Chapter 357: Chicken Game (5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 357: Chicken Game (5)
At that moment, the Emperor of Valhalla burst into laughter.
"Kwahahaha! Amazing! Truly amazing!"
Count Santino had contacted him only a few hours ago. Yet, seeing the man completely devastated in such a short span of time left the Emperor of Valhalla genuinely impressed.
"Roman Dmitry. You are a breed of human I have never encountered in my entire life. Many have shown hostility toward Valhalla, but not a single one has proven themselves with results like this. I admit it. You might actually suit Valhalla better than my half-witted brothers who died without accomplishing a single thing."
He could not hide his amusement.
His once-languid eyes sparked with life, gleaming like a predator that had just spotted an intriguing prey.
[You seem to find this situation amusing.]
"Amusing? It's downright hilarious. You must have thought that if you quickly cleared out Luenos, Portbell, and Santino, Valhalla would be forced to recall its troops to protect Javier, where the Warp Gate is located. Honestly, your plan was utterly absurd. I thought it would be impossible to bring down Santino before Hernad fell, yet you turned the impossible into reality."
Beyond the magical screen, Roman Dmitry sat on a corpse, looking calmly at the Emperor of Valhalla.
Meeting Roman's arrogant gaze—a look that practically dared him to finish his thought—the Emperor could not suppress his surging excitement.
"But you see, you made one fatal miscalculation. You assumed Valhalla would never abandon the Warp Gate. Or, to be precise, you thought we would stick to conventional methods in this crazy game of chicken where we are charging head-on at each other. Roman Dmitry, I truly acknowledge you. Unlike those old-fashioned fools who call themselves warriors, you know how to win a war like a predator. And that is exactly why I have no choice but to give my all to bring you down."
He leaned closer to the screen. A glistening madness swirled in his eyes, practically bleeding through the projection.
"The Warp Gate in Javier has already been destroyed. Even if you capture the city, you cannot use it to threaten us. So, what do you plan to do now? Now that we have abandoned the Warp Gate at a massive loss, what can Dmitry possibly do before Hernad falls? Please, do not spout any romantic nonsense about using the public sentiment of Valhalla to turn the tide. I have already slaughtered every last fool who dared utter such drivel."
He smirked, thoroughly enjoying the moment.
The Emperor of Valhalla had never formally studied military tactics. However, born with the blood of the imperial family, he knew exactly how to leverage the Valhalla Empire's overwhelming advantage. Valhalla had always been the apex predator. To secure victory, rather than relying on brilliant strategies, he simply had to choose the one option his weaker opponent desperately hoped he wouldn't.
Dmitry's goal was clear: to enable a counterattack by the rebel forces.
To create a board where they could dictate the flow of battle, Dmitry had boldly pushed his forces forward, drawing the attention of the Valhalla imperial court to prevent them from concentrating their might on Hernad. Normally, to minimize damage, Valhalla should have reacted defensively to Dmitry's advance. However, the Emperor of Valhalla focused solely on the core objective.
No matter how much Dmitry rampaged, the Emperor kept the absolute pressure on Hernad.
He slaughtered everyone who cried out for the will of the people, and he destroyed his own Warp Gate so the enemy could not reach the imperial court. By doing so—even at the cost of massive self-inflicted damage—he completely severed all of Dmitry's options.
In this game of chicken where both sides charged head-on, the Emperor of Valhalla had chosen to simply crash straight into his opponent.
"Roman Dmitry. On the day your territory falls, I will personally visit to look you in the eye. I want to see what kind of face Dmitry's Devil makes when stained with defeat and despair, regretting his past choices. I am truly looking forward to that day."
* * *
It was a one-sided conversation.
The communication abruptly cut off. The Emperor of Valhalla did not wait for a reply, as if declaring he would only accept Roman Dmitry's response through his absolute defeat.
Two days later, the Allied Forces reached Javier.
