Chapter 368: The Southern Tomb (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 368: The Southern Tomb (2)
What did the people of Valhalla hate the most?
Defeat?
No.
On the contrary, if they lost a duel to a genuinely strong opponent, they would accept it with a hearty laugh. But it was a completely different story if their opponent showed even a hint of looking down on them. Roman Dmitry hadn't killed Valderas. While they should have been grateful for that mercy as fellow humans, his single word—"Next"—spoken as if no one in the world could ever defeat him, set the hearts of the Valhallan warriors ablaze.
"I will face you."
A man suddenly stepped forward from the crowd.
He was an Aura Swordsman named Mormond, and his skills were far inferior to Valderas, who had fought just before him. Even so, he didn't hesitate. Drawing his blade against Roman Dmitry, he wore a grim, resolute expression.
"Lord Roman Dmitry. Valhalla respects you and acknowledges your strength. No one here can defeat you in a one-on-one duel. However, you have just made a mistake. If you had proven your might to a reasonable extent, we would have willingly opened the path for you. But not anymore."
The people of Valhalla were divided into two camps: those who merely wanted to watch the situation unfold, and those who sought to stop him at all costs.
Roman Dmitry's arrogance had transformed the former into the latter.
Mormond, too, had belonged to the first camp.
Having witnessed Roman Dmitry's combat on the battlefield, Mormond originally had absolutely no intention of stepping forward. Yet, hearing a statement that treated victory as a foregone conclusion changed his mind. Valhalla was a nation of warriors. No matter how great Roman Dmitry was, now that things had come to this, they couldn't just hand over what he desired on a silver platter.
"Though my skills cannot even reach your ankles, I will struggle with all my might, even if it costs me my life. I will force you to swing your sword just one more time. I will force you to expend just a little more mana. When the full week has passed, you will not be able to afford the leisure you show now."
It was a vow.
A vow spoken to himself and to the people of Valhalla.
All eyes focused on him.
Once Mormond finished his preparations, the Emperor of Valhalla gave the signal.
Flutter.
Whoosh!
Mormond took the initiative.
Knowing that Valderas had suffered defeat by fighting defensively, Mormond intended to drain Roman Dmitry's stamina by striking first. His Aura erupted. The mana bursting from his legs closed the distance between them in an instant. Without a single thought of pacing himself, Mormond poured everything he had into this opening move.
And then—
Thud!
"Cough!"
Mormond's eyes widened in shock as he collapsed to his knees.
He had been certain his exploding Aura had slashed Roman Dmitry, yet Roman hadn't retreated a single step. Instead, he had struck Mormond squarely in the abdomen. It was an unbelievable sight. Without even understanding how Roman had evaded his attack or initiated the counter, Mormond was forced to face harsh reality.
"Next."
It was a blatant provocation.
Even after hearing Mormond's vow, and even after witnessing the rising fury of the Valhallan warriors, Roman remained entirely unfazed. Goaded by his "do your worst" attitude, the warriors of Valhalla stepped forward one after another.
"You really don't know when to quit."
"I'm your opponent this time!"
None of them expected victory.
Just as Valderas and Mormond had intended, they only hoped to chip away at his stamina, rushing forward in rapid succession at each signal. And the results were no different. The bald man who had roared in anger about Roman not knowing when to quit was sent flying, spraying blood from a crushing blow to the face. The next challenger lost consciousness as his Aura was shattered into pieces.
Next.
And next.
The cycle repeated.
It was an awe-inspiring spectacle.
Upon hearing that the Warrior's Trial was scheduled, people had looked up past records. Even those who had left their mark on Valhalla's history had never been this reckless when undertaking the trial. And for good reason. On a stage that lasted not just a day or two, but an entire week, pacing oneself was crucial. If a challenger fought at such breakneck speed from the very beginning, they would have to worry about exhaustion before the first day was even over.
That was common sense.
That was why they couldn't comprehend this.
