Chapter 315: Masterpiece (6)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 315: Masterpiece (6)
Once everyone had left, Chris stood alone, staring down at his sword with a conflicted expression.
'Why did I walk this path?'
A painful memory resurfaced from the depths of his mind.
On a battlefield littered with corpses, a young Chris had wept as he clung to his mother's lifeless body. Back then, he thought his world had ended. Watching his parents be run through with blades and groan in agony was a trauma far too heavy for a child to bear. But when Knight Commander Jonathan reached out a hand to him, Chris choked back his tears and made a vow.
He would become strong.
To ensure he never had to experience such tragedy again, he swore to become a swordsman stronger than anyone else.
Recently, Chris had grown by leaps and bounds.
By defeating Diego, he had proven himself to be a powerhouse on par with the continent's rankers. Enemies on the battlefield trembled at the mere mention of his title, the Flash of Dmitry. He was closing in on his ultimate goal. He believed he was moving forward just as he always had, but witnessing Kevin's pure, unadulterated desire had sent massive shockwaves through his mind.
What if... what if he challenged Roman Dmitry and lost? How would he react?
He didn't think he would cry in denial of reality like Kevin just did.
Since following Roman Dmitry, Chris had become completely captivated by him. At some point, he had subconsciously accepted that Roman was an untouchable existence. Defeat was only natural. How could anyone defeat a monster who wouldn't back down even against an army of 300,000? Though his stated goal of surpassing Roman Dmitry remained unchanged, Chris was well aware that it was an unrealistic dream.
Gradually.
Bit by bit. Step by step.
He had compromised with reality.
He had become strong enough to ensure the pain of his past would never be repeated. Even if he couldn't surpass Roman Dmitry, no one would blame him. Roman Dmitry was destined to be the next generation's First Sword of the Continent. Given who his opponent was, Chris thought it wouldn't hurt to make a single exception. After all, his current strength had originated from Roman Dmitry, so submitting to him felt like something he could accept.
"Fuck."
Irritation flared within him.
He was angry.
Confronted by an overwhelming existence, he had grown weak before he even realized it.
Kevin's tears—his pure, burning desire to surpass him—had struck a raw nerve in Chris's pride.
'It might be an absurd, impossible goal that I can't achieve even after decades. But I, Chris, will struggle to the very end to claim the title of the greatest swordsman. Even if my opponent is Roman Dmitry, whom I sincerely respect. Just like Kevin, I will not meekly submit to the wall of reality.'
He swallowed his self-disgust.
Instead of letting his complacency discourage him, he used it as fuel for growth.
Grip.
He clutched his sword tightly.
From now on, to avoid being overtaken and to finally reach his goal, he would become stronger. More relentlessly than ever before.
* * *
In the treatment room, the healer frowned as he examined Kevin's wounds.
"Tsk. Why do you abuse your body like this every single time? Still, Sir Chris is truly amazing. How did he manage to artistically slice only the flesh without touching a single internal organ?"
The healer chattered on.
He had heard the gist of the situation—that Chris and Kevin had engaged in a sparring match that was practically a live-combat battle, leaving Kevin drenched in blood.
The healer continued, "You might not know this, Sir Kevin, but Sir Chris has been famous ever since he first arrived in Dmitry. Despite his pretty face, his venomous determination was something else. When he quickly awakened his mana under Knight Commander Jonathan's tutelage, everyone went wild, saying a swordsmanship genius had been born in Dmitry. He truly is a genius. Meeting Young Master Roman only gave him wings; he would have surely achieved greatness on his own strength regardless."
Even years ago, Chris was hailed as a genius.
Though it might have been the evaluation of a big fish in a small pond, Chris, who had awakened his aura at an early age, was fundamentally different from Kevin.
"But you are amazing too, Sir Kevin. Sir Chris usually avoids harming his opponents during sparring. The fact that he drew blood means he realized he couldn't subdue you without doing so. It's only because it was you, Sir Kevin. Any other swordsman would have been knocked out with a blow to the head long before they ended up in this state."
The healer's words no longer registered in his ears.
