Chapter 239: The Way of the Predator (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 239: The Way of the Predator (3)
The rumors began with the merchants of Marin.
Having caught wind of certain information, they spoke in hushed whispers to the customers arriving for early-morning purchases.
"You'd better not expect too much from today's festival."
"What do you mean? I've been waiting for this day for so long, and you're telling me not to expect anything?"
The customer's eyes widened in disbelief.
It was the day of the duel between Roman Dmitry and Barbosa. Ever since Morales had fallen, public interest had skyrocketed. Expectations were so feverish that people had spent the entire night debating who would emerge victorious. If Barbosa won, he would protect Valhalla's honor. But if Roman Dmitry won, it would be an event etched into continental history.
He was a mere youth in his twenties.
At an age where others were hailed as geniuses simply for manifesting a 3-Star Aura, Roman Dmitry was poised to rise to the ranks of the Twelve Swords of the Continent and dominate the future landscape. The fact that he hailed from a weak nation no longer mattered. His unprecedented path made it clear that Roman Dmitry's mere existence would exert immense influence over the world.
And yet, why on earth was this merchant telling them not to look forward to such a historic match?
"...I only heard it by chance from the servants of my business partners, but apparently, a massive commotion broke out at Roman Dmitry's lodgings after the Eve Festival. Word is, 'someone' used poison. They couldn't find the culprit, so the whole thing was swept under the rug. But Roman Dmitry? He declared he would still step onto the festival stage despite being poisoned. That's why I'm telling you not to expect much. Even in perfect condition, victory isn't guaranteed. How is he supposed to defeat Barbosa with poison in his veins?"
"What bastard dared to use poison?!"
The customer fumed with rage. This was dragging Valhalla's honor through the mud. The festival was a sacred stage. Even if the victim was a foreigner, poisoning a warrior was absolutely unacceptable.
The rumors spread.
At first, they carried the plain truth. But by the time the sun rose and day broke, the story had warped into something far more dramatic.
"Roman Dmitry is currently poisoned and in no condition to fight. Yet, to uphold his honor as a warrior, he declared he would step onto the festival stage even if it kills him! This is a deep shame upon Valhalla. Not only did we invite a guest just to let him get poisoned, but Barbosa hasn't said a single word about it. Honestly... maybe Barbosa got scared after seeing the fight with Morales and pulled a dirty trick. Everyone denies it, but Barbosa isn't exactly known for playing clean, is he?"
The rumors boiled over, spreading like wildfire until they blanketed all of Marin. Before anyone knew it, Roman Dmitry had been elevated into a warrior who truly embodied the honor of Valhalla.
All previous prejudice vanished. Having already earned their respect through his victory over Morales, Roman Dmitry's fierce devotion to the festival left the people of Valhalla with no choice but to love him.
The merchants who first sparked the rumor, the travelers gossiping on the streets, and even the bystanders nodding silently in agreement—they were all members of the Hao Sect.
Roman Dmitry's intelligence organization had not only seized control of Dmitry, but had also thoroughly permeated the underbelly of the Empire. It was a perfect harmony. His past actions provided the foundation, undeniable facts lent credibility to the rumors, and the Hao Sect added just the right amount of seasoning.
People flocked to the festival grounds in droves.
If Roman Dmitry—a man who so deeply understood Valhalla's honor—fell helplessly as the rumors suggested, the crowd would never forgive the orchestrators of this conspiracy. Closed-off and simple-minded, yet possessing a fierce, romantic streak for true warriors—that was the essence of Valhalla.
* * *
The festival was just around the corner.
Marquis Belfir's face contorted as he listened to the rumors sweeping through the public.
'Someone is intentionally spreading these rumors. This is undoubtedly the work of the Conservative Faction.'
To him, it was impossible to imagine this was Roman Dmitry's doing. Valhalla was a land far beyond Dmitry's reach; therefore, the only ones capable of interfering with his plans were the Conservative Faction. Besides, the very nature of the rumors—elevating Roman Dmitry while painting Barbosa as a villainous coward—felt like a direct attack on the Progressive Faction, to which Barbosa belonged.
Furthermore, just before the festival began, the nobles of the Conservative Faction approached the Emperor.
"Your Majesty. The rumors circulating among the public are highly disturbing. Now that the people of Valhalla suspect the use of poison, we must verify the facts, even if it means halting the festival. Valhalla's festival is a sacred stage. We cannot allow filthy rumors to defile it."
"Indeed!" Count Gomez, the leader of the Conservative Faction, chimed in.
At those words, the Emperor of Valhalla looked at Marquis Belfir with a languid expression.
"Marquis Belfir. What are your thoughts?"
In that instant, Marquis Belfir felt a chilling murderous intent wash over him. The Emperor of Valhalla was a man who valued entertainment above all else, and he had shown immense anticipation for today's match. If the event were canceled due to dirty rumors, then regardless of the truth, anyone involved in ruining his fun would find it very difficult to keep their heads.