Valhalla's Warp Point was not far away. The castle gates, which would have been tightly barred just a few days prior, stood wide open as if welcoming Roman Dmitry. It was a bloodless entry.
Upon entering, Chris moved swiftly to assess the situation. Soon after, he returned to report, his expression grim.
"It is just as the Emperor of Valhalla said. The Warp Gate has been completely destroyed beyond repair, and the garrison in Javier has already withdrawn. We have also confirmed that there are no traps, such as Magic Bombs, left behind."
Destroying the Warp Gate was a drastic decision.
Considered the pinnacle of magical artifacts, constructing even a single Warp Gate required an immense investment of manpower and resources. The Warp Gate Edwin Hector had previously installed for the war was merely a low-grade construct. However, the Warp Gate here in Javier was a top-grade artifact capable of transporting hundreds of thousands of troops at once. Destroying it meant incurring an astronomical financial loss.
Furthermore, a completely shattered gate would take an eternity to restore. By destroying one of the few Warp Gates in the North, the Valhalla Empire had made a ruthless sacrifice, fully aware that it would severely cripple their own mobility.
It was an absurdly unconventional play. With the capture of Hernad right before their eyes, abandoning Javier solely to corner Dmitry defied all military common sense.
This laid bare the true nature of the Emperor of Valhalla. He clearly had other tactical options, yet he deliberately chose the most extreme scenario—like a cat toying with a mouse.
The reason was simple: he found this method more entertaining.
Faced with Dmitry's relentless advance, he had stepped forward like a matador brandishing a red cape. Go ahead and try. It was a brazen declaration of his resolve to meet their head-on collision without flinching.
Chris spoke up.
"...It seems there is no way to save Hernad. There are two other Warp Points in the North besides Javier, but Hernad is bound to fall while we march toward them. In fact, if we delay any longer, our own path of retreat might be cut off. My Lord, we must withdraw the troops now."
He suggested taking a step back, believing there was no need to force a losing hand.
Yet, Roman Dmitry merely smiled at the dead end before him.
"How interesting."
* * *
The tenth day. Hernad.
The magic defenses they had desperately repaired overnight proved useless. Under a relentless barrage of Flares that painted the sky red, the blue barrier shattered like fragile glass.
Crash!
Rumble!
"March forward!"
"Today is the day we wipe out the rebels!"
It was the beginning of hell.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Once again, siege ladders hooked onto the castle walls. In the early days of the siege, the rebel forces had actively resisted by pouring boiling oil and dropping rocks, but now, with their supplies entirely depleted, they could do nothing but thrust their melee weapons. They had run out of arrows long ago.
As the top of the walls instantly swarmed with the Emperor's soldiers, the rebels gritted their teeth and fought back with the ferocity of the doomed.
"Die!"
Thrust!
A rebel thrust his spear with all his might. Though he succeeded in skewering an imperial soldier, he could not survive the onslaught coming from all directions. In an instant, he was hacked to pieces. On the walls, where the rebels had once managed to bridge the gap in quality with sheer numbers, they now saw far more enemies than allies.
"How dare you!"
Boom!
Rumble!
Atop the wall, Duke Vieto fought like a madman. Already drenched in blood, he charged into the ranks of the imperial army, slaughtering them wholesale.
"Stop Duke Vie—aargh!"
"Aaaah!"
Screams erupted from all sides. With a chilling whistle of tearing air, his swinging halberd sliced several imperial soldiers in half at once. Unsatisfied, Duke Vieto swung his halberd in a continuous, deadly arc. He slashed, smashed, and cleaved, spraying the blood of his enemies across the stones. But no matter how many he killed, the sea of imperial soldiers before him did not seem to thin.
‘…Today is the last day.’
Ten days. It was the sixth day since the full-scale melee combat on the walls had begun. He had finally reached his absolute limit.