Kevin's thoughts were fixated on Chris's past—a man who had been hailed as a genius from the moment he arrived in Dmitry.
'His foundation is fundamentally different from mine.'
A genius.
An existence who already possessed a solid foundation had met Roman Dmitry and grown exponentially.
In contrast, Kevin was nothing.
He had been little more than a helpless young boy at the mercy of Blood Fang. Someone who had never even held a sword properly and had to be taught everything from scratch. He had certainly made rapid progress after meeting Roman Dmitry, but defeating Chris, who was deemed a genius from the very beginning, felt impossible.
Today, Kevin had hit a wall.
Even after being struck by a blow so fast he couldn't react, he felt he hadn't even forced Chris to use his full strength.
It was devastating.
The reality of his inferiority was pathetic.
He had ended up desperately clinging to an opponent he couldn't even touch.
'In the future, my Lord's side will be crowded with people like Chris. Fernando, Ares, Fred. People who have already made a name for themselves as rankers will swear loyalty to my Lord, and they will grow exponentially under his guidance. Every time that happens, what excuse will I use to accept reality? Since our starting points were different, is it right to just accept that they are stronger than me? Is that how I will gradually be pushed aside?'
No.
He could not accept that.
Even if his past wasn't as grand as theirs, he wanted to remain the person Roman Dmitry trusted most. It was a pure, unadulterated desire. When he first encountered light in the abyss of his life, the sight of Roman Dmitry looking down at him had gifted him 'hope' for the very first time.
He could never forget the memory of that day.
That was why, whenever Roman Dmitry needed someone's help, Kevin wanted to be the first person who came to his mind.
'It doesn't matter if my origins are pathetic. Whether it takes a year or ten, I will surpass everyone except my Lord. I no longer want to live a life where I take defeat for granted.'
He gritted his teeth.
He would become strong.
If so, what should he do next?
Suddenly, a single goal came to mind.
'The Stage of Control.'
The Ghost Soul Demonic Art.
Mastering it was the only way to overcome the fundamental difference in their origins.
* * *
The Adelian Auction House.
It was currently in a state of extreme emergency.
Adelian's VVIP, Roman Dmitry, had requested the auction of his new creation, the 'Third No-Name', following the massive success of Blaze.
"Everyone, stay sharp! The Third No-Name is guaranteed to break the record for the highest winning bid in the history of the Adelian Auction House. We've personally contacted all of our VIP clients, so do not let your guard down for even a single second today. If we successfully conclude this auction, I promise to pay everyone a hefty bonus."
"Understood!"
At the words of Morris, the auction house manager, the staff showed solemn determination.
Early in the morning, the auction house was packed with a sea of people.
Not only the VIPs invited by Morris, but ordinary citizens had also flocked to the venue upon hearing the news that Roman Dmitry had released a new creation. However, not everyone was allowed inside. Since this auction was an exclusive standalone event with a starting bid set at a minimum of 100 gold, the general public was barred from entry.
Inside the auction house, the hall was packed to the brim.
After a long wait, the auctioneer finally appeared before the crowd.
"Thank you for waiting. As you all know, the masterpiece we are presenting today at Adelian is Roman Dmitry's new creation, the 'Third No-Name,' following the massive sensation caused by Blaze. First, let me briefly explain the sword. The Third No-Name not only passed the durability test with a perfect score, but it also showed astonishing results in the recently developed mana sensitivity test. The previous mana sensitivity artifacts were divided into ten levels. After Blaze received a perfect score, a new testing device classified into five levels was developed to apply much stricter standards. The developers introduced this new device and said: if a weapon shows a level 5 mana sensitivity, it can undeniably be called a treasure of the century."
The auctioneer smiled.
Having successfully built up the tension, he delivered the words everyone was waiting for.
"That's right! The Third No-Name has been certified with a whopping level 5 mana sensitivity through this new testing device!"
"Whoa!"
"As expected!"
The crowd gasped in admiration.
It was just as they had anticipated.
Roman Dmitry had once again presented a masterpiece that did not disappoint.
