Chapter 234: A Festival for the Festival (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 234: A Festival for the Festival (5)
The corners of Sanchez’s eyes trembled.
Morales’s defeat... It was entirely unexpected.
He couldn't accept the reality that his master, a man who was like the heavens to him, had been struck down by Roman Dmitry, someone far younger. Yet, he had seen it clearly with his own two eyes. Roman Dmitry had dominated the fight from start to finish. Morales had fought to his absolute limit, but in the end, he had accepted the price of defeat as a true warrior. Crimson blood pooled across the ground.
Staring at the reality of Morales’s death, Sanchez suddenly remembered the harsh words he had spat at Roman Dmitry.
"You do not know the value of that spot. There are many warriors in Valhalla who would throw away their lives just to stand on that stage. Tell me. Do you truly believe you are qualified to face Barbosa in place of Lord Morales?"
Back then, he had been so certain he was right. He hadn't denied Roman Dmitry's achievements, but he hadn't believed the young man was ready to face high-ranking rankers. How pathetic those words must have sounded to Roman. With strength capable of utterly overwhelming Morales, Sanchez’s haughty remarks were nothing more than presumptuous barking.
...Master.
He looked at Morales's fallen form. A surge of emotion choked his throat. He wanted to rage at his master’s death, but in his final moments, Morales had looked genuinely happy.
Lately, Morales had been repeating the same sentiment. He believed the Valhalla Empire had lost its way. Power had been seized by those who had abandoned the true values of a warrior. Those who sought pure duels were losing their place. While sycophants who clung to power thrived as heralds of the state, the true warriors who risked their lives on the battlefield died lonely deaths, stripped of the glory they had bled for.
It was a nation that had lost its romance.
The core tenets of Valhalla had been corrupted, and that was exactly why Morales had craved a duel with Barbosa.
"Sanchez. I might die in my duel with Barbosa. No, the probability of my victory is extremely slim. Even so, there is a reason I must fight him. I want the people of Valhalla, the warriors of Valhalla, to witness my struggle and remember even a fraction of the romance of the past. I want them to remember what kind of country Valhalla used to be—at the very least, not a nation that uses power to oppress the weak."
He had staked his life on that belief.
The man who had vowed to die for a meaningful cause had shown that exact same look in his eyes during his duel with Roman Dmitry. That was when Sanchez realized Morales was going to die today. For Roman Dmitry to truly ascend the stage with the absolute backing of the people, a sacrificial lamb of equal renown was required.
In that moment, Morales had embraced death. He had offered up his own body—already failing from a lifetime of harsh battles—as a fierce spark to ignite Roman Dmitry's path.
That was why Sanchez clenched his jaw and fought back his tears.
He understood his master's intentions. And he knew Roman Dmitry was a man of true strength, someone who genuinely deserved respect.
I understand your intentions, Master. But you are too irresponsible. If you leave like this for the sake of the greater good, what are we, who lived only looking up to you, supposed to do? I know the values a warrior must prioritize... but I still resent you. It is hard for me to accept this honorable death, but I will not let your sacrifice be in vain.
Before the duel, Morales had left one final instruction. If he were to fall, Sanchez was to read the will he had left in his quarters.
Just then—
"Ro... man. Ro... man!"
"Roman! Roman! Roman!"
Like a spreading fever, the citizens of Valhalla began to chant Roman Dmitry's name.
* * *
Morales’s defeat.
The common people were just as shocked. Yet, they couldn't shake the words Morales had spoken from their minds.
"...Is what Morales said really true?"
"If the Valhalla Imperial Court summoned Roman Dmitry purely for personal revenge, then this is deeply wrong. The warriors' festival is a sacred place for the souls of the fallen. It shouldn't be defiled for such petty reasons."
"Even if they died honorably, if the deceased looked down from the heavens and saw this reality, they wouldn't be able to close their eyes in peace."
It was a miserable truth. The reality of Valhalla.
In stark contrast, Roman Dmitry had displayed a spirit that embodied Valhalla far better than its own people. He hadn't avoided the trap. He had proudly set foot in their capital. Even when the crowd glared at him with prejudiced eyes, he accepted the warriors' challenges, fully aware of the risks.
How profoundly warrior-like. Although many had died by his sword, the people realized that this very sequence of events proved Valhalla’s reason for existing.
Morales was dead.
In a world steadily losing its romance, he had shown them what a true warrior looked like. Therefore, the people did not mourn.
This was a joyous occasion. A warrior had died as a warrior. He had been reduced to dust by the blade of a worthy opponent. Knowing this was the honorable end every fighter desired, they refused to tarnish his passing with tears.
That was when it started.
"Ro... man. Ro... man!"
Someone, almost unconsciously, shouted Roman Dmitry’s name. Standing tall as the victor, his figure commanded the absolute respect of Valhalla's citizens.
"Roman! Roman! Roman!"
The voices spread like wildfire. The people acknowledged Roman Dmitry. He was a foreigner, yes, but the man who had defeated Morales rightfully belonged on that festival stage.
They cast their prejudice aside. If he was strong, and if he understood the true value of a warrior, his origins didn't matter in the slightest.
Present-day Valhalla might be criticized for its discrimination, but it was once a nation that pursued the purity of the duel, the very country that had introduced the ranking system to the continent. The clash between Morales and Roman Dmitry reignited those forgotten values. Amidst that blazing passion, the chants for Roman Dmitry grew deafening.
Just as Morales had urged, they would keep their eyes wide open. They would no longer turn away from reality. Under the watchful gaze of the fallen warriors' souls, they would witness the duel between Barbosa and Roman Dmitry to the bitter end, ensuring they would not feel even a shred of shame before the dead.
