Chapter 240: The Way of the Predator (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 240: The Way of the Predator (4)
The spectators watching the stage felt as if their minds had ground to a halt.
Who was Barbosa?
Though dishonorable rumors of him using poison frequently circulated, his rise to the rank of the Twelve Swords of the Continent through sheer skill was an undeniable fact. Barbosa's strength was the real deal. The reason Morales had criticized him but never dared to challenge him to a duel lay in that very gap in their skills.
Yet, how on earth could they explain the sight before their eyes?
Even with the duel already decided, the crowd stared at the stage with dazed expressions.
"...Am I seeing things?" someone muttered.
It was exactly what everyone was thinking.
Even before the duel began, public fury had boiled over the rumors surrounding Roman Dmitry. From the start, the odds had been overwhelmingly stacked against him. Though he had displayed absolute martial prowess in his duel with Morales, most were certain of Barbosa's superiority. Believing the outcome predetermined, the crowd had flocked to the festival grounds, gnashing their teeth and vowing not to stand idle if evidence of foul play actually came to light.
They hadn't expected a victory. Not against Barbosa.
Even if Roman Dmitry had merely managed a close match while fighting through the adverse effects of poison, he still would have earned their respect.
That made the reality all the more unbelievable.
Roman Dmitry had won.
What was more, he had utterly dominated his opponent from start to finish. Not once had Barbosa gained the upper hand. During the initial exchange, the crowd had admired Barbosa's seasoned skill. When Roman Dmitry launched a swift attack, Barbosa's response had been exactly what the spectators hoped for.
But by the second strike, the third, and then the fourth, the spectators grew increasingly bewildered, their confusion mirroring the cracks forming in Barbosa's expression.
It made no sense.
Barbosa, one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent, had been rendered completely helpless.
Even as they watched him crumble at the very end, the people could not accept the result, despite witnessing it with their own eyes.
And that wasn't all.
The realization that they still hadn't seen Roman Dmitry's full power, even after he produced such a shocking result, weighed heavily on their minds.
"...The duel between Barbosa and Roman Dmitry. The winner is Roman Dmitry."
Atop the stage, the arbiter announced the result in a trembling voice.
Their denial lasted only a moment. They had no choice but to accept reality.
At the sight of Roman Dmitry standing alone on the stage, the crowd erupted into a simultaneous roar.
"Waaaaah!"
"Roman Dmitry won!"
"A new member of the Twelve Swords of the Continent has been born!"
The cheers spread like wildfire.
Even now, the people couldn't fully process the reality. However, the fact that Roman Dmitry—a man who had shown the true pride of a warrior in his duel with Morales—had defeated Barbosa was a truth they could confirm with their own eyes. It was a joyous occasion. A man who understood the honor of Valhalla had not been defeated. He had overturned the odds with sheer skill, despite being poisoned.
The crowd roared.
Though he was not from Valhalla, Roman Dmitry deserved to be cheered at a venue honoring the souls of warriors.
It was then.
A man stepped onto the stage amidst the deafening cheers. Looking visibly tense, it was none other than Greg, the man who had received a mission from Roman Dmitry.
* * *
A day ago, Greg had not understood Roman Dmitry's intentions.
To be precise, he understood the goal, but he desperately wanted to dissuade Roman from such an absurd plan.
'Even if we analyze the poison's components, it's a meaningless struggle if he loses the duel against Barbosa. Does Roman Dmitry truly believe he can defeat him? I acknowledge his strength from his duel with Morales, but he won't even be given the chance to prove whether poison was used.'
It was a despairing thought.
After confirming the events of that day—Morales's death—Greg and his companions had wanted to save Roman Dmitry by any means necessary.
This plan was extremely dangerous.
If Barbosa found out a group was interfering with his schemes, he would undoubtedly slaughter Greg and the others. It was a massive risk. Even while analyzing the poison, Greg had hesitated, wondering if he should back out. But he didn't want to betray Roman Dmitry.
Valhalla was rotting away from such weak-mindedness. The factions currently leading Valhalla cried out its name, yet they no longer risked their lives.
So Greg risked his life.
He put everything on the line.
And then, he witnessed the result with his own two eyes.
