Chapter 272: Advent of the Heavenly Demon (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 272: Advent of the Heavenly Demon (4)
That day.
Kevin wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.
"For the Kingdom Alliance to win the upcoming war, we need you—the one who has fought alongside Roman Dmitry. Leave this place to me. I will defeat Hannibal and follow right behind you."
Those were the last words Count Nicholas had spoken to him. Chris vividly recalled that moment.
He had gritted his teeth and chosen to flee. He knew that even a second of hesitation would render Count Nicholas's sacrifice meaningless. At the time, he believed it was the only option. Hannibal's aura had been utterly devastating. After just a few exchanges, Chris had realized the man was an insurmountable monster.
It was a complete and crushing defeat.
Leaving the collapsing Western Front behind, he had used "strategy" as an excuse to retreat, unable to bring himself to even look back.
And then, a few days ago, he heard the news about Count Nicholas.
"According to those who witnessed Count Nicholas's final moments, he didn't last long before falling to Hannibal. He was a true swordsman. If he hadn't held back the Kronos Empire, we might have been wiped out before ever escaping the Western Front."
The news was devastating.
The messenger had tried to ease his guilt by calling Count Nicholas a savior, but Chris could only stare blankly at the sky as a profound sense of helplessness washed over him. Following Roman Dmitry, he had lived a life constantly teetering on the edge of life and death. He had made rapid progress, but paradoxically, the stronger he became, the more he realized he was merely a frog at the bottom of a well.
The world was vast.
But to remain by Roman Dmitry's side, he couldn't keep using the vastness of the world to justify his defeats.
Barbosa.
Hannibal.
Powerhouses like them.
If he remained powerless against such monsters, tragedies like Count Nicholas's sacrifice would inevitably repeat themselves. Would it be right to survive through someone else's blood again? No. Even if he survived that way, could he truly call himself someone Roman Dmitry needed?
He gritted his teeth.
The goal Chris aspired to reach was far too high for him to collapse under the weight of self-loathing.
Roman Dmitry.
He wanted to surpass him.
If he wallowed in pity now, he would lose the right to ever speak of surpassing his liege again.
He raised his sword.
From that moment on, Chris immersed himself entirely in his swordsmanship.
How can I make my blade faster? How can I make it more powerful?
If only he had possessed enough skill to support Count Nicholas, they might have defeated Hannibal together. His thoughts became a tangled web. Roman Dmitry's Lightning and Knight Commander Jonathan's secret technique—he unfolded them in a dazzling display, swinging his sword relentlessly as he strove to break through to a new stage.
Chris had always watched Roman Dmitry from afar.
As the days piled up, his desire to receive direct instruction had grown, but he couldn't bring himself to ask; Roman Dmitry had commanded him to forge his own path. Memories surfaced one by one. The way Roman Dmitry swung his sword, the profound reasoning behind each movement, the way he absorbed mana, and even his smallest habits—the accumulated observations of years remained vividly etched into Chris's mind.
One thought led to another. His sheer desperation dug into a profound truth he had never seen before.
'My liege's method does not focus on the explosive power of aura. By accepting mana as it is and merely drawing out its essence, the aura manifests in a completely different form. It is a method vastly different from what this world teaches. Some might call it heresy, but standing by his side, I realized that the "correct answer" defined by the world is not the absolute truth.'
The "correct answer" was merely defined by whoever established it first.
Chris had built his vessel through the continent's method, sprouted his foundation through Roman Dmitry's teachings, and was now forging his own path by blending the two. He couldn't say Roman Dmitry's way was unconditionally perfect for him. Since he had already embraced the continent's system, he needed a way to perfectly harmonize the strengths of both.
The sun set, and the sun rose.
In the endless flow of time, Chris fell into a profound state of selflessness.
And at a certain point...
Drip.
Drip, drip, drip.
Shedding Bones and Rebirth.
His body began to undergo a dramatic, fundamental transformation.