In truth, it was a miracle they had held out this long. Despite facing total collapse day after day due to the overwhelming disparity in power, the rebels had thrown their lives away to hold the line. Even the common citizens of Hernad had joined the fray. They carried supplies or fought alongside the soldiers using crude farming tools, but a militia of peasants could only hold out for so long.
In the end, most of them had died.
With fewer than fifty thousand defenders remaining, Duke Vieto had to accept the bitter reality: Hernad was going to fall.
‘Valhalla. Just how far will you fall?’
A few days ago, he had received the news from Marin. The people of Valhalla had finally responded to the rebels' call, rising up in protest. But the Emperor of Valhalla had responded with an unprecedented measure: he slaughtered them all.
It was a horrific turn of events. Duke Vieto knew the Emperor was a cruel tyrant, but he had never expected him to trample the will of the people so blatantly. Overwhelming terror had forcibly suffocated the uprising before it could truly begin. Vieto had believed the fire of public sentiment possessed the power to turn the tide of the war, but the Emperor had extinguished it with a reign of terror that defied imagination.
And Dmitry's situation was no better. Upon hearing that the Warp Gate in Javier had been destroyed, the defenders' last shred of hope had vanished.
‘The Emperor of Valhalla. How truly ruthless.’
The rebels had been pushed to the very edge of the cliff. Roman Dmitry's advance had been so magnificent that even his enemies had to acknowledge his brilliance, but the Emperor's logic-defying madness had left no room for a miracle.
Duke Vieto had no regrets about dying. However, he despaired at the realization that Valhalla would now have no chance of change. More than that, he felt a deep sorrow for Roman Dmitry, who would have to bear the crushing burden of this defeat.
Crunch!
He smashed in the helmet of a Royal Knight. Stepping over the growing pile of corpses, Duke Vieto exhaled a ragged, bloody breath.
"Come on! Bring it! Even if I die here today, I will never turn my back on you!"
He had a premonition. On the afternoon of this tenth day, his turbulent life would finally come to an end.
* * *
A safe distance from the walls.
Watching the fortress of Hernad burn like a living hell, Count Gomez looked weary.
"Tenacious bastards."
Ten days. It had taken far longer than expected. According to their initial strategy, they had expected to bring down Hernad in seven or eight days, but the rebels' resistance had been incredibly fierce.
Furthermore, the citizens joining the militia had posed a significant problem. While they lacked real combat power, their numbers seemed endless. No matter how many the imperial army slaughtered, more took their place, preventing Hernad from falling in a single swift strike.
So, they had slowly chipped away at the enemy. And now, the end of this tedious civil war was finally in sight.
‘Once the rebels are cleared out, Roman Dmitry will have no options left either. Still, Duke Vieto is truly an incomprehensible man. If he had just ridden the wave of power when His Majesty ascended the throne, he would still be living in wealth and honor today. Tsk, tsk. Why did he choose to bring about his own death like this?’
How utterly foolish. Thanks to Duke Vieto stepping down, new factions had been able to seize power within Valhalla.
In three or four hours at the earliest, Hernad would finally fall. As Count Gomez watched the slaughter with a relaxed expression, a light began flashing on his magic communicator.
A red light. An emergency signal.
His face instantly stiffened as he answered the call.
Beep.
"What is the matter?"
[Count Gomez. Recall a portion of your troops immediately.]
The frantic voice of Marquis Belfir crackled through the communicator. Count Gomez frowned, his tone incredulous.
"What on earth do you mean by that? The goal is right before our eyes! If we push just a little harder, we can capture Hernad. We cannot withdraw our forces now. If we ease up, the rebels might catch their second wind and—"
[You bastard! Listen to me carefully!]
Marquis Belfir suddenly roared, unleashing his fury. His raw panic vibrated through the communicator.
[It is His Majesty the Emperor's command! If you do not want to be dragged to the gallows and hanged, recall your troops this instant!]
An order to retreat.
Count Gomez stared down at the magic communicator, his face frozen in utter bewilderment.