Chapter 360: Chicken Game (8)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 360: Chicken Game (8)
The heart of the capital was thrown into utter chaos.
Seeing the soldiers descending into panic, the Guard Captain shouted out.
“Do not panic! Dark Cloud only temporarily shrouds the area in darkness; it possesses no actual lethality. Do not break formation! Maintain your distance and stay alert! The Imperial Mages will soon dispel the darkness shrouding Marin!”
It was the correct judgment.
However, there was one glaring problem.
Roman Dmitry had cast Dark Cloud and Blackout simultaneously.
For Marin’s mages, resolving the Blackout was their first priority. Furthermore, Hao Sect spies hidden inside Marin had installed magical devices throughout the capital to amplify the effects of Dark Cloud. Even with Marin’s formidable magical forces, they would need at least thirty minutes to resolve the situation. That duration, which might be considered short under normal circumstances, carried a completely different weight right now.
Swish!
“Aaargh!”
A scream tore through the darkness.
Just a moment ago, a soldier had clearly seen his comrade standing right in front of him. But in the blink of an eye, that same comrade was dragged into the darkness with a wet gurgle. Goosebumps erupted all over the soldier's body. Pale-faced, he raised his weapon, but the pitch-black surroundings offered nothing more than the faint, blurry silhouettes of his allies.
It was then.
Flash!
His head flew off.
Cut down by a figure that suddenly emerged from the dark, the headless soldier collapsed before he could even scream.
Death became a chain reaction.
Whenever someone witnessed a comrade dying nearby, the grim reaper would claim the witness’s life shortly after. At first, the Guard Captain’s shouts had indeed worked. Marin’s soldiers tried their best to calmly resist the darkness, but as their numbers rapidly dwindled, they finally realized something was terribly wrong.
Squish.
“…U-Ugh!”
Beneath his feet, a soldier stepped on a corpse.
Obscured by the darkness, dozens of corpses were already piled up on the ground.
Panic set in.
The soldiers began to scream.
From then on, they were completely uncontrollable. The struggling, desperate soldiers entirely broke formation.
“N-No! Maintain formation! If we fall into chaos, we are only doing exactly what Roman Dmitry wants!” the Guard Captain roared.
But it was useless.
The effect of Dark Cloud did not just block their vision; it also muffled their voices, preventing sound from traveling properly.
While the soldiers closest to the Guard Captain tried to listen and respond, those further away could not maintain their sanity simply by standing back-to-back. The formation collapsed in an instant. Although the darkness was not so absolute that they couldn't see an inch ahead, even this level of obscurity was enough to deeply break their spirits.
How?
It made no sense.
How could Roman Dmitry move so freely in this darkness?
The penalty of Dark Cloud should apply to everyone, yet the demon rampaging through the dark seemed completely unhindered.
Suddenly, a rumor flashed through the Guard Captain’s mind.
‘I heard that during the war with Hector, Roman Dmitry unilaterally slaughtered Hector’s soldiers in the pitch-black mountains. At the time, people marveled at Roman Dmitry’s immense martial prowess, but they also mocked the Hector Kingdom, saying it only happened because they were weak. But that wasn’t it. This ghost-like movement in the dark… even I, an Aura Swordsman, cannot pinpoint his location.’
Grip.
He squeezed his sword tightly.
Everything defied common sense. His arrival in Marin, and his execution of this absurd operation entirely by himself.
Just as even the Guard Captain was on the verge of a mental breakdown, a voice brought hope to the soldiers of Valhalla.
“Moonlight.”
The Imperial Mages.
Their magic began to illuminate the darkness.
* * *
Dark Cloud.
Dispelling it entirely would take some time, but casting a spell to illuminate the darkness was a different matter.
Moonlight.
The darkness receded.
Though not a perfect solution, it was as if a bright moon had risen, allowing them to see their surroundings to some extent.
“…Ugh.”
“A-Are these all corpses?”
The soldiers’ eyes widened in horror.
The surrounding landscape was utterly disastrous.
Barely three or four minutes had passed, yet as far as the eye could see, Marin’s soldiers lay strewn about in gruesome states. It was difficult to even estimate how many had died. There seemed to be hundreds of bodies within their field of vision alone, yet Roman Dmitry was nowhere to be seen.
“Roman Dmitry! Show yourself! If you are a true swordsman, step forward and face my blade!”
A Royal Knight. One of them roared out.
Even though he knew Roman would never respond to such cheap provocation, shouting like this was the only thing he could do.
However, Roman Dmitry appeared.
