Chapter 361: Chicken Game (9)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 361: Chicken Game (9)
Marquis Belfir froze completely.
The words Roman Dmitry had uttered echoed endlessly in his mind.
"You will meet me."
In the end, it had become reality.
Valhalla had stubbornly refused to back down, and this was the result: standing face-to-face with Roman Dmitry. Belfir's thoughts ground to a complete halt. Like a herbivore cornered by an apex predator, Marquis Belfir—once hailed as the most powerful man in Valhalla—didn't even dare to breathe too loudly.
Just then, one of the high-ranking officials—the very same man who had hiccuped while criticizing the Emperor of Valhalla—hurriedly threw himself to his knees before Roman.
"P-Please, if you just spare my life this once..."
Thud.
His head flew off.
Before the man could even finish his sentence, the sight of a round object rolling across the floor caught everyone's eyes.
Panic erupted.
They had known they were dead the moment they were abandoned in the conference room, but seeing it happen with their own eyes drove the remaining officials to bolt from their seats, scattering in all directions. Yet, Marquis Belfir didn't move an inch. His instincts screamed that not a single one of those fools running to save their own skins would survive.
Sure enough.
Flash!
"Aaargh!"
Screams erupted from all sides.
The first to run collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. The others shrieked in agony as their limbs were severed one by one. Many among Valhalla's leadership were Aura Swordsmen. Befitting the reputation of a warrior nation, they took their martial training for granted, but their skills were nowhere near enough to dare oppose Roman Dmitry.
One.
Two.
The corpses piled up.
Roman grabbed an official by the hair and slit his throat right in front of Marquis Belfir.
Slash.
"Gurgle..."
Bloody foam bubbled from the dying man's lips.
As the official collapsed, clutching his ruined throat, Marquis Belfir trembled violently, his wide eyes locked on Roman Dmitry.
"I told you," Roman said. "If you showed such a complacent attitude, you would end up meeting me."
"...Y-You monster."
Roman crouched down.
He looked Marquis Belfir dead in the eye, their faces mere inches apart.
"Human pride is a funny thing. Even though defending the North was clearly the right thing to do, and even though you knew apologizing for the incident at the Valhalla Festival was the most peaceful path for your empire... you turned a blind eye to reality. You kept your heads held high until the very end. I suppose you thought that was how to preserve Valhalla's prestige. It must have been hard for Valhalla, one of the continent's two great pillars, to bow its head to a weak nation like Dmitry."
Grab.
Roman seized him by the jaw.
Marquis Belfir flinched and struggled, but the arrogant confidence he had displayed through the magic communicator was completely gone.
"That is why you ended up like this. If you had compromised with reality even once—if you had cast aside your complacency and accepted that Dmitry has risen as a new powerhouse—you wouldn't be in this position."
Creak, crack.
"...Ugh, argh."
The Marquis swallowed a groan.
Under that crushing grip, his jawbone twisted, feeling as if it would shatter into fragments at any second. Ominous thoughts flooded his mind. The terrifying realization that he was about to die right here sent a cold dampness spreading through his trousers.
It was humiliating.
It was miserable.
But he was too utterly overwhelmed by Roman Dmitry's sheer, suffocating presence to even process such human emotions.
And yet...
Release.
Roman let go of his jaw.
As air rushed back into his lungs, Marquis Belfir scrambled backward in a panic, not even afforded the luxury of catching his breath.
"Marquis Belfir. The wealth and honor you enjoyed were nothing grand. This is the meager price of achievements built not on your own abilities, but by clinging to the Emperor of Valhalla like a parasite. Look around you. Look at the end of those who cried out their loyalty to the Imperial Court. If you think about it, it's a simple matter. When the 14th Son of Valhalla ascended to the throne, you were just an ordinary noble who, like everyone else, never saw it coming. That is why you were so easily discarded."
Discarding the hound once the hunt is over.
Even that idiom couldn't fully describe this miserable situation.
Marquis Belfir wasn't even a hunting dog; to the Emperor of Valhalla, his existence held absolutely no importance.
And Marquis Belfir knew this all too well.
As the Marquis's pupils shook violently at the miserable truth, Roman turned his gaze outside the conference room.
