Chapter 236: A Festival for the Festival (7)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 236: A Festival for the Festival (7)
On the day Roman Dmitry returned from his meeting with Viscount Jonathan, he informed Chris of his participation in the Eve Festival—and of the Valhalla Empire's conspiracy.
"They will try to kill you on the stage of the Eve Festival. If Barbosa fails to defeat me in our duel as they expect, they intend to eliminate my right-hand man beforehand to prepare for what comes next. Knowing this, I accepted the Valhalla Empire's proposal."
Chris didn't question him.
Though Roman Dmitry was warning him of the danger, paradoxically, it sounded like an expression of absolute trust. His chest swelled with emotion.
It was a dangerous place to be. But that was precisely why it was worth it.
"Chris. This trip to Valhalla is a continuous chain of dangers from beginning to end. Valhalla will surely take measures to ensure we never return to Dmitry, but we need to deliver a clear message through this fight. Both on the stage of the Eve Festival and the main stage of the festival itself. If we not only defeat Valhalla's warriors and win, but also break through the enemy's conspiracy and return alive, that intangible victory will instill an unshakable faith in those who follow Dmitry."
Some might ask: Is it really necessary to go that far?
Even if he had rejected Valhalla's invitation in the first place, Roman Dmitry had already built an untouchable tower of trust. Simply giving orders from a safe place would have been enough.
If Roman Dmitry's goal had merely been to remain safe from the Empire's ambitions, there would have been plenty of other options. But his purpose had been different from the very beginning. Roman Dmitry viewed the Empire—an entity others deemed untouchable—as an 'equal opponent.' Thus, he refused to set a precedent of backing down, even by a single step.
If they attack, strike back in kind.
As for their dirty conspiracies, trample them underfoot even while knowing they exist.
Situations that others called reckless would instead become stepping stones to leap toward a higher purpose.
Roman Dmitry said, "I will defeat Barbosa so decisively that not a single shred of doubt remains. Therefore, you must also step onto the stage of the Eve Festival and prove your existence. I do not wish for a cowardly victory. Behead all twenty-nine opponents with your own hands, so that no one can ever doubt the sword trusted by me, Roman Dmitry."
The order was given.
It was a mission where he had to risk his life. With a racing heart, Chris raised his voice.
"I receive your command. I will raise the name of Dmitry high upon the stage of the Eve Festival."
* * *
Behead twenty-nine people.
It was a reckless command. Realistically, it was an absolute impossibility, but he didn't harbor a single doubt. It was an order given by Roman Dmitry. He believed in it.
Even when he first stepped forward as Lawrence's champion, he had turned a match thought to be impossible into a victory. Looking back at their path so far, not a single thing they had accomplished had been deemed realistically possible. When the Southern Front collapsed due to Hector. When they waged war against Marquis Benedict's rebel forces. The total war with the Kronos Empire. Each and every one of those events had turned monumental, history-making results into reality.
A person's caliber was determined by their past experiences.
While even the warriors of Valhalla were trying to play it safe in the beginning stages of the battle, Chris thought completely differently.
'To cut down all twenty-nine, I cannot hesitate for even a second. I will eliminate every enemy who blocks my path from the very start. I will make them wary of me. I will force them to approach me and offer up their fragile necks.'
Defeat was out of the question.
Fueled by a fierce desire, Chris kicked off the ground. Before a nearby warrior, startled by the sudden movement, could hastily react, Chris severed his neck in a single blow.
Flash.
Lightning.
The ultimate fast sword technique. The opponent couldn't even properly perceive how the blade was swung.
As a head soared into the air and the other warriors' faces contorted in panic, Chris rushed in like a predator, slashing through their heads and chests. It all happened in an instant. Not even ten seconds had passed since the starting flag fluttered, but the crowd's intense cheers erupted, loud enough to tear eardrums.
"Whoaaaaaa!"
"This is insane!"
"Go, Chris!"