With the atmosphere thoroughly heated, the auctioneer scanned the faces of the VIPs and announced the start of the bidding.
"We will now begin the auction for the Third No-Name. The starting bid is 100 gold."
It was then.
Raise.
One person raised his hand.
Along with the signal indicating his bid, he also made a gesture signifying a hundredfold increase.
Instantly, the auctioneer's face was painted with shock.
"...W-what on earth is happening? Bidder Number 1 has declared 10,000 gold right from the start!"
Ten thousand gold.
Everyone's eyes simultaneously locked onto the figure known as Bidder Number 1.
* * *
It was a familiar face.
Upon realizing that Bidder Number 1 was Marquis Valentino, famously known as 'The Collector' of greed, despair washed over the crowd's faces.
What kind of man was Valentino?
His bid of 10,000 gold made his intentions crystal clear.
Bring it on. I'll crush you all with money.
After wrapping up his meetings, Marquis Valentino had liquidated his jewelry business.
Having caught wind beforehand that the Third No-Name would be released to the market, he had prepared for this moment while simultaneously securing additional funds from his associates. He had completely eliminated any possibility of losing due to a lack of funds. In fact, Marquis Valentino had secured a war chest of well over 10,000 gold, and by bidding 10,000 gold right off the bat, he ruthlessly seized the initiative.
Before the auction, his vassals had advised him against it.
They agreed with the purchase but questioned the need to go so far right from the start, suggesting they raise the bid gradually to get it as cheaply as possible.
However, Marquis Valentino had flatly rejected their advice.
The Third No-Name was worth breaking the record for the highest price.
As a collector, he couldn't bear to watch a coveted piece of his collection go for a bargain.
Of course, it wouldn't have sold for less than 10,000 gold anyway. But by bidding 10,000 gold upfront, Marquis Valentino made his absolute determination clear: no matter what price anyone else called, he would top it. He felt the weight of the crowd's gazes on him. Normally, he would have savored the attention with gentlemanly poise, but today, he glared back, signaling that he would tolerate no competition.
One second.
Two seconds.
Time ticked away.
After a tense silence, the auctioneer raised his voice.
"Ten thousand gold! Bidder Number 1 has won the bid for ten thousand gold! Congratulations! I never expected the competition for the Third No-Name to be decided by such an overwhelming margin!"
Sold.
The moment the long-awaited word was uttered, Marquis Valentino leaped from his seat.
Throwing all dignity to the wind, he pumped his fist in the air.
"Yessssssssss!"
It was pure, unadulterated happiness.
Rushing forward to receive the sword, Marquis Valentino turned to the knight who had accompanied him as a guard.
"Schedule appointments with the neighboring families immediately. Split them into morning and afternoon sessions—I want to meet at least two people every day."
"...For what purpose are you meeting them, my Lord?"
"What do you mean, 'what purpose'? I just won this magnificent treasure at an auction. Shouldn't I pay them a visit and brag about it in person?"
Even as he spoke, he couldn't hide his grin.
Seeing this, the knight—who had previously conversed with Simmons—looked at Marquis Valentino with a highly conflicted gaze.
'Is this really for the good of the family...?'
At this very moment, he sincerely doubted the Marquis's true intentions.
* * *
A few days passed.
Just as the buzz surrounding the auction of the Third No-Name that had taken Dmitry by storm began to die down, Dmitry's communication base received a transmission.
Beep.
There was nothing but silence on the other end of the communicator.
The soldier, who had initially stated his affiliation and waited for a response, frowned slightly and said, "If you don't speak, I'm cutting the connection."
It was then.
Just as he was about to terminate the call, an unstable voice crackled through the receiver.
"[...Help... This is... prisoner... Argh!]"
Click.
The connection went dead.
It was a message that was hard to make out.
However, from the fragmented words, the soldier deduced a single hypothesis.
'The words "help" and "prisoner" mean they are definitely asking us for help.'
Furthermore, the communication coordinates originated from beyond the Western Front.
He knew instinctively.
The sender of the transmission was a prisoner of war captured by the enemy.