Thud, thud, thud.
From the distance came the heavy, rhythmic sound of approaching footsteps.
Though their attention had been temporarily diverted by the Dark Cloud, the Imperial guards were now swarming the area upon receiving reports that the palace was under attack.
If he delayed any longer, even he would be in danger.
Now that he had confirmed the Emperor of Valhalla's forces were stronger than they appeared, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks.
"Marquis Belfir."
Roman smiled.
Looking down at the trembling man, he said, "The Emperor of Valhalla abandoned you, but I intend to show you mercy. This is your last chance. If the day comes when you and I meet again for a reason like this, I will make you regret being alive."
At those words, Marquis Belfir hurriedly raised his head.
He had squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the killing blow, but the reprieve he received was entirely unexpected.
He frantically looked around the room, but Roman Dmitry was already gone.
* * *
Thirty minutes later.
Roman Dmitry rejoined his main force.
After shaking off the pursuit squad dispatched from Marin, he had escaped using a small-scale teleportation magic circle prepared in advance just outside the capital.
Nox, the mage who had cast the teleportation spell, spoke with a pale complexion.
"...From now on, I will absolutely stop you from carrying out operations like this. Without a magical device like a Warp Gate, moving even one or two people requires an immense amount of power. Even though we used so many mana stones just now, we almost failed the teleportation due to a lack of mana. My Lord, you are no longer just the successor of a barony. You are destined to become the king of a nation. You must take better care of yourself."
This operation would have been impossible if the teleportation circle hadn't been prepared on-site.
And even with those preparations, it was only thanks to the development of his Upper Dantian that Roman had managed to handle the complex magical formula of the spell, successfully completing the round trip to Marin after many twists and turns. In truth, there had been several close calls. Because teleportation was such a difficult spell, people normally relied heavily on Warp Gates.
Suddenly, curiosity got the better of Nox. "But did you really have to go this far? Assassinating the Emperor of Valhalla was an impossible task from the very beginning."
Valhalla.
An empire was an empire for a reason.
Even an anomaly like Roman Dmitry had failed to assassinate its ruler. In truth, Valhalla hadn't suffered any devastating structural damage from this operation. Only the soldiers who had died fighting Roman and a few high-ranking officials were lost. Considering that Valhalla moved solely according to the Emperor's will, the deaths of those bureaucrats held no real significance.
Roman replied, "The Emperor's life was never the goal of this operation."
"...What do you mean by that?"
Nox didn't fully understand the grand design.
At his questioning look, Roman turned his gaze back toward Marin.
"The goal was to plant anxiety—to prove that even the Valhalla Empire is not safe—and to sow distrust toward the Emperor. Even if Valhalla maintains its existing power structure despite this rebellion, they will never be the same as before."
* * *
The Valhalla Imperial Palace.
The situation there had finally settled.
Servants and soldiers moved busily to clear away the corpses, searching the surroundings with sharp, paranoid eyes. Roman Dmitry had already shaken off his pursuers and escaped the castle, but fearing some lingering danger might remain, the Imperial Court mobilized all available forces to comb the area thoroughly.
Inside the conference room.
The few survivors, including Marquis Belfir, remained gathered there.
Looking around the blood-stained room, Marquis Belfir's eyes trembled.
'...Damn it.'
He had survived.
But he was barely clinging to life.
Until now, he had lived entirely for Valhalla. Even if the Emperor was a madman and a tyrant, Belfir had believed that remaining loyal was the right path for his own survival. It was only natural. Valhalla's power was absolute. He had firmly believed that as long as he leeched off the Emperor's authority, his own power would remain robust and eternal until the day he died.
But not anymore.
The Imperial Palace had been breached.
While most people didn't even dare look the Emperor in the eye, let alone oppose him, Roman Dmitry had strolled into the palace as if it were his own living room and slaughtered everyone in his path. It was exactly as he had promised. He had turned his warning—that they would meet if Valhalla remained complacent—into a bloody reality, and then he had treated the Marquis like a mere plaything.
Because of this, an absolute, unchanging truth had shattered.
The belief that the Emperor of Valhalla was invincible had been torn to shreds by the monster known as Roman Dmitry.
