Chapter 352: A Nation That Lost Its Romance (10)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 352: A Nation That Lost Its Romance (10)
Count Gomez hurried away from the arena.
The shock of the defeat still hammered at his mind. Watching Cesar’s head fly through the air, he had felt as if the world itself had ground to a halt, stealing the very breath from his lungs.
To think Ares actually defeated Cesar.
It was incomprehensible. It wasn't that he doubted Ares's skill. But still.
For over a decade, Cesar had maintained an overwhelming, undisputed reign at the absolute peak of Valhalla. He was the strongest warrior in the nation of warriors. No one dared question that fact. In contrast, Ares was still young. Even heralded as the greatest talent in Valhalla's history, reaching 3rd in the Valhalla Ranking at his age was already a feat that defied common sense.
Yet, the sword of Valhalla had been broken.
Count Gomez glanced back at the crowd. Their eyes swirled with a chaotic mix of emotions, thrown into utter turmoil by Ares's parting words.
If things continue like this, we are in grave danger. With Cesar and Alvarez dead, if the Northern Front falls and the public turns their anger toward His Majesty the Emperor... then those rebel forces we dismissed as insignificant might strike at our very heart. I must stay calm. The war hasn't even truly begun.
The events thus far were merely a prelude. The Valhalla Imperial Court had yet to truly bare its fangs. But as hesitation gripped the capital, the fires of war erupting in all directions cluttered his mind.
First, the Northern Front.
Beep.
He activated his communication device, immediately demanding an update from the soldier stationed in the north.
[The Dmitry army's magic is too overpowering! Even though the mages of Mountain did everything they could to hold them back, the castle gates were breached in an instant by Dispel attacks that completely neutralized our magical defenses. Commander, there is no way to stop Roman Dmitry now that he has entered the fortress. The rumors of his feats against the Kronos Empire weren't exaggerated in the slightest!]
A wave of dizziness washed over Gomez.
Roman Dmitry.
The fact that he had already breached the castle foreboded a grim reality: the north would not hold out much longer.
Count Gomez had only been confident the north could last a fortnight because he trusted its sturdy walls—not because he believed 100,000 troops could actually stop a monster like Roman Dmitry. The 300,000-strong army of Kronos that faced Dmitry on the plains had been slaughtered where they stood. It was impossible to stop Roman Dmitry—a man whom even the 8th Circle mage Shepir could not handle—with the northern forces alone.
Ultimately, the north was doomed to fall.
The Emperor's army hadn't even departed the capital, let alone reached Hernad, yet Roman Dmitry had already thrown the entire war into chaos with his terrifying decisiveness. Gomez's mind raced. If things were going to play out like this, they had to secure a definitive advantage elsewhere, even if it meant sacrificing the entire north.
"Fight to the death," Gomez ordered coldly. "Use any means necessary to take down even one more enemy soldier. It does not matter if you cannot kill Roman Dmitry. Show them exactly what it means to invade Valhalla's territory. If any soldier retreats and returns alive, Valhalla will not forgive such cowardice, and their families will share in the punishment."
[...Understood.]
A voice thick with despair echoed from the other end of the line.
Count Gomez's order was undeniably cruel. But for the Empire, it was the only logical choice.
An empire versus a kingdom. What was the true difference between them?
While national power dictated the quality of an army, the sheer, overwhelming mass of population was the defining strength of an empire. One hundred thousand troops meant something entirely different to an empire than it did to a kingdom. Dmitry and Hector had to strain themselves to the breaking point to mobilize 100,000 men, but the Valhalla Empire could lose that exact number and suffer no fatal blow. That was why he ordered them to fight to the death. Since the fall of the north was a foregone conclusion, it was far better to grind down the enemy's strength with lives than to spare defeated soldiers.
He quickened his pace.
There was no telling how long the north could hold out. What was certain, however, was that the Imperial Court needed to finalize its counterattack before the front completely collapsed. Whether they focused on purging the rebels or repelling the Dmitry army, at this rate, they would fail at both.
*
In front of the Temple of Valhalla.
In the arena Count Gomez had just fled, the spectators who had witnessed the duel stood frozen, their expressions dazed.
"...Just when did Valhalla become like this?"
Ares's parting words echoed in their minds.
Everyone's heart ached. The Valhalla they took such fierce pride in was by no means a shameful nation deserving of such bitter criticism.
A man in the crowd raised his head. His face, contorted with a complex swirl of emotions, radiated an anger that eclipsed his sorrow.
"Fuck, where did it all go wrong? Valhalla isn't this kind of country! We took pride in being the nation of warriors! The very ranking system of the continent was born because of Valhalla! But for Cesar, the man who represents Valhalla, to be a symbol of stagnation? Ha! Does that make any sense? Does this make any damn sense?!"