The crowd roared with enthusiasm. And at the center of it all, Roman Dmitry accepted their cheers, showing his own silent respect for the deceased.
* * *
The city was in an uproar.
At the exact hour Morales’s death shook Marin, a quiet conversation was taking place at the very center of power.
"...It seems the rumors are true. Morales has been defeated in his duel against Roman Dmitry."
It was Viscount Jonathan. Hearing this report, Marquis Belfir—one of the leading powers in Valhalla—merely smiled.
"Things are getting interesting. When Roman Dmitry accepted our invitation, I never imagined his actual goal was to defeat Barbosa. To think he was strong enough to kill Morales... I tried not to underestimate him, but this is entirely unexpected."
Roman Dmitry was an absurdly combative man. No one had anticipated he would try to resolve his conflict with Valhalla using Valhalla's own methods.
Viscount Jonathan leaned in. "If you give the word, I will take measures to ensure Roman Dmitry ascends the stage in a severely weakened state."
"No, there is no need."
Morales had always been a nuisance. He constantly stood in opposition to those in power, raising his voice in ways that irritated the establishment.
"Why do you think Morales chose to die?" Marquis Belfir asked. "He certainly had the option to compromise with reality. Yet, he sacrificed himself to challenge Roman Dmitry and humbly accepted his death. It was a deliberate ploy to prevent us from interfering in the duel between Roman and Barbosa. The people have now clearly witnessed Roman Dmitry's strength. If he steps onto that stage in a noticeably weakened state, the public will immediately harbor doubts."
Public opinion. Normally, the nobles would violently suppress it. But with public sentiment boiling over like this, provoking the masses would only invite disaster. Valhalla, the country of warriors, had changed. Every decision now required careful political calculation.
Marquis Belfir gazed out the window with a relaxed expression, recalling a deeply buried memory.
"Viscount Jonathan. How much do you know about Barbosa?"
"Well, is he not a member of the Twelve Swords of the Continent representing Valhalla?"
"Yes, that is how most people know him. However, Barbosa's true weapon is not the sword he wields."
"...What do you mean by that?"
Barbosa and Morales had a long, ill-fated history. The one who had played dirty tricks during their very first duel wasn't Barbosa's powerful backers—it was Barbosa himself.
"Barbosa is a deeply cunning man," Belfir explained. "Even when he is entirely confident in his victory, he will use any means necessary to eliminate even a one percent chance of defeat. So, leave Roman Dmitry entirely to him. Barbosa will handle it. He will rig the odds in his favor in a way no one will notice."
In his past duel with Barbosa, Morales had been defeated. Although Morales had never shirked responsibility for the loss, he had always believed that if his physical condition had been normal, the outcome might have been different.
But was that really the case?
Then and now, Barbosa possessed the strength to overwhelm Morales. Yet, even with guaranteed victory in his grasp, Barbosa was the type of man who meticulously gnawed away at his opponent from the inside out. In this rapidly changing era, Barbosa was the perfect powerhouse to represent the current, corrupted Valhalla.
Marquis Belfir chuckled softly.
Roman Dmitry. No matter how fiercely he struggled, he would never leave this country alive.
* * *
It had been a long day.
The gauntlet, which had begun early in the morning, finally concluded with Morales’s death. No one else stepped forward to challenge Roman. Having slain Morales—the man originally scheduled to stand on the festival stage—Roman Dmitry no longer needed to prove his qualifications.
That evening, Sanchez sought out Roman Dmitry.
Looking far more haggard than before, he deeply bowed his head the moment they met.
"...I am truly sorry for insulting you earlier, Lord Roman Dmitry. Even though I know how dangerous prejudice can be, I couldn't stomach the thought of a foreigner ascending the warriors' stage. Regardless of the duel's outcome, I want to express my utmost respect for your choice to step onto that stage, fully aware of Valhalla's true intentions."
There was no hostility in his voice. To Sanchez, Morales’s death and Roman Dmitry were separate matters. True people of Valhalla never blamed an opponent for a death in a fair and honorable duel.
Roman Dmitry replied calmly. "Let us leave the past in the past. With the end of my duel against Morales, I hold no hard feelings toward you."
"Thank you."
Once a duel concluded, all lingering grudges were buried alongside the corpse. Seeing Roman respect the ways of Valhalla, a fierce determination settled in Sanchez’s eyes.
"The reason I sought you out tonight, Lord Roman, is because of my master's final words. My master recognized you as a true warrior. That is why he willingly embraced death. He intentionally exposed Valhalla's ugly truth to the public so that you would receive the people's absolute support when you ascend the stage."
After the duel, Sanchez had returned to his quarters to read the will Morales had left behind. He hadn't been able to hide his sheer bewilderment. The contents were shocking. Morales wanted Roman Dmitry to know the truth—even if it meant his own sacrifice might become meaningless by Roman fleeing.
"My master wrote that you must be made fully aware of the dangers surrounding this duel," Sanchez said, his voice grave. "Valhalla's conspiracy does not end with your fight against Barbosa. Even if you somehow defeat him after a fierce battle, your survival is not guaranteed."
Sanchez let out a heavy sigh.
Valhalla had fallen. This wasn't merely a case of a few corrupt branches that could be pruned by a single righteous voice. The very foundation of the nation was rotten to the core. Morales had staked his life on this gamble, fully aware of that grim reality.
"Summoning you to this festival, Lord Roman... the influence of the Kronos Empire is behind it. Through his will, my master revealed that the power-holders of Valhalla are colluding with Kronos. Therefore, if you wish to survive, you must leave Valhalla immediately. I will assist you. If you ascend that stage to face Barbosa, you will be assassinated in your weakened state. You will never return to Dmitry alive."
His voice trembled, suppressing a deep, boiling anger.
It was, indeed, a staggeringly ugly truth.