Chapter 351: A Country That Lost Its Romance (9)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 351: A Country That Lost Its Romance (9)
One step.
Two steps.
The man walking slowly toward the Temple of Valhalla captured everyone’s attention.
His appearance was far more refined than expected.
Unlike the savage-looking warriors of Valhalla, his neatly groomed appearance was reminiscent of an elderly noble. However, the claymore loosely strapped to his shoulder with a leather cord proved his true identity. Even at a glance, the weapon looked incredibly heavy and rugged, far beyond the capability of an ordinary person to wield.
Tap.
He stopped walking.
Stopping at a distance to face Ares, Cesar smiled.
"At first, I thought I had misheard. To think that you, who once received my instruction, would actually dare to challenge me."
Ares and Cesar.
The two were old acquaintances.
Ten years ago.
Even back then, Ares had already enjoyed considerable fame, but by chance, he received the opportunity to be taught by Cesar—the man hailed as the First Sword of Valhalla. It wasn't a typical master-disciple relationship. Though it lasted only a few days, Ares truly respected Cesar and absorbed his teachings.
That meant there was a vast gulf between them.
No matter how remarkable Ares’s achievements were, Cesar was an existence he could not dare to approach.
Ten years ago, and even now.
That fact remained unchanged.
"I find it truly regrettable. If you had become my disciple on that day ten years ago, you would have inherited everything of mine and built a far better future for yourself. Ares, you are truly foolish. Some people compare Alvarez and me as if we are only a single step apart, but that is merely the ignorant judgment of those who have never experienced the true heavens."
Slide.
He unfastened the leather strap.
With a single hand, Cesar hefted a sword that ordinary men would struggle to lift with two.
"You, who should know this better than anyone, dared to challenge me, drunk on the mere satisfaction of defeating Alvarez. Even now, kneel and beg, admitting your poor judgment. Plead with me, swearing to live for His Majesty the Emperor of Valhalla from this moment on. If you do, I will spare your life just this once for the sake of Valhalla's future."
The moment he gripped his sword, a suffocating tension filled the air.
Ares smiled and spoke.
"Indeed. Ten years ago, I received your teachings. I have always lived that way. As a swordsman and a warrior, as long as I could improve, I sought teachings from anyone, regardless of who they were. But every time I did, a certain thought occurred to me."
Srrng.
He raised his sword.
His blatant hostility proved he had no intention of backing down.
"Whether it took a few hours or, at most, a few days—once I judged that I could fully surpass my opponent, I left without hesitation. You were no different. People call you the First Sword of Valhalla, but the time I actually had something to learn from you was a mere few days. And what's truly amusing is..."
His smile deepened.
The past week had forged a truly intense memory in his mind.
"Now that I have left Valhalla and settled in Dmitry... even though several months have passed, I still cannot bring myself to leave."
* * *
After returning from Arcadia, he met Sanchez.
One week had passed since then.
The time to prepare for Valhalla's civil war was short, and Ares had been tasked with a difficult mission for which a single week seemed far from enough.
He had to defeat two giants: Alvarez and Cesar.
Ares had intended to achieve this goal through his own strength, but Roman Dmitry summoned him to the training ground before the sun had even set. What caught Ares's eye was the weapon Roman Dmitry held. It was not his usual weapon, Disaster, but a pair of ordinary-looking twin swords.
He knew instinctively.
Those weapons were meant to mimic Alvarez.
Roman Dmitry spoke.
"Draw your sword. From now on, I will be your opponent."
Ares's mission was dangerous.
Even if the plan relied on utilizing a Valhalla Ranker's position, he needed overwhelming martial prowess to achieve his goal and return alive. That was the purpose of this training. Rather than throwing Ares into the jaws of death and merely watching, Roman Dmitry sought to lay the foundation for him to execute the plan flawlessly.
His heart pounded.
This was exactly what Ares had hoped for.
He wanted to test his limits by unleashing his full strength against Roman Dmitry.
The result?
Thud.
Crash!
He rolled across the ground.
His face was left a battered mess.
People called Ares a genius of swordsmanship, but in the dozens of clashes that followed, he failed to gain the upper hand even once. His eyes turned from admiration to sheer shock. Having fought hundreds, even thousands of duels to reach his rank in Valhalla, Ares believed he had accumulated a vast library of combat data in his mind. Yet, whenever he exchanged blows with Roman Dmitry, he would suddenly find himself staring up at the blue sky.
It was baffling.
Wielding two swords, Roman Dmitry demonstrated the absolute pinnacle of twin swordsmanship.