He wasn't addressing anyone in particular. It was a hollow, desperate cry.
But as he poured out his rage, another man raised his voice.
"Listen to me, everyone! When Ares first emerged, what did we say? We said that since Cesar was a perpetual runner-up who could never defeat Kronos's Castro, we should pin our hopes on Ares, the greatest talent in Valhalla's history! And indeed, Ares was our pride. Even though he didn't show much loyalty to the Imperial Court, every time he climbed the ranks, we cheered for him in secret, away from the Court's watchful eyes. And now, that very man has abandoned Valhalla. The moment he stepped out of the stagnant cage of this empire, he defeated Cesar, proving that his choice was right!"
Ares's victory was not a simple upset.
It violently laid bare the pathetic reality of Valhalla right before their eyes. Because their expectations for Ares had been so impossibly high, the resulting shock was just as immense.
The crowd seethed.
Their emotions resonated, feeding off one another. The feelings that had started as shock, and then denial, rapidly mutated into a burning fury directed at the Imperial Court.
"Back during the Valhalla Festival, Roman Dmitry accepted our invitation even though he knew an assassination attempt was waiting for him! He proudly stepped onto the stage and faced Barbosa as a true warrior, striking him down. Who is the one truly worthy of Valhalla's name? Look at this reality! Bastards who can't even swing a sword properly strut around Valhalla with their heads held high just because they hold political power! Is this really the Valhalla we envisioned? The power of Valhalla should never be swayed by backroom political struggles! Never!"
The speaker poured every ounce of strength into his voice. He finally spat out the singular, forbidden truth that had been choking them all.
"That incompetent 14th Son, who knows how to do absolutely nothing, should never have seized the throne just because he was backed by influential politicians! From the moment he took power, Valhalla strayed onto the wrong path. We must rise up! We can no longer stand by and watch our empire rot. Now that Duke Vieto has raised his banner, we must step forward, prepared to face death!"
That was it.
The ultimate taboo. The truth that everyone knew but dared not speak.
The emperors of Valhalla had historically all been great swordsmen. For generations, the throne had been passed down to those who proved their worth as warriors, regardless of their bloodline.
For that reason, the current reality was profoundly shameful.
While the Emperor of Kronos was a great Aura Swordsman, the Emperor of Valhalla—the supposed land of warriors—was a frail, sickly man who looked as if he would blow away in a stiff breeze. It was an immense disgrace. It had been wrong from the very start. From the moment Valhalla placed an unfit weakling on the throne, the nation had begun to rot from the inside out.
"He's right!"
"Let us all join forces!"
"Let's risk our lives for the true Valhalla!"
The people rose up. Their fury was absolute.
Ares's parting words had finally set fire to the simmering resentment of the Valhalla public.
*
The situation was deteriorating rapidly.
Marquis Belfir and Count Gomez put their heads together once again, barely any time having passed since they last parted.
"What should we do now?" Gomez asked.
It was only a matter of time before the Northern Front collapsed entirely. On top of that, their greatest symbol of strength, Cesar, had been publicly executed.
Marquis Belfir replied with a grim expression, "Roman Dmitry. He is certainly a formidable bastard. Ever since he walked out of Valhalla's territory alive, I anticipated that he would one day block our path. Count Gomez, from now on, this is a war where we stake everything we have. In a situation where neither side can afford to look back, the one who retreats first will face utter ruin."
"...Does that mean you intend to abandon the north?"
"To be precise, you are only half right. We will abandon the north, but we will create a situation where the enemy cannot advance a single step further."
Ultimately, the true essence of this conflict was a civil war. Unless they crushed the rebel forces in Hernad, they could not extinguish the flames consuming the empire.
"Roman Dmitry's strategy is transparent," Belfir continued. "By having Ares deal with Valhalla's top rankers and directly attacking the Northern Front himself, he is trying to distract us so we cannot focus our might on the rebels. But that is Dmitry's limit. Looking only at the surface, they seem to possess a fierce momentum, as if they could tear Valhalla down at any moment. But if you look at the reality of their logistics, you will see that is simply not the case."
Marquis Belfir was a power broker who symbolized the new era of Valhalla. At the very least, he knew how to grasp and manipulate a battlefield with his brain, rather than relying solely on brute force.