In that split second, the remaining warriors' gazes locked onto Chris. Even though they hadn't formed any specific alliance, they instinctively knew they had to eliminate the most prominent threat first.
A battle of thirty. That was the nature of the Eve Festival stage. They eyed one another, minimizing clashes with anyone other than Chris.
Rumble!
"Come."
No matter how the others reacted, Chris didn't stop.
He dealt with those who blocked his path with flared Auras, evading their attacks with concise, efficient steps. They were all swordsmen representing their respective families. Though they ranged from 2-Star to 4-Star Aura users, none of them could properly react to Chris's counterattacks.
Flash.
Without fail, another head flew. It was an attack they could see coming but could do nothing to stop—Chris's swordsmanship had entered the realm of the absurd.
Over the past few months, Roman Dmitry had instituted a special training regimen. Though the soldiers knew it would be grueling, they had looked forward to it with anticipation for growth. However, within just a few days, their excitement was utterly crushed. It was literal hell. Along with a packed training schedule, they constantly sparred with Roman Dmitry, who showed absolutely no mercy to his men.
Whether in one-on-one duels or one-versus-many battles, they coughed up blood and had their faces beaten to a pulp. Chris had taken pride in his own growth, but every time he blinked during those spars, he would find himself staring up at the blue sky, flat on his back.
It was a miserable, desperate time.
He had always known Roman Dmitry was an extraordinary existence, but facing him directly made Chris realize that he couldn't even begin to touch his master's shadow. With such a vast difference in level, they feared they might not be of any help on Roman Dmitry's future path. That was why Roman's soldiers struggled so desperately. Even as they were brutally beaten day after day, they used any means necessary to grow stronger, their eyes burning with venomous determination.
It was a continuous cycle of sleepless nights. With Roman Dmitry arranging mock assassinations in the dark, they spent their nights wide awake, right up until the day of the decisive battle finally dawned.
And now, Chris's sword was honed to a razor-sharp edge. His senses, pushed to their absolute limits, reacted hyper-sensitively to the enemies' attacks.
Rumble!
Whoosh!
They aimed for his life from all directions. As one warrior swung his sword to take Chris's head, another attacked from behind. The warriors' pincer movement wasn't coordinated, but because Chris was rampaging at the very front, they had no choice but to attack him simultaneously.
'Behind.'
Flash.
He slashed the swordsman in front of him and spun his body. Locking eyes with the warrior whose face was pale with shock, Chris severed his head in a single motion.
Spurt!
Blood rained down. Chris's body burned hot. Rather than the immediate danger, the sight of an enemy dying at the hands of another warrior caught his attention.
'Did I fail to eliminate all twenty-nine with my own hands?'
But what could he do? He could only focus on the reality before him. Chris kicked off the ground. There were still many enemies left to deal with.
* * *
Just as he finished off his eighth opponent, Chris instinctively raised his sword to block.
Clang!
Rumble!
"You worthless insect, running wild without knowing your place."
It was Gonzalez. A follower of Viscount Jonathan, he glared at Chris, radiating murderous intent.
"My stomach turns whenever I see bastards like you. Born in some weak nation, competing against mediocre nobodies, and actually believing you're the best. It's pathetic. If you didn't think that way, you wouldn't dare act like this on a stage facing the warriors of Valhalla."
He, too, had received special orders. Viscount Jonathan had commanded him to kill Chris at all costs, but even without those orders, Gonzalez despised him. This was a stage where he was supposed to be the protagonist. He was genuinely infuriated by the spotlight Chris was stealing.
"I'll make sure you can't run wild any longer."
Whoosh.
Rumble!
An exploding 4-Star Aura. His overwhelming momentum was on a completely different level from the previous opponents. The moment the air-distorting Aura threatened to crush Chris, a sudden flash swept across Gonzalez's eyes. Goosebumps erupted on his skin. He instinctively jerked his head back, but a stinging pain flared near his eye.
Slash.
"...?!"
That attack just now. He hadn't seen it. He had expected something after seeing the other warriors fall, but Chris's attack was faster than he could have ever imagined.