By choosing only the most agonizing, impossible angles for Ares to counter, Roman repeatedly brought him to his knees with overwhelming force.
‘...I can't think of any way to win.’
It was funny, really.
Ten years ago, he had received Cesar's teachings.
Back then, he was far less skilled than he was now, yet after only a few days of instruction, Ares had left Cesar's side. At the time, Cesar had spoken as if he couldn't comprehend it, trying to hold Ares back by saying that a smooth, guaranteed future lay ahead if he lived as his disciple.
Why did he make that choice back then?
It was simple.
The only reason his past self couldn't defeat Cesar was that he had lived a much shorter life. It didn't mean Cesar was weak. Cesar had crushed Ares every time with his overwhelming presence, but Ares felt certain that he would eventually defeat him. Whether it would take ten years or twenty, he couldn't be sure. The crucial point, however, was that Cesar was not an insurmountable wall.
Roman Dmitry was different.
It felt hopeless.
He had hit an absolute wall.
For Ares, who hadn't deeply considered his ties to Dmitry, he had no choice but to accept that he would be spending a very long time here.
"That should be enough for Alvarez."
Roman sheathed his twin swords.
This time, he drew a claymore.
Already feeling immense fatigue, Ares let out a hollow laugh at Roman Dmitry's next words.
"From now on, I will raise the level slightly and face you in Cesar's style."
That day, Ares experienced the world of the Heaven Beyond Heaven.
* * *
Words were no longer needed.
At Ares's belittling remarks, a look of fury washed over Cesar's otherwise refined face.
It was time for their blades to do the talking.
The priest of Valhalla, who had been watching the situation with a tense expression, finally announced the start of the duel everyone had been waiting for.
Swish.
Dash.
Rumble!
Cesar struck first.
As Cesar charged forward, exploding with aura, Ares overlaid the image of his duel with Roman Dmitry onto the man.
"Cesar was once called a savage warrior. I've heard he drives his opponents fiercely, giving them no room to breathe, and suppresses them by crushing them with sheer power. The way to defeat such an opponent is simple. Amidst his raging onslaught, prove to him who you are with a single strike."
Clang!
Boom!
A massive collision shook the air.
The moment Ares blocked the attack, Cesar continued his relentless onslaught, showing no intention of stopping.
Crash! Crash! Crash!
The world flashed.
The boiling aura exploding from all directions violently churned Ares's insides. Unlike his fight with Alvarez, Cesar unleashed his 6-Star Aura right from the start. Even though Ares used Dmitry's methods, he could not deflect the aura of Cesar—who had reached the 6-Star Realm over a decade ago—without feeling the shock.
Yet, he felt no sense of danger.
Absurdly enough, his duel with Roman Dmitry—who had used the exact same weapon—gave him an overwhelming sense of confidence.
Swoosh.
Rumble!
He dodged the attack.
It was slow.
To be precise, it was slower than Roman Dmitry's, and the strikes raining down on his sword were weaker than Roman's. Thanks to that, Ares felt a sense of composure even amidst the fierce clash. He calmly watched and blocked each of his opponent's attacks, never missing the openings Cesar left between his strikes.
Flash.
Whoosh.
Strands of hair fluttered.
Cesar, who had narrowly avoided an attack by jerking his head back, contorted his face like a demon.
"...How dare you!"
It was a baffling sight.
Ares's demeanor, entirely devoid of any sense of crisis, severely wounded Cesar's pride. He charged once more. Refusing to allow any distance between them, Cesar unleashed the ferocious swordsmanship that had earned him his reputation as a savage warrior, leaving the onlookers wide-eyed. Goosebumps erupted on their skin. Other Valhalla Rankers were among the spectators, but even they felt they wouldn't last ten exchanges against Cesar's onslaught.
Crash!
Rumble!
Ares was pushed back.
Reeling from the shockwave that rattled his organs, he parried his opponent and spat out a mouthful of blood.
He was strong.
Cesar was indeed a towering sky.
Though he had no recent public activities, he proved with sheer force why he had occupied the summit of Valhalla for so long.
Whoosh.
The claymore soared high into the sky.
Boom!
Rumble!
It plunged straight down.
In a life-threatening crisis, Ares barely managed to block the strike—yet he did not lose his smile.
‘My choice was right.’
Neither the speed nor the power of these attacks felt threatening.
Roman Dmitry, when wielding the claymore, had shown him only the absolute worst-case scenarios. Because of that, Ares could maintain his composure while facing Cesar. No matter how strong Cesar was, he could not deliver attacks comparable to Roman Dmitry's. No, they were on entirely different dimensions, beyond comparison.