“Back when I roamed the darkness, people always made the same mistake. They falsely believed they would stand a chance outside of it.”
“Over there!”
“Attack!”
He cut a bizarre figure, looking as if the darkness itself was swirling around him. Believing this was their chance, the Royal Knights and the soldiers rushed him fiercely.
Roman Dmitry had embarked on this operation entirely alone. In an operation that involved navigating the darkness, even Ares—who had defeated Valhalla’s top ranker—would only hold Roman back.
He smirked.
Watching the rushing enemies, Roman Dmitry channeled his mana.
“Why do you not realize that the darkness is merely a minor element to make things convenient?”
Splurt!
Blood sprayed.
Instantly crushing the head of the leading Royal Knight, Roman Dmitry plunged into the enemy ranks, scattering blood everywhere. The soldiers who had rushed forward so fiercely collapsed in an instant. Roman swept through the enemy lines, slaughtering everyone who crossed his path.
It was a massacre.
Entirely one-sided.
His relentless movements were accompanied by horrific screams and death.
Royal Knights? Tens of thousands of soldiers?
They meant nothing.
During his past life as Ghostly Shadow, Roman Dmitry had survived countless crises far deadlier than this. The sensations of those days boiled within him. Whenever he carried out massacres in the dark, the martial artists of Murim trembled at the mere mention of Ghostly Shadow’s name.
“Die!”
Boom!
The Guard Captain charged forward furiously.
A 4-Star Swordsman.
A man who would have held a prominent position had he been born in a weak nation, he directed an intense murderous intent toward Roman Dmitry. In his mind, the timing was perfect. With the Royal Knights and soldiers attacking simultaneously, Roman Dmitry had momentarily shown an opening. The Guard Captain believed that, at the cost of his allies’ lives, he could land a decisive blow.
And then, the world spun.
Stagger.
Before he could even comprehend what had happened to him, his head was already slammed into the ground.
Blood pooled.
Above his fading vision, Roman Dmitry looked down at him.
“You are guiltless. The only problem is that the master you serve chose to make an enemy of me.”
That was the last sight the Guard Captain would ever remember in his life.
* * *
The Valhalla Imperial Palace.
The people gathered there fell into anxiety.
Upon receiving reports of Roman Dmitry’s ongoing slaughter, one of the high-ranking officials muttered in a low voice.
“…Are we all going to die at this rate?”
“Watch your mouth!”
“Our opponent is Roman Dmitry. Even Ares, who was trained by him, defeated Cesar, Valhalla’s top ranker. Who in Valhalla could possibly stop him? Letting him into the palace in the first place was the mistake. When dealing with Roman Dmitry, we cannot think within the bounds of common sense.”
Despite Marquis Belfir’s scolding, the leadership could not hide their anxiety.
Just a moment ago, when an Imperial Knight announced Roman Dmitry’s arrival, they had permitted his entry under the Emperor of Valhalla’s orders. In truth, the official’s remark was a criticism of the Emperor of Valhalla, but gripped by fear, the official had momentarily lost his rational judgment.
Normally, the Emperor of Valhalla would have ordered his execution. Knowing this, Marquis Belfir cautiously gauged the Emperor’s reaction, but strangely, the Emperor did not seem to care much.
“Pathetic fools.”
The Emperor of Valhalla chuckled. Leaning back in his throne, he crossed his legs.
“Roman Dmitry has always acted beyond common sense. Even in the war with Kronos, he charged into a 300,000-strong army alone and decapitated an 8th Circle Mage. Since then, I knew a moment like this might come. Dmitry is still just a small nation, but when a single individual possesses such overwhelming might, even the Emperor of an Empire cannot be free from the threat of assassination.”
Assassination.
It was a very simple way to end a war. Especially for a powerhouse like Roman Dmitry. By personally eliminating the Emperor of Valhalla, he could instantly turn the tide of Valhalla’s civil war in favor of the rebels.
It was expected.
He had walked a path of thorns. The Emperor of Valhalla was not so naive as to overlook such a possibility.
“Since Roman Dmitry has entered Marin, he will undoubtedly show himself here,” he declared with absolute certainty.
The officials grew even more anxious. If Roman Dmitry truly appeared, their lives would be forfeit.
It was then.
Creak.
The door opened.
The entrance, which should have been heavily guarded by Imperial Knights, swung open, and a man with a blood-stained face stepped inside.
“You didn’t flee even though you knew. Are you that confident you will survive?”
He was none other than Roman Dmitry.
