances.
While true believers in Valhalla's ways did not fear death, not everyone in the empire was eager to throw their lives away like the previous challengers. Human nature was the same everywhere. Those who maintained Valhalla's reputation as a nation of warriors were only a fraction of the population. The rest, just like the people in Paulo, could only feel primal fear in the face of such overwhelming violence.
They averted their eyes.
Terrified that Roman Dmitry might point them out next, they no longer dared to meet his gaze.
"The day is still young. Is there no one else to challenge me?"
Early in the morning, the crowd had gathered with fierce, bloodthirsty energy.
Yet, though the sun had only just fully risen, that momentum was entirely gone.
The corpses strewn across the ground had proven the minimum qualification required to step forward. Unless one truly had a death wish, they now knew that average skills were nowhere near enough to face a monster like Roman Dmitry.
Roman Dmitry spoke.
"There is still a day left until the Eve Festival. If anyone else wishes to challenge me, knock on my door at any time."
With that, he turned and walked away.
The silent crowd could only watch blankly as he disappeared inside.
* * *
The city of Marin was thrown into an uproar.
At the center of the storm was Roman Dmitry.
They had heard through Sanchez that he was accepting challenges, but by the time the sun reached its zenith, shocking news swept through the streets.
"…It's already over?"
"I'm telling you. People swarmed the place from early morning, but not a single person could properly withstand Roman Dmitry's attacks. Heads flew off with every single challenge. After a dozen or so died, no one else dared to step forward. That's why I came back; it was a waste of time to stay any longer."
"To think Roman Dmitry was that strong. What were Valhalla's Rankers doing?"
"Are you crazy? You think the Rankers didn't step up? The very first person whose neck was sliced off in a single blow was Bartolo, a Valhalla Ranker! Others like Gatu stepped up too, but they were utterly slaughtered without being able to land a single hit. I saw it with my own eyes!"
"This is insane."
The people were astonished.
The reputations of the men Roman Dmitry had killed were by no means light.
If Bartolo had died after a fierce, drawn-out battle, it might have been somewhat understandable. But the fact that he died in a single blow was completely absurd. Until now, they had dismissed the rumors coming from distant battlefields. When they heard that Roman Dmitry had overwhelmingly defeated Butler, Count Nicholas, and finally even Knight Commander Gustavo, they had scoffed, writing it off as typical battlefield exaggeration meant to manufacture a hero.
But they couldn't do that anymore.
The severed heads of their Rankers proved that Roman Dmitry's track record was terrifyingly real.
"…To possess the strength to overwhelm Valhalla's Rankers while only in his twenties. I wondered how the Cairo Kingdom managed to defeat the Kronos Empire, but it seems an unprecedented monster has been born."
They acknowledged Roman Dmitry's strength.
However, allowing him to ascend the festival stage just like this was a completely separate matter.
He was still not enough.
Barbosa.
He was a top-tier Ranker of Valhalla.
Even if they acknowledged the rumors to be true, Roman was still not deemed a suitable opponent for a titan like Barbosa.
"I wish the top-tier Rankers would step up. We can't just let Roman Dmitry stand on the festival stage unchallenged."
"Do you think Lord Morales might step forward? His disciple, Sanchez, was the one who spread the rumors about Roman Dmitry in the first place. Besides, Barbosa's original opponent was supposed to be Lord Morales. If it's him, he can definitely defeat Roman. He's the perfect warrior to represent Valhalla."
"Exactly. No matter how outstanding Roman Dmitry is, his chances of defeating Lord Morales are slim."
The people agreed in unison.
Morales.
They prayed he would step forward.
Although he wasn't ranked among the Twelve Swords of the Continent, Morales was a monster acknowledged by every single warrior in Valhalla.
It would be a certain victory.
They did not doubt the strength of the warrior representing their nation.
* * *
Flicker.
Flicker.
Flames danced in the dark room.
Amidst the red light illuminating the space, a giant of a man reverently wiped the surface of his greatsword with a dry cloth.
"Sanchez. Do you know why I intend to face Barbosa?"
The man was Morales.
At his master's question, Sanchez replied, confident in his answer.
"Because of your past bad blood."
"You are not wrong. My relationship with Barbosa stems from a tiresome ill fate. However, contrary to the public rumors, the fundamental reason for this bad blood is not an inferiority complex. Barbosa... that esteemed member of the Twelve Swords of the Continent whom Valhalla is so proud of, is not a man born with the pride of a warrior, despite what the people think."
Morales sifted through his memories, recalling his past with Barbosa.
When they had first fought, Barbosa had defeated him using underhanded methods.
Ever since that day, Morales gritted his teeth at the mere mention of the man's name.
"I find Barbosa disgusting. I despise how he basks in the cheers of the people, acting as if he is blessed by Valhalla. That is why I wished to duel him. Because Barbosa and I cannot exist under the same sky. With the sole determination to strike down Barbosa—the mouthpiece of the insect-like leadership that tramples on Valhalla's traditions—I have honed my swordsmanship all this time. Yet, Roman Dmitry took my place. It is either a blatant attempt to ignore me, or perhaps a dirty scheme by the leadership to protect Barbosa. Whatever the case, what is certain is that the festival stage belongs to me."
"You are absolutely right," Sanchez agreed.
This was unexpected for him.
He hadn't known that the bad blood between Barbosa and Morales stemmed from such a specific transgression, rather than simply being a childhood rivalry.
Morales lifted his sword.
The massive greatsword, perfectly fitting for his giant build, exuded an overwhelming aura.
"Sanchez. Gather the people of Valhalla. I want everyone to witness the duel between Roman Dmitry and me. I will prove to the Valhalla leadership that I am the only one suited to face Barbosa. Once I defeat Roman Dmitry... Barbosa will not be able to escape his fate."
If I lose, then that is simply the limit of my vessel.
Morales's tattoo-covered muscles flexed as he stepped out into the sunlight.
The monster of Valhalla.
A beast on a completely different level from anyone Roman had faced so far had finally raised his massive frame.