Chapter 288: Those Heading to Dmitry (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 288: Those Heading to Dmitry (1)
The prestigious House of Clive—a renowned noble family of Valhalla.
Count Clive stared at the object on his desk in sheer bewilderment.
"…What is the meaning of this?"
"As you can see, it is a letter of resignation. I have received much help from the House of Clive during my time here, but I have decided that I can no longer fulfill my aspirations in this place."
"No! Absolutely not!"
Rip.
Count Clive tore the resignation letter to shreds in a fit of rage.
The man who had handed him the letter was Logan. As a swordsman ranked 19th in Valhalla, he was a formidable powerhouse. Three years ago, the House of Clive had spent a fortune to recruit him. The mere fact that he belonged to them elevated the family's prestige in the eyes of the public. Yet, he was suddenly leaving. After treating him with the utmost respect and sparing no expense, Count Clive felt as if he had been struck by lightning.
"Who is it? Who dares scheme behind my back to poach a swordsman of the House of Clive? Is it Halton? Marcal? I don't know what kind of grand offer they made you, but I will top it. Logan, you are a man of the House of Clive now. If the world finds out you left us for another family, our reputation will hit rock bottom!"
His voice rose to a shout.
It was a highly sensitive issue, and he could hardly contain his agitation.
Three years ago, Logan had accepted their invitation just as the Count said. He received full financial support while fulfilling their demands in return. It had been a perfect win-win relationship. Until recently, he hadn't harbored the slightest intention of leaving, but the events that had unfolded of late had caused a massive upheaval in his heart.
Logan spoke.
"I have no intention of joining another family in Valhalla."
"Then why on earth are you trying to leave us?!"
"…I believe you also remember the incident involving Roman Dmitry, my Lord. Even though he knew Valhalla was targeting his life, Roman Dmitry accepted the invitation to the festival. He proved his worth by single-handedly slaughtering Morales and the other swordsmen. And Barbosa… he couldn't even block ten of Roman's strikes before collapsing in a pool of his own blood. Watching that, I felt a burning heat rise in my chest."
Logan had been there, sitting in the spectator stands.
Watching Roman Dmitry's overwhelming might, he had felt as if a god of war had descended from the heavens.
"Valhalla has lost its romance. It would have been only right to send Roman Dmitry, the victor of the festival, back in peace. Yet, treating us like blind fools, the empire claimed that the Kronos Empire's attack had nothing to do with Valhalla. My Lord, there is no future for me in this land. If I wish to live honorably as a warrior, I can no longer remain a sword of Valhalla."
It had been a difficult decision.
Born in Valhalla, he had lived his entire life on this soil; leaving to chase a new dream was not an easy choice. But then, he heard the rumor. Roman Dmitry was recruiting private soldiers. The mere prospect of receiving his teachings made Logan's heart pound like crazy.
His reputation as the 19th ranker?
It meant absolutely nothing.
Roman Dmitry, who had effortlessly brought down Barbosa, was a being whom even Logan had to look up to. Furthermore, upon hearing how Roman honored his fallen soldiers, Logan finally made up his mind to part ways with the House of Clive.
"I intend to leave for Dmitry. No offer you make can sway my decision. It is not that my life at Clive was unsatisfying, but rather that the dream I seek as a warrior lies in Dmitry. Thank you for everything."
He bowed his head.
Count Clive stared blankly at Logan's retreating back as he turned and walked away.
* * *
Logan’s departure was not an isolated incident.
Warriors were flocking from every corner of the continent.
The inns of Adelian, a major transit point, were teeming with foreigners like never before.
Thud.
"Ahhh, that hits the spot."
A bald man slammed his empty beer mug down onto the table. He glanced at a man nearby and naturally struck up a conversation.
"You look like someone who's lived by the sword. Where are you from?"
The man who was asked, a fellow with snake-like eyes, smirked.
"I'm from Frank."
"Frank? Why did you come all this way from such a distant place?"
"Isn't the reason obvious? I heard the hero of Dmitry is recruiting private soldiers, so I dropped everything and rushed over. They say Dmitry treats its casualties with the utmost respect. Since we live on the edge of a blade anyway, wouldn't it be better to serve a lord who doesn't treat our deaths lightly?"
"Well said! Hahaha!"
The bald man laughed heartily. Though they might become rivals in the future, he clinked his mug against the snake-eyed man's, enjoying the moment.
His inquiries didn't stop there. When he asked other patrons in the inn why they had come to Dmitry, a wide variety of answers came back.
"I heard the story of a man named Henderson, who was a member of Dmitry. When I heard that he started as a mere farmer but was registered as a Person of National Merit, my blood boiled so much that I couldn't sleep. I used to serve as a knight for a decent family in Umberto, but what meaning does that have now?"
"I'm from Cairo. To be honest, transferring from Cairo to Dmitry is a bit of a sensitive issue, but I just couldn't shake the memory of following Lord Roman Dmitry on the battlefield. He is a god. He always leads his soldiers from the vanguard… Ah, if I can only serve such a man, I would have no regrets even if I died."
"…I am a refugee from Odelia. Since I've lost my country anyway, I want to devote myself to a nation that takes responsibility for the safety of its people."
The bald man himself was from Hector. People from literally every nation had gathered here.
Drawn by Roman Dmitry's legendary exploits, the system that honored fallen soldiers, and a fierce thirst for martial heights, they couldn't resist Dmitry's call. Naturally, leaving their homelands had caused friction, and there was no guarantee they would even pass the test, but the desire to try overpowered everything else.
The bald man's gaze drifted toward a corner.