Gonzalez gritted his teeth. He increased his speed. As if to prove he was no slower than Chris, he unleashed a lightning-fast assault, quickly cutting off any space for his opponent to escape. His Aura flared. The crowd's attention instantly locked onto their duel, and to the spectators, it looked as though Gonzalez was unilaterally pushing Chris back.
However, Gonzalez felt something was off. Though he clearly held the upper hand in terms of Aura, Chris showed no signs of faltering under the fierce onslaught.
Chris's sparring partner had been Roman Dmitry—a monster who had cut down Morales in a single blow.
Roman Dmitry had pushed Chris to his absolute limits, and thanks to that experience, a mere 4-Star Aura didn't feel particularly threatening. That wasn't to deny it was a dangerous power. In a simple clash of raw strength, Gonzalez would indeed hold the advantage, but Chris knew that Aura wasn't everything. No matter how strong one was, victory went to whoever could slash the other's fragile flesh first.
Chris calmly parried his opponent's attacks, then thrust his sword like lightning into a momentary opening.
"Not so fast!"
Rumble!
Gonzalez's reaction was swift. But the moment he pulled back his sword to block Chris's strike, he caught sight of a smirk playing on Chris's lips.
Boom!
An explosion of Aura.
Chris had forged a technique of his own.
Roman Dmitry's Lightning and the secret technique taught to him by Knight Commander Jonathan. Both were techniques that pursued extreme speed, and to defeat enemies stronger than himself in the coming chaos, he needed a way to actively utilize them together. The initial force rushing through space followed the mana circulation of Lightning. At the exact moment the enemy reacted, he integrated Knight Commander Jonathan's application to change direction.
A double explosion.
Upon seeing that technique, Roman Dmitry had looked down at Chris and said:
"Excellent."
Chris had constructed a world of his own.
Tracing a bizarre trajectory, his sword severed Gonzalez's shock-frozen head in a single stroke.
Spurt!
Blood sprayed violently.
The crowd gasped in horror.
Gonzalez. The man everyone had assumed would be the victor. No one had imagined his head would be lopped off so easily.
'That makes nine.'
He was still thirsty for more. Gonzalez was merely one of the nine. To Chris, defeating an opponent stronger than himself no longer held any special significance.
* * *
It was something no one could have imagined.
It was different from Roman Dmitry. While Roman Dmitry had been defeating rankers, the reputation of the one called the "Flash of Dmitry" was as insignificant as a pebble rolling on the streets of Valhalla.
The 3-Star Realm. A level of strength that couldn't possibly aim for victory. Everyone had thought so, yet the display Chris was putting on sent shivers down their spines.
"Die!"
Rumble!
Warriors lunged from all directions. The end of the Eve Festival was always like this. The remaining warriors joined forces to bring down the most likely winner, and that target was Chris—the very foreigner they had mocked.
Chris didn't retreat a single step against the enemies' onslaught. Even as blazing Auras surged toward him, he faced them head-on, dodging their strikes and slashing back.
Blood splattered.
Drenched in blood before he knew it, Chris fell into a State of Selflessness, trading blows with his enemies. With every flash of his sword, an enemy fell dead without fail.
As he trampled his opponents one by one, the crowd, their faces flushed with excitement, began to chant Chris's name.
"Chris! Chris!"
"Chris! Chris!"
It wasn't because of his association with Roman Dmitry. Chris himself deserved to be recognized as a warrior.
Just as the crowd's emotions reached their peak, Chris finally severed the head of the last remaining enemy.
Flash.
It was over.
The crowd went wild. On a stage where blood rained down, the victor who survived until the very end was a foreigner from another land. All eyes locked onto him. Now, all that was left for the victor was to pay his respects to the Emperor and claim his wealth and glory.
However, Chris knelt and offered up his sword.
"Look at that!"
"What... what is he doing?!"
The crowd gasped in shock.
At the end of Chris's gaze stood not the Emperor of Valhalla, but Roman Dmitry.