"The Dmitry-Hector Allied Forces have only 100,000 troops. If they truly intended to conquer Valhalla, do you think they would have crossed the Northern Front with such a paltry number? Not a chance! The battle taking place in the north is merely a show of force. They have no actual intention of advancing beyond the northern borders; they are simply trying to draw our attention with aggressive posturing. I acknowledge Roman Dmitry's capabilities. However, we must not overlook the truly dangerous threat—the rebel forces in Hernad—by needlessly agonizing over the north."
"But what if they do advance past the north?" Gomez challenged.
"Then we will exploit the political landscape of the continent. We will station a portion of our forces in the north to prepare for any contingency, and you will march to sweep away the rebels in Hernad immediately. There is no need to worry about Roman Dmitry. Just a moment ago, I contacted the Kronos Empire and sought their assistance. Although they have no intention of waging an all-out war due to the ongoing ceasefire negotiations, I received a reply stating they are willing to deploy troops to the Cairo border under the guise of military training."
A sly smile crept onto Belfir's face.
Kronos and Dmitry. There was zero trust between the two factions. Even if Kronos only moved under the pretext of training, the sheer presence of their army would pose a massive threat to Dmitry's homeland.
Under such pressure, could Dmitry's forces really afford to advance deeper into Valhalla?
It was impossible.
The Northern Front. That would be their absolute limit.
Marquis Belfir had meticulously calculated the best possible option Valhalla could take in this intricately tangled web. The void of leadership left by their frail, fickle Emperor—filling that void had always been Marquis Belfir's true role.
"It is a truly perfect plan," Count Gomez marveled.
Though they had once been bitter political rivals, Marquis Belfir was a man who demanded respect. If their conversation had ended there, they would have parted ways with confident smiles.
Creak.
The door opened, and a communication soldier stepped into the room. His face was deathly pale as he held out a magic communication device.
"...We have received a transmission from the Northern Front. My lords, I believe you must take this."
*
The soldier's grim demeanor threw cold water over the room's optimistic atmosphere. As Marquis Belfir cautiously took the magic communication device, a desperately familiar voice crackled through the receiver.
[I—I am sorry! Roman Dmitry is a monster—Urgh!]
CRACK.
A sickening death rattle echoed through the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of a neck snapping.
Then, a new, chillingly calm voice spoke from the other side of the device.
[Marquis Belfir. How disappointing. I sent Count Bragan's head as a gift, yet this is all the preparation you made to welcome me?]
"Do you truly intend to take this all the way?" Belfir hissed, the corners of his eyes trembling with rage.
The man who had just been executed was Marquis Killian, the commander of the north. Count Gomez had ordered them to fight to the death, but neither of them had expected the Northern Front to fall into Roman Dmitry's hands so quickly. It was terrifyingly fast. Still, Marquis Belfir gritted his teeth, suppressing his rising panic.
[I have no intention of taking this all the way either,] Roman replied smoothly. [If you drag the Emperor of Valhalla before me right now and force him to kneel, I will accept Valhalla's sincerity and halt this war.]
It was blatant mockery. At the sheer audacity of the provocation, Marquis Belfir spat out his fury.
"Cut the bullshit! Let's see this through to the bitter end then! Right now, the forces of the Kronos Empire are massing at the Cairo border. Do you understand what that means? The moment you recklessly push your forces deeper into our territory, your homeland will pay a devastating price. No matter what arrogant plans you are hatching, I am sending our main army to sweep away the rebels in Hernad right now. And I will carve today's grudge into my very bones—once the rebels are dealt with, I will erase Dmitry from the face of the Salamander Continent!"
The veins in Belfir's neck bulged. Dmitry and Valhalla had long since crossed the point of no return.
"Roman Dmitry, you have made a fatal mistake. The only reason we entertained the idea of compromising with Dmitry was to avoid meaningless sacrifices. But if you are going to act like a rabid dog, we have no choice but to put you down. Soon, I will make you pay the ultimate price. I will show you exactly what it means to make enemies of both Kronos and Valhalla on this Salamander Continent!"
It was a vicious threat. A high-stakes game of chicken.
Belfir slammed his foot on the accelerator. To force his opponent to flinch, to make Roman Dmitry back down first, Marquis Belfir charged forward with the reckless abandon of a madman.
However.
[I have heard Valhalla's stance loud and clear,] Roman replied. [Now, let me tell you my thoughts.]
His voice was eerily calm. Neither the looming shadow of the Kronos Empire nor Marquis Belfir's rabid threats concerned Roman Dmitry in the slightest.
[I will push forward until I personally put an end to this war. My goal is to extract an apology from the Valhalla Empire for what happened that day. So go ahead. Maintain that arrogant attitude to the very end. Cling to your complacent delusion that this problem will somehow resolve itself. But in the end...]
A low, chilling chuckle echoed through the receiver.
[You will meet me.]