A man sat there with his hood pulled low, eating alone in a way that strangely drew the eye.
"Hey, you over there. Where are you from?"
The man flinched, his knife freezing mid-air. He raised his head and spoke in a flat voice.
"I am from Frank. I have no wish to join your conversation, so please do not speak to me further."
"Oh, come on, that's a lie."
At the cold response, the snake-eyed man chuckled. Having traveled the continent despite being from Frank, he recognized the robed man's accent instantly.
"People from Frank don't speak with that accent. Based on my experience, you're probably… Kronos. You're from the Kronos Empire, aren't you?"
Instantly, the atmosphere froze.
The Kronos Empire.
Even if they could tolerate people from other nations, someone from Kronos—the instigator of the continental war—was not a welcome presence.
* * *
"Sigh."
The robed man let out a deep sigh. He set his knife down and looked directly at the people staring at him.
"You are correct. I am from Kronos."
"…Shouldn't someone from the Kronos Empire at least have the decency to stay away from Dmitry's recruitment? Well, I suppose there are no official restrictions, but why make this choice?"
Everyone was curious.
Why would someone from the strongest nation on the continent apply for a test to serve Roman Dmitry, who until recently had been the leader of an enemy state? Unless he was a spy, it made no sense. Since everyone here shared a romanticized admiration for Roman Dmitry, they couldn't look kindly upon a citizen of the Kronos Empire.
The robed man spoke.
"I understand why you would react that way to someone from an enemy nation. But I have grown sick of the Kronos Empire's atrocious deeds. Kronos blew up the capital of Odelia despite having formed an alliance, and they executed Baron Charlton of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs over the recent negotiations. Do you know why? Simply because he knelt to Roman Dmitry's demands. Baron Charlton had to accept death without receiving a shred of compensation for his lifetime of devotion to the empire. Kronos is a terrifying nation. As a father, I decided I could not raise my children in such a country."
It was a far more human story than they had expected. The expressions of the onlookers softened, replaced by looks of surprise.
"The Kronos Empire is the greatest power on the continent. No one can deny that. Yet, when Dmitry demanded one million gold in war reparations, the Kronos Empire remained silent, despite possessing far more wealth than that. How pathetic is that? As someone who has done a great deal of work for the Kronos Empire, I want to swear my loyalty to someone who will actually guarantee my future. And when I heard that they registered Henderson as a Person of National Merit… I knew I wanted to take Dmitry's test, even if it meant risking my life to cross the empire's border."
Crossing the border was a highly perilous endeavor. He had spent his entire fortune bribing the guards at the Warp Gate, fleeing the empire with only his family under the cover of night, like thieves.
The robed man gulped down his beer.
Up in their inn room, his wife and children were trembling in fear. Because Kronos punished traitors severely, he was terrified of being discovered. He was the only one who ventured outside, bringing food directly back to their room.
The bald man muttered, "Well, damn. If people are flocking even from the Kronos Empire, passing this test is going to be incredibly tough."
Everyone agreed with his words.
The robed man's aura was no joke. If even a powerhouse like him was hoping to pass, the upcoming competition was bound to be fierce.
They prayed that there wouldn't be too many competitors. As long as the numbers remained within the realm of common sense, they intended to pass the test by any means necessary.
* * *
On the main street of Dmitry, Knight Commander Jonathan walked with a specific purpose in mind.
"Commander, how many applicants do you think will apply for this test?" asked the knight walking beside him.
Knight Commander Jonathan pondered for a moment before offering a prediction.
"Even in the past, when Young Master Roman had not yet achieved his current status, quite a few people gathered from the surrounding areas. But then and now are different. Young Master Roman has become the successor of the Dmitry Duchy, and though he hasn't fought in an official ranking match, he is widely considered the most likely candidate to become the new Rank 1."
Rattle, rattle.
People could be seen pulling carts past them. Knight Commander Jonathan didn't pay much attention to the piles of documents stacked high on the carts.
"Even within Dmitry, the 'private soldiers' who serve Young Master Roman are treated as exceptional beings. Since a large number of the Dmitry Duchy's own soldiers have also said they will take the test, perhaps as many as ten thousand people will apply."
"…Ten thousand? That is truly incredible."
Another cart rolled past them. As far as Knight Commander Jonathan could remember, there had never been a reason for such heavy cart traffic on this street.
"The application period for this recruitment is one week starting from today. My honest guess is that thousands of people will flock today, and the numbers will gradually dwindle, perhaps exceeding ten thousand by the end of the week. So let us quicken our pace. We need to help the staff at the registration desk and verify that there are no issues with the documents."
"Understood."
They quickened their steps.
Their role was to assist with the document verification. While the Hao Sect would handle the precise background checks later, their job was to perform a primary screening by checking for basic disqualifying factors. If there were applicants who did not meet the qualifications set by Roman Dmitry, they would lose their eligibility immediately, without any need for a background check.
It had been about an hour since the registration desk opened.
Jonathan had expected a moderate pile of documents, but the scene at the registration office was nothing short of a battlefield.
"Move, move! Faster!"
"The documents are spilling over there!"
"You crazy bastard! Get a grip!"
The staff were in a state of utter chaos. One of them, a man who appeared to be the official in charge, turned to Knight Commander Jonathan with a tearful face.
"…Knight Commander Jonathan! Please, save us! In just one hour, the number of applicants has already exceeded ten thousand!"
At those words, Knight Commander Jonathan's face froze in shock.
Only then did he realize.
The carts passing him on the way to the registration office—the massive piles of documents stacked high upon them—were all applications from people wishing to take the test.