Beyond the sky that was Cesar, there was an even higher sky called Roman Dmitry.
If he had not experienced that world of the Heaven Beyond Heaven, he would never have been able to defeat Cesar, even if he exerted every ounce of his strength.
"Arrogant bastard."
Whoosh.
The wind howled.
An enraged Cesar instantly surged his mana, attempting a lethal, decisive strike against the cornered Ares. None of the challengers who had coveted his position had ever pushed him this far. He had always crushed his opponents before things reached this point. Seeing Ares hold out to the bitter end made his anger flare into an inferno.
Boom.
Rumble!
It was a chilling sight.
A dark red energy swirled around his sword, dyeing the surroundings as if bloody lightning were striking.
"Die!"
Crash!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The ultimate strike.
Ares raised his head.
Faced with the destructive energy that dyed the world, he recalled the time he had spent in Dmitry.
He channeled his mana through the Asura Mind Method and recalled the Heavenly Demon Sword Technique.
It was an absolute technique that he could not dare to replicate, but it presented the ideal path Ares had to walk.
Flash.
He thrust his sword forward.
Ten percent?
Five percent?
No, he couldn't even mimic one percent of the true Heavenly Demon Sword Technique.
Even knowing that, Ares admired Roman Dmitry and strove to follow in his footsteps by any means necessary.
Roman was a true genius.
One who created something out of nothing.
One who ignored Alexander's system entirely and forged his own world.
After experiencing the perfect answer that was Roman Dmitry, Ares had achieved a meteoric leap in a terrifyingly short span of time.
"...?!"
Cesar's eyes widened.
Ares's attack...
It split his aura completely apart.
Before his own ultimate strike could even reach its target, Cesar witnessed Ares's sword thrusting right between his eyes.
And that...
Slash—
...was Cesar's last memory.
* * *
Thud.
Roll.
Cesar's head rolled across the ground.
The crowd was struck speechless.
While the people struggled to accept the reality of this unbelievable sight, the priest of Valhalla spoke in a trembling voice.
"...Lord Ares has defeated Lord Cesar, ascending to Rank 1 in the Valhalla Ranking!"
It was shocking.
Ares leaned on his sword for support, breathing heavily.
He was at his limit.
If Cesar had pushed just a little further, the head rolling on the ground might have been his own.
He suppressed his churning stomach.
He wanted to vomit blood right then and there, but he still had work to do.
Staggering, he stood up.
Meeting the shock-filled gazes of the crowd, Ares raised his voice.
"As of this moment, I renounce my status as a Valhalla Ranker."
Gasp.
"W-What does that mean...?"
The crowd fell into utter confusion.
Rank 1.
To renounce his ranker status right after ascending to that glorious position...
It was incomprehensible.
As the people gathered at the Temple of Valhalla stared at him, silently demanding answers, Ares voiced his thoughts.
"Ten years ago, the Cesar I experienced was a stronger swordsman than anyone else. But now, ten years later, he had barely changed. Why? Why on earth did Cesar not crave a higher realm? It is because he fell into the trap of power. In a country that has lost its romance, political maneuvering became more important than sheer strength. Cesar, who clung to those in power to maintain his influence, lived a comfortable life without rivals. When you consider that his last challenger was Alvarez a full decade ago, you can clearly see the reality of Valhalla. Thus, Cesar became stagnant water. A warrior who feels no sense of crisis will inevitably be left behind, and Valhalla has already crossed a point of no return."
The Valhalla Ranking.
Its true meaning had faded.
While Kronos saw major shifts in its rankings every year, Valhalla's rankers, much like Cesar, mostly remained stagnant.
It was miserable.
It was despairing.
If the Cesar of ten years ago had craved progress, the current Ares would never have been able to defeat him.
"You may condemn me. You may call me a traitor. But I was born a warrior, and I will die a warrior. Dmitry is a country that will allow me to live as such. In Dmitry, I feel alive."
It was over.
Sheathing his sword, he spoke his final words.
"Remember. We are beings born with the blood of warriors."
He took his leave.
Though he staggered and showed signs of exhaustion, no one dared to block his path.
Ares was a traitor.
He had abandoned his country.
Yet, no one could touch him, nor did anyone have the heart to do so.
Right at that moment, Count Gomez, who had been watching the situation unfold with a dazed expression, received urgent news from the north via a magic communicator.
[The—the castle gate has been breached! Please send reinforcements immediately! At this rate, let alone ten days, we won't even last a single day!]
It was a sudden, catastrophic report.
In an instant, Count Gomez felt his world spin.