Seeing Roman tear Barbosa down, Greg gained absolute certainty. Even though it meant exposing his face, he stepped forward in front of the crowd and presented the evidence of the poisoning.
"I risked my life for you. So please, reveal the ugly truth to the people. Make the people of Valhalla feel a shred of shame. Roman Dmitry, show them what a grueling stage you had to overcome."
"You did well."
Roman accepted the evidence.
The crowd's attention snapped to them. As everyone questioned Greg's identity, Roman Dmitry looked directly toward the Emperor and raised his voice.
"Yesterday evening, someone poisoned the tea I was drinking. What I hold in my hand right now is the proof of that poison, and you may verify it yourselves if necessary. In truth, who used the poison is of little importance to me. However, I am deeply disappointed by Valhalla's attitude toward this incident."
Thud.
He tossed the evidence.
As it fell to the ground, its dark, viscous hue proved Roman Dmitry's words true.
"When I detected the poison and sought to uncover the truth, Viscount Jonathan instead asked if I could take responsibility for insulting Valhalla. Isn't that amusing? When I, a mere foreigner from another nation, pointed out that the tea prepared by the estate's servants was poisoned, Valhalla's response was not to verify the truth, but to shift the blame. I found this attitude truly pitiful. I will not make groundless assumptions. Common sense dictates that someone wishing to defeat me poisoned the tea, but Viscount Jonathan's denial of the truth right before his eyes proved that Valhalla's pride has fallen to the ground. That is why I accepted the challenge. Even though my body was compromised by the poison, I refused to meekly play into the hands of those who used underhanded tricks."
In reality, the poison had no effect on him whatsoever.
However, he did not reveal that truth. It was better for the people of Valhalla to believe he had won a disadvantaged match while suffering its effects.
The spectators' emotions boiled over.
Hearing Roman Dmitry's words, their faces flushed red with vicarious shame. How disgraceful. To invite a foreigner from another nation, only to use poison to rig a match in a land that called itself the Empire of Warriors. They could not even bring themselves to look Roman Dmitry in the eye.
"I wish to ask His Majesty the Emperor. I heard that Valhalla is a nation of warriors. Yet, does persecuting me and demanding accountability when I merely sought the truth truly align with the values Valhalla pursues? If I had lost the duel against Barbosa, the truth would have been buried, and the swordsman named Roman Dmitry would have vanished into the shadows of history as just another mediocre figure. Your Majesty, I demand an answer regarding this matter."
Atop the stage, Roman looked up at the Emperor.
At his bold remarks, the Emperor of Valhalla's expression twisted with clear displeasure.
* * *
The Emperor of Valhalla spoke.
"The Empire has been made a laughingstock."
To him, the truth did not matter either.
The fact that Barbosa used poison? He already knew.
The problem was that Barbosa had been utterly defeated despite using it, providing a pretext for the ugly truth to be exposed to the public. It had ruined his entertainment. Roman Dmitry's martial prowess was shockingly formidable, but the fact that he dared bare his fangs at the Emperor himself grated on the sovereign's nerves.
"Viscount Jonathan. Is what Roman Dmitry says true?"
Below the high seat, among the nobles lined up in a row, Viscount Jonathan spoke with a deathly pale face.
"...I apologize."
"So, it is true."
At this moment, Marquis Belfir dared not say a word.
The Emperor of Valhalla was a man who handed down clear, absolute punishments. If Belfir dared to plead for mercy in a situation like this, there was no telling what miserable fate would befall him as well.
Screech.
The Emperor rose from his seat. He drew a sword from the waist of a knight standing beside him.
"Let the sinner come before me."
Viscount Jonathan trembled violently.
The drawn sword gleamed in the sunlight. His heart sank. Feeling a cold shiver run down his spine, Viscount Jonathan rushed forward, threw himself flat on the ground, and pleaded desperately.
"I am truly sorry! With the festival only a day away, I was too hasty in trying to wrap things up, thinking that no unpleasant incidents should occur. I will make sure nothing like this ever happens again. Please, just spare my life! I will dedicate my entire body and soul to the Valhalla Empire for the rest of my days!"
"Cut the bullshit."
Thud.
The Emperor nudged Viscount Jonathan with the tip of his sword. As the sharp blade bit into his flesh, Viscount Jonathan gritted his teeth, enduring the pain.