The duel between Barbosa and Roman Dmitry was an event orchestrated entirely by the Progressive Faction. While everyone was aware of the underlying schemes involving Kronos, that did not mean the responsibility was shared equally.
Marquis Belfir bowed his head and spoke.
"Rumors are merely rumors, Your Majesty. The warrior representing Valhalla today is not Roman Dmitry, but Barbosa. Please, watch him. He will strike down Roman Dmitry with overwhelming might, proving to the masses that 'poison' was never necessary in the first place."
"If you put it that way, I shall look forward to it."
The Emperor backed down. It wasn't that he was ignorant of the poison. He simply wished to watch Roman Dmitry fight. Even knowing the ugly truth, he chose not to cancel the match.
Just then—
Thump—!
The heavy beat of a drum echoed through the arena. It was the signal announcing the start of the festival.
Thump! Thump!
As the grand, rhythmic sound reverberated, Marquis Belfir clenched his fists tightly, his gaze fixed on the stage.
'Barbosa, the only way to bury the truth is to defeat Roman Dmitry. Prove your strength before the eyes of Valhalla's people. Show them exactly why a man named Barbosa is recognized as one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent.'
He firmly believed that Barbosa would win. Right on cue, the two warriors stepped out onto the festival stage.
* * *
Barbosa and Roman Dmitry faced each other.
Barbosa smirked as he scanned his opponent from head to toe.
"I'm quite worried about whether your body is holding up. The poison you consumed takes quite some time to show its full effects."
He sneered. Knowing the roaring crowd couldn't hear him, he openly mocked his opponent in a low voice meant only for Roman Dmitry's ears.
Poison. It was a cowardly act, but Barbosa felt absolutely no shame. He was fundamentally different from the typical warriors of Valhalla. While the people of this empire romanticized an afterlife prepared for honorable warriors, Barbosa preferred to enjoy everything during his actual lifetime. In fact, his mindset had already proven correct. Compared to Morales, who had cried out for honor only to die a futile death, Barbosa had survived to the end and now stood representing Valhalla.
This was a world where the winner took all. In the face of changing times, Barbosa was the most realistically adapted existence.
And yet, Roman Dmitry's reaction remained perfectly calm. Even though abnormal symptoms from the poison should have definitely manifested by now, he merely looked at Barbosa and uttered something strange.
"When I first learned of this world, I was always curious about the Twelve Swords of the Continent—the beings people recognize as the absolute strongest. I wondered, just how powerful are they? And how much time would I need in my current life to defeat them? Many things have happened since then. Judging that the time had finally come, I accepted Valhalla's invitation."
It wasn't a conversation. It was a one-sided declaration. Roman Dmitry slowly drew his sword, his eyes locked onto his opponent.
"Let me tell you in advance. The effects of the poison you are so eagerly anticipating will not manifest."
To Roman, this stage was a place of verification. He intended to prove to the world that Roman Dmitry was not someone to be underestimated simply because he hailed from a "weak nation," while simultaneously gaining absolute certainty in his own martial prowess. Barbosa would serve as an excellent test subject before he faced even stronger foes in the future. If he struggled even slightly against a man of this caliber, waging a war against the Empire would be impossible.
Kronos. Valhalla. The world was as vast as a great ocean, possessing national military power that could not normally be matched by the strength of a single individual.
To face them, he had to be overwhelmingly powerful as an individual. Only then could Dmitry stand its ground and not back down a single step against the massive iron fortress of the Empire in the coming war.
Barbosa's expression stiffened. He finally realized his opponent's momentum was terrifyingly unusual.
Roman Dmitry spoke. "From now on, I will give my all. If you can block all nine of my attacks, then I will admit that Valhalla's wall is truly high."
The moment the words left his lips, Roman Dmitry lunged.
* * *
Whoosh!
He was unbelievably fast. Roman Dmitry instantly closed the distance and swung his blade, a fierce Aura swirling around the steel.
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - First Form of the First Half.'
Crash!
Rumble!
A violent clash erupted. Barbosa deflected the strike as if it were nothing, then explosively reversed his Aura, viciously targeting Roman Dmitry's blind spot. The sequence of movements was natural and blindingly swift. Although he had resorted to dirty tricks to secure a guaranteed victory, Barbosa proved in a single exchange that he was not a powerhouse in name only.
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Second Form of the First Half.'
Clang!
The Heavenly Demon Sword Technique possessed no fixed forms. Roman Dmitry brutally suppressed his opponent's counterattack with sheer, overwhelming force. A hint of bewilderment flashed across Barbosa's face.
This was entirely unexpected. His opponent showed absolutely no intention of backing down, determined to seize the initiative. In fact, the way Roman relentlessly rushed in and pressured him made it seem as though Roman was the one in a position of absolute superiority.
Barbosa's pride was wounded. The festival of Valhalla was supposedly a stage where he was the grand champion accepting challengers, yet Roman Dmitry's attitude was downright arrogant.