* * *
It was early morning.
Puki and Volkan walked out to the training ground, their faces groggy and disheveled.
"What's going on... Huh?"
"S-Sir Chris? It looks like your face is glowing."
Their eyes widened in shock.
Summoned abruptly by Chris, they were bewildered by his appearance—it was vastly different from what they remembered. Chris had always been known as the handsome man of Dmitry. But now, with skin like white jade and radiant, flowing blonde hair, his appearance seemed to have transcended to an entirely new level.
However, Chris paid no heed to their awe.
"From now on, I will launch an attack against you. If you manage to block it, I will give you a year's worth of my salary."
"Are you serious?"
"No taking it back later."
Their gazes instantly sharpened.
Though they had received substantial rewards while serving Roman Dmitry, Puki and Volkan were mercenaries by birth. They would walk through fire and water when money was on the line. It was also why they followed Roman Dmitry with genuine loyalty—he didn't just demand blind devotion; he made sure they were richly compensated for their hardships.
Chris's words, however, felt like a mistake.
They knew his swordsmanship was lightning-fast, but neither of them was a pushover.
They both drew their swords.
Amidst the tense atmosphere, Chris spoke again.
"Exactly ten seconds from now, I will slash Volkan's shirt from the front, and then I will cut Puki's hair."
"...What are you playing at?"
It was an absurd situation.
Blocking an attack was supposed to be a form of training, yet Chris had just told them exactly how and when he would strike. They felt insulted. While they didn't expect to beat Chris even if they fought a hundred times, blocking a single, openly declared attack was a completely different story. There was no way they would fail. Their slightly flushed faces clearly showed their wounded pride.
One second.
Two seconds.
They swallowed hard.
Counting the seconds in their heads, they surged their mana as the count reached nine.
At that exact moment.
Flash.
Whoosh!
A sudden gust of wind blew past them.
Before they could even register how Chris had moved, shreds of Volkan's shirt and strands of Puki's hair were already fluttering in the air. There was no pain. Since the attack carried no murderous intent, their skin remained untouched. The two men simply stared blankly at the debris drifting through the air, completely dazed.
It was fast. So unimaginably fast that even after being struck, they couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
"...How on earth?"
Chris sheathed his sword.
Over the past few days, he had stepped into an entirely new realm.
Amidst the agonizing pain of his bones breaking and muscles tearing, Chris had grasped a power he could never have touched before.
It was neither Roman Dmitry's martial arts nor Knight Commander Jonathan's secret technique.
It was entirely his own. Chris had officially entered the ranks of a Pioneer.
* * *
The past few days had been peaceful.
The Kronos Empire's army, which had been idly passing the time with basic sentries posted, was suddenly thrown into an uproar by an urgent scout's report.
"Roman Dmitry is currently marching his forces toward us!"
The enemy was on the move.
An emergency war council was convened.
To the high command, the scout's report was utterly unbelievable.
"Roman Dmitry must have gone mad! He wants a total war against an army of 300,000?!"
"We must not jump to conclusions. Looking at the battle on the Southern Front alone, Roman Dmitry proved he is a master of tactics. The enemy's march must be a strategic feint we haven't anticipated; it's highly unlikely they actually want an all-out war. Therefore, we must hold our current position. If we rashly charge out, there's no telling what trap we might fall into."
Perhaps because the situation was so absurd, a fierce conflict of opinions erupted.
As the voices of the leadership tangled in confusion, Duke Bamford's expression darkened with fury.
Slam!
"Lower your voices, all of you."
Anger boiled within him. Suppressed by Duke Bamford's murderous aura, the commanding officers finally shut their mouths.
"It doesn't matter what Roman Dmitry's intentions are. The problem is that they dare to provoke a total war against the Kronos Empire. How utterly ridiculous. A mere kingdom actually believes it can win an all-out war against the Empire. From this point on, it is a matter of pride. If we do not break the spirit of Roman Dmitry, who holds his head so arrogantly high, we will surely become the laughingstock of the continent—even if we win."