This was the first effect: anxiety.
If Valhalla could not guarantee Marquis Belfir's safety, he had no choice but to harbor other thoughts.
'Roman Dmitry definitely had a reason for sparing my life. He intends to drive a wedge of distrust between the Emperor and me. The problem is... just as he said, is the Emperor even worth trusting? He is no longer absolute, and I can no longer feel the same loyalty toward a man who brutally abandoned us in a moment of crisis. And above all else...'
"How did you survive?" the Emperor of Valhalla asked coldly.
Far from asking if they were alright or expressing relief that they had lived, he did not seem pleased by the very existence of these survivors.
Distrust.
It had taken root on both sides.
Just as Marquis Belfir's heart was no longer the same, the fact that Roman Dmitry had slaughtered all the other high-ranking officials but spared Belfir and a select few nobles rubbed the Emperor the wrong way.
Marquis Belfir bowed his head.
"...We were lucky, Your Majesty. As the Imperial forces rushed in, he seemed to prioritize making his escape."
"If that is true, then you were indeed very lucky."
If the Emperor had truly found Marquis Belfir suspicious, he would have killed him right then and there just for being an eyesore.
But he didn't.
To the Emperor, the Marquis wasn't even worth that much effort.
There was no reason to waste energy crushing an ant he could step on at any time. Marquis Belfir was an obedient lapdog. He would die if told to die, and bark if told to bark. With so many messes left to clean up, killing him now would only be a nuisance.
The Emperor spoke. "Roman Dmitry dared to attack Valhalla's capital and target my life. Just as he promised, he will not back down until the bitter end. He will try to inflict as much damage on Valhalla as possible. Recall the troops. Leave only the minimum force required to capture Hernad, and focus the rest on dealing with Roman Dmitry."
He had finally swallowed his pride.
If Roman Dmitry was bold enough to strike at the heart of Valhalla, there was no telling what he might do next.
The fierce Chicken Game had concluded.
Its winner was Roman Dmitry.
"...We obey your command."
"We obey your command."
Marquis Belfir and the remaining officials bowed deeply.
But on their faces, hidden from the Emperor's sight, the submissive, loyal expressions of the past were nowhere to be found.
* * *
At that same time, in Hernad.
The end was in sight.
The surging Imperial Army showed no signs of thinning, and the besieged castle walls could no longer serve their purpose.
It was over.
Sanchez cut down a rushing enemy soldier and looked at Duke Vieto.
"I am sorry. You raised your army because of me... I am truly sorry."
This rebellion had been led by Duke Vieto, but looking back at its origin, it had all started when Sanchez persuaded him to take up arms. Sanchez felt a crushing mixture of despair and guilt. If Duke Vieto had just remained in seclusion, he wouldn't have had to die as a traitor in his twilight years.
Crunch!
Slash, slash!
A halberd swept brutally through the enemy forces.
His face drenched in blood, Duke Vieto let out a ragged breath.
"Instead of talking nonsense, kill just one more of them. The war isn't over yet."
One more hour?
Two hours?
At most, they wouldn't last three.
Right now, supreme warriors like Duke Vieto were pushing far past their limits, but once they began to fall, the defense would collapse in an instant. Both Duke Vieto and Sanchez knew this truth. That was why they sought to kill as many Imperial dogs as possible while they still had the strength, fighting until everything crumbled completely.
It was then.
Suddenly, a strange sound echoed from far across the battlefield.
Bwooo—
Bwooooooo—
It was the deep, resonant blast of a war horn.
Anyone familiar with Valhalla's military system instantly understood the meaning of that sound.
"W-What is this?"
"It's a retreat order!"
It was unmistakable.
The horn was signaling a full retreat.
At first, the Imperial Army hesitated, unable to grasp the situation. But as the soldiers below the walls began to recede like an ebbing tide, it became clear that a genuine retreat order had been issued. It was a baffling turn of events. Having just cleared the enemies atop the wall, Duke Vieto stared blankly at the retreating Imperial forces, his expression utterly dazed.
"...What on earth is happening?"
No matter how much he racked his brain, his common sense simply couldn't comprehend the scene unfolding before his eyes.