Flash!
His blade sliced through the wind. Attempting to force Roman Dmitry to evade, Barbosa unleashed his signature snake-like swordsmanship, his blade lunging like a viper to bite at his opponent's neck.
However, Roman Dmitry did not retreat.
He evaded the lethal strike with a mere shift of his upper body. Barbosa immediately twisted the trajectory of his sword, pursuing Roman's movements to the bitter end. His swordsmanship was relentless and venomous. The moment an opponent thought they had successfully blocked an attack, his sword would abruptly strike from a blind spot to lacerate their flesh—this was the deadly, signature style that defined the current Barbosa.
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Third Form of the First Half.'
Boom!
Rumble!
Barbosa was violently blown back. Caught in the devastating aftershock of the clashing Auras, his viper-like strike failed to reach its target.
"You miserable bastard..." Barbosa muttered, quickly regrouping.
The situation was severely deviating from his plans. In this duel, even a closely fought match would be a disgrace. While he could easily deceive the foolish crowd, figures like Marquis Belfir knew full well that he had used poison. What would they think seeing him struggle like this? If he couldn't overwhelmingly crush his opponent even with the aid of poison, his value to the Progressive Faction would inevitably plummet.
That was unacceptable.
Barbosa furiously channeled his Mana. He intended to completely overpower his opponent from here on out.
Crash!
Rumble!
His Aura surged violently. This time, Barbosa lunged first, aggressively cutting off Roman Dmitry's space and pressing down on him from the front.
At that exact moment—
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - First Form of the Middle Half.'
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Second Form of the Middle Half.'
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A rapid succession of devastating strikes rained down. A massive crack appeared in Barbosa's composure.
He was being pushed back. Even though he had channeled a massive amount of Aura, the sheer kinetic shock from clashing with Roman Dmitry was something he simply could not withstand. It was unbelievable. His opponent was only in his mid-twenties; winning in a clash of pure, raw strength should have been a given. Furthermore, Barbosa's attack just now was something even Morales at full strength would have struggled to block. Yet, a quick glance at Roman Dmitry's face revealed not a single trace of strain.
It was in that moment that a chilling sense of foreboding washed over him. The fact that the poison had not worked at all. The terrifying sight of Roman Dmitry effortlessly pressing the attack.
As the horrific possibility of defeat began to bloom in his mind, Barbosa abandoned all restraint and unleashed his absolute full power.
Rumble!
"Die!" Barbosa roared.
The world flashed with blinding light. It was an overwhelming display of power. The spectators shielded their eyes, feeling as if they would go blind. Barbosa's 6-Star Aura was unleashed to its absolute limit, whipping up a destructive force that ordinary people dared not even look at directly. It was a complete departure from his usual fighting style. Had he not lost his composure, he would have patiently chipped away at his opponent's stamina with his signature snake-like attacks, slowly guiding the battle into a favorable position.
However, he figured it didn't matter much anymore. This time, he was absolutely certain that someone like Roman Dmitry could never withstand this strike.
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Third Form of the Middle Half.'
Crash!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The world turned upside down. The arena ground collapsed under the immense pressure, kicking up a massive cloud of dust that made it impossible for the audience to see what was happening.
When the dust finally settled slightly, the scene revealed to the crowd was Barbosa violently coughing up blood.
Cough!
He spat out a mouthful of crimson, his face painted with sheer, unadulterated horror.
This made no sense. He was a 6-Star Aura user. To think he had actually lost in a clash of pure strength while using his full power...
But the true nightmare was that his opponent had only attacked six times so far. Roman Dmitry had clearly declared he would attack nine times. That meant three strikes still remained.
Barbosa stumbled backward, desperately wanting to deny reality. But when he looked ahead, the silhouette of Roman Dmitry was already tearing through the cloud of dust, charging straight toward him.
'Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Latter Half First Form.'
The absolute masters of Murim referred to the latter half forms of the Heavenly Demon Sword Technique as the Realm of Heaven.
Against the very first strike entering that divine realm, Barbosa pushed his Aura beyond its absolute limit, even burning his own life force in a desperate bid to resist Roman Dmitry's attack. The power of the descending blade had already surpassed the boundaries of common sense. Surviving the remaining attacks was his only hope, but the very moment their Auras clashed, his consciousness was blown away.
Flash!
Annihilation.
Barbosa's very existence faded away. The parts of his body that came into contact with the heavenly Aura instantly burned away into ash. Up until the very moment of his complete dissolution, he could not tear his eyes away from Roman Dmitry, his gaze filled with absolute denial. If he had known Roman Dmitry was an existence of this terrifying caliber, he would never, under any circumstances, have committed the suicidal folly of pushing for a duel.
Crumble.
Ash and dust scattered into the wind.
That was the end. A brutally clear outcome.
With the victor definitively decided, not a single spectator watching the stage could bring themselves to cheer.
No.
It wasn't that they wouldn't. They simply couldn't.