The Emperor of Valhalla spoke coldly.
"Viscount Jonathan. You have defiled the honor of Valhalla. Your complacent response ruined the festival honoring the souls of our warriors. And I have absolutely no intention of giving second chances to trash like you."
"P-please... Argh!"
Slash!
The sword swung.
The Emperor of Valhalla's weak arm brought the blade down without a moment's hesitation, striking Viscount Jonathan's neck.
Blood splattered.
Shaking uncontrollably, Viscount Jonathan reached out in a desperate attempt to grab the hem of the Emperor's trousers.
The Emperor of Valhalla continued to hack away with the sword.
His untrained body lacked the strength to sever a grown man's neck in a single blow. Even as the surrounding area became painted in blood from his repeated, frantic swings, Viscount Jonathan's breath did not immediately cease. It was a scene so brutal that even the battle-hardened people of Valhalla found it nauseating. The sickening sound of metal hacking into flesh echoed continuously in their ears.
Finally, with a heavy thud, Viscount Jonathan's body went limp.
Sweeping back his blood-splattered hair, the Emperor of Valhalla smirked.
"Whew, whew. Is this... whew... sufficient accountability for this matter?"
He panted heavily. The gaze he directed at Roman Dmitry was unmistakably that of a madman.
Yet, Roman Dmitry looked up at the Emperor with an unwavering expression.
"It is not sufficient. Murder is not a solution to the problem. Punishing Viscount Jonathan is merely personal retribution. I request that institutional measures be put in place to ensure such an incident is never repeated."
It was an attitude that refused to yield even a single inch.
The Emperor of Valhalla laughed brightly.
It was clear. Roman Dmitry felt no fear, not even when standing before the ruler of an Empire.
* * *
The situation was brought to a close.
The two pillars of Valhalla, Count Gomez and Marquis Belfir, followed behind the Emperor. Watching the blood drip onto the floor with every step the Emperor took, they did not dare speak carelessly.
"Count Gomez. What do you think of Roman Dmitry?"
"...He is a dangerous man. Barbosa is one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent. If Roman Dmitry possesses the skill to overwhelm him so easily, he might very well be strong enough to contend for the title of Best Under Heaven. Of course, I do not believe he is the absolute strongest yet. Barbosa is not ranked among the top tier within the Twelve Swords of the Continent. However, we cannot overlook the fact that Roman Dmitry is not even thirty years old."
"Marquis Belfir, what about you?"
Marquis Belfir's expression was grim. Though the gruesome image of Viscount Jonathan's death lingered in his mind, now was not the time to displease the Emperor of Valhalla.
"I share Count Gomez's sentiments. However, what I find most dangerous is not Roman Dmitry's individual martial prowess. In a war between nations, there is a limit to what a single individual can accomplish. But Roman Dmitry... he dared to step onto the Empire's territory and showed not a single hint of backing down. He is a born predator. He accepted the duel with Barbosa despite knowing about the poison, and after defeating him, he revealed the truth in a place where everyone's eyes were focused. He knows exactly when to strike. Had he made such remarks off the stage, I would have personally shut his mouth."
Roman Dmitry's actions were astounding. Their perfect plan to avenge Count Denver had been brutally torn to shreds.
The Emperor of Valhalla chuckled.
He was thrilled. In his tedious life, a truly entertaining existence had finally appeared.
"Roman Dmitry dared to question the punishment I handed down. He is a warrior fit for Valhalla, but for the future of the Empire, he cannot be allowed to live. Fully support Kronos's plan. Make sure Roman Dmitry cannot return safely to Dmitry. Under no circumstances must he be allowed to leave alive."
A kindred spirit. Murderous intent welled up within him.
The Emperor of Valhalla fiercely desired Roman Dmitry's death.
Colluding with Kronos was something the Conservative Faction had staunchly opposed. Yet, with the appearance of such a dangerous entity as Roman Dmitry, Count Gomez of the Conservative Faction did not raise a single objection.
He, too, recognized the sheer threat Roman Dmitry posed. Even if it went against the principles of the Conservative Faction, he compromised with reality for the sake of practical benefit.
"We shall obey your command."
"We will make sure to eliminate Roman Dmitry."
They were certain.
Roman Dmitry would never, under any circumstances, return alive.