A cowardly commander who focused solely on defending an old castle despite commanding an army of 300,000—that was an unacceptable scenario.
If the enemy's intention was to provoke his anger, they had succeeded spectacularly.
A trap?
He wasn't worried.
No matter what tricks the enemy had prepared, they would crush them with overwhelming, absolute power.
"Issue the order to the soldiers of the Kronos Empire. From this moment on, we will execute Roman Dmitry ourselves."
"Your command is our will!"
The fuse was lit.
Now, it would not be complex strategies, but the raw, brutal power of spears and swords that would decide the outcome of the battlefield.
* * *
On the vast plains, the forces of both armies gathered.
The difference in numbers was overwhelming from a single glance.
While the Kronos Empire surged forward endlessly like a black tidal wave, the rear of Roman Dmitry's army was clearly visible. It wasn't that Dmitry's forces were small. The troops that had retreated from the Western Front had bolstered their ranks, but the Kronos Empire's military might was simply so massive that it swallowed the horizon.
Stopping at a certain distance, both sides formed their respective battle lines.
As a taut, suffocating tension filled the air, Roman Dmitry walked out alone toward the enemy army.
Step, step.
Step by step, he closed the distance.
Then, halting his advance, he raised his voice so it echoed across the plains.
"I am Roman Dmitry of the Dmitry Duchy. I challenge the Kronos Empire to a Great Warrior Battle."
A Great Warrior Battle.
The imperial ranks stirred.
They had suspected Roman Dmitry might propose a Great Warrior Battle, but seeing it actually happen threw them into a whirlwind of emotions. Some were bewildered, some were astonished, and others were outright furious.
The dominant emotion among the commanders, however, was anger. Present at this very battlefield was Hannibal—not just an ordinary swordsman, but the illustrious second-ranked powerhouse of the Kronos Empire.
Roman Dmitry could not possibly be ignorant of that fact.
Yet, the audacity to still demand a Great Warrior Battle made Hannibal's face distort in sheer rage.
"I will go and deal with him," Hannibal snarled.
"No, I forbid it."
It was Duke Bamford.
The opponent's intention was all too transparent. Roman Dmitry likely intended to eliminate one of the Kronos Empire's strongest swords, gaining a practical advantage while simultaneously seizing the momentum of the war. Hannibal's strength was absolute within the Empire. No matter how strong Roman Dmitry was, there was no guarantee he could defeat Hannibal, but the Duke needed to prepare for any possibility.
Barbosa and Hannibal. If the two fought, who would win?
Hannibal would certainly emerge victorious, but defeating Barbosa in just seven strikes like Roman Dmitry had done? That was impossible. This was a harsh truth that even the Kronos Empire now had to acknowledge. Roman Dmitry was not a frog in a well; he was a supreme powerhouse whose name rightfully belonged in the discussion for the strongest on the continent.
If so, there was absolutely no reason to accept the duel.
The Kronos Empire's might did not need to be proven in a petty Great Warrior Battle; they would prove it through the final slaughter.
'Roman Dmitry. Do you truly wish to clash with raw power?'
He still couldn't believe it.
An army of 300,000.
Hannibal, Shepir, and countless other masters.
To Duke Bamford, it was simply absurd that a Great Warrior Battle was the only card Roman Dmitry had to play against the Kronos Empire's overwhelming military might. If that was truly all he had, there would be no unexpected variables. Having thoroughly analyzed the threat Roman Dmitry posed, Duke Bamford firmly rejected the duel between him and Hannibal.
It was then that Roman Dmitry spoke again.
"If you are too afraid to duel me, I shall alter the proposal. I will send out two warriors to represent me, so why don't you send out two of your own? If you are cowardly enough to reject even this, then we shall forget about the Great Warrior Battle entirely."
Those words were a blatant, mocking provocation—one that made Duke Bamford's blood boil.