* * *
Dark Cloud.
It was a feint.
After causing chaos with the darkness, Roman Dmitry had headed straight for the Imperial Palace.
Finally, he faced the Emperor of Valhalla.
Unlike his frail and weak appearance suggested, the Emperor showed no signs of fear like the other nobles.
Roman Dmitry spoke.
“I had the same thought as you. Ever since Valhalla’s greatest swordsman fell to Ares—no, even before that—I wondered: if I were to personally attempt an assassination, could the Empire truly stop me?”
This operation was a sort of experiment. Before facing Kronos, he wanted to gauge the strength of an Empire using Valhalla as a testbed.
“If you cannot provide an answer to my question, the Emperor of Valhalla will die here today.”
The justification for assassination had been provided by the Emperor of Valhalla’s own atrocities. Even if the Emperor’s head were to roll suddenly, the people of Valhalla would not blame Roman Dmitry.
He walked forward.
The path opened. The terrified nobles did not dare to block Roman Dmitry’s path.
It was then.
Step. Step, step, step.
From behind the Emperor of Valhalla, the swordsmen who had been standing with expressionless faces stepped forward. There was something distinctly different about them compared to ordinary swordsmen.
The moment Roman Dmitry entered their range, their figures blurred, and they materialized right in front of him.
Boom! Rumble!
They were fast.
Roman Dmitry parried their attacks and slashed back at a speed almost impossible to track with the naked eye.
Flash!
Blood sprayed.
It was an attack that completely tore open a chest.
Just as he thought he had easily dealt with one of the dozen or so swordsmen, the Emperor’s swordsman swung his blade back at Roman Dmitry, completely ignoring his torn-open chest. It was an attack that defied all common sense. Roman Dmitry reacted quickly and blocked, but the sight of the swordsman unleashing a relentless barrage of attacks with a fatal wound was highly bizarre.
“They are the Immortal Swordsmen. Beings that cannot be killed by any attack.” The Emperor of Valhalla smirked.
Just as he said, the Immortal Swordsmen did not die. The shredded flesh of the chest knit back together in an instant, and they pressed Roman Dmitry with renewed vigor.
And then—
“Curse.”
“Curse.”
Fssss—
Before long, the Imperial Mages appeared around them. Emerging suddenly amidst a swirl of sand, they cast their dark gazes from beneath the shadows of their robes and unleashed curses upon Roman Dmitry.
The energy of the curses weighed down Roman Dmitry. Rather than a visible force, they sought to hinder him with magic that degraded his physical capabilities.
This was amusing.
Indeed, the power of an Empire was not limited to what was visible on the surface. It was only natural. If rankings alone determined a nation’s power, no country would have any reason to expose its true strength through rankings, as doing so would reveal their hand.
In other words, while Cesar might have been Valhalla’s greatest swordsman in the public eye, Valhalla was not called an Empire solely because of him.
The Immortal Swordsmen and the Imperial Mages were part of its hidden, specialized forces.
However, that was all.
Just because they couldn’t die did not mean they could stop Roman Dmitry.
Whoosh!
The curses shattered.
Dispelling the magical forces, he cut through the Immortal Swordsmen blocking his path and charged toward the Emperor of Valhalla.
Being immortal did not solve all their problems. Even the Immortal Swordsmen showed openings when dealt fatal blows, and that brief window was more than enough for Roman to close the distance to the Emperor of Valhalla.
It was a terrifying sight. Despite the Immortal Swordsmen desperately clinging to him with severed arms, torn chests, and missing legs, Roman Dmitry ultimately reached the Emperor of Valhalla.
In that instant—
Fssss.
The Emperor of Valhalla’s figure dissolved. Just as the Imperial Mages had appeared, he dissolved into a flurry of sand and reconstituted himself near the wall of the conference room.
“Roman Dmitry. This was highly entertaining.”
Swoosh.
He vanished behind the wall.
As he disappeared, seemingly absorbed by the wall, the Immortal Swordsmen and the Imperial Mages dissolved into sand and vanished in the exact same manner.
It was as expected.
He had not truly expected the assassination to succeed. He merely wanted to test the Empire’s strength, and even that was secondary; his true purpose lay elsewhere.
The situation settled.
“Hiccup.”
From right beside him, someone’s hiccup rang out.
The source of the hiccup hurriedly covered his mouth, but his wide, terrified eyes locked with Roman Dmitry’s. He was one of the high-ranking officials.
And right next to him…
“…”
A pale-faced Marquis Belfir was staring at Roman Dmitry.