What on earth was Roman Dmitry thinking?
No matter how strong he was, humans had limits. Yet, Roman Dmitry was accepting challenges at an unprecedented, incomparable speed. He faced two opponents per minute. The reason it took thirty seconds per person wasn't because he needed that much time to fight. The duels themselves were decided within five seconds; the remaining twenty-five seconds were spent clearing away the fallen bodies.
As time passed, the injured piled up.
The challenges were ceaseless, and before long, dusk began to fall.
Crack!
"Argh!"
Another Valhallan swordsman fell to his knees.
It was impossible to tell how many he had defeated by now.
What was certain was that Roman Dmitry still stood perfectly fine. Watching him, one of the onlookers muttered unconsciously,
"...Does that monster even get tired?"
Those words spoke for the hearts of everyone in Valhalla.
* * *
Not a single posture, not a single breath was out of place.
Seeing him without even a drop of sweat on his brow, the onlookers had no choice but to accept the despairing reality before them.
Is this level of opposition not even enough to scratch him?
The Pioneer.
The protagonist of the Aura Revolution.
He was truly on a completely different level.
Realizing that this could not be settled in a single day, the Emperor of Valhalla spoke up.
"For now, we shall conclude the first day of the trial."
The sun had already set.
The Warrior's Trial.
Originally, it was conducted day and night.
It was designed to push the challenger to their absolute limits, denying them even a moment of rest. However, at some point in history, the standards of the trial had been relaxed. This was due to the realization that it was humanly impossible. No matter how powerful a being was, they couldn't fight day and night for a week straight. Mana had its limits, and once it ran dry, that was the end.
Think about it.
This was a task of facing all of Valhalla.
Even if a challenger was given the night to recover, they couldn't fully shake off the fatigue of a whole day's battles.
In that manner, bit by bit, their physical strength would be eroded.
The mana stored in their body couldn't remain as pristine as the day before, and physical fatigue would slow their movements with each passing day.
In truth, these rules weren't designed to facilitate success.
Those who dared to challenge the Warrior's Trial were individuals worthy of being called geniuses in Valhalla. Because so many of them had died vainly, this special measure of rest had been established.
A night in the jungle.
It granted them time to think.
As they reflected on the day's grueling events throughout the night, dread would creep in at the thought of repeating it all over again the next day.
Thus, when dawn broke, most of them would declare their intention to withdraw.
Even if the label of a coward who gave up halfway followed them for the rest of their lives, they believed it was better than dying meaninglessly in such a reckless endeavor.
And this choice was, without exception, offered to Roman Dmitry as well.
Judging by the performance he had shown so far, it didn't seem like he would give up, but they couldn't discriminate against him.
Roman Dmitry is Valhalla's benefactor. No matter how much we wish for his failure, bringing down our benefactor through cowardly means would make us no different from the former Emperor. Valhalla will not repeat the same mistake.
The nation of warriors.
They did not want to bring shame upon that name.
Even if it meant defeat, the Emperor of Valhalla would not engage in anything that would invite gossip.
However—
"Just keep going."
It was Roman Dmitry.
Looking at the crowd, he said,
"And since individual duels no longer seem to have any meaning, I will accept challenges from multiple opponents at once from now on."
* * *
Truly, he did not know when to quit.
No one denied the fact that he was strong.
Everyone present felt it in their bones that they could never defeat him in a one-on-one duel.
Yet, Roman Dmitry still had to go and provoke them.
With Valhalla's weakness seemingly being pointed out, the people of Valhalla saw no further reason to show consideration.
"From now on, we will not show courtesy either."
"We will face you."
These were new faces.
About ten men.
The crowd murmured at their appearance.
Though their individual rankings, excluding their mercenary leader, were not particularly high, they boasted a formidable reputation as a collective unit.
The Bellerin Mercenary Group.
Formed under the leadership of Bellerin, a 5-Star Swordsman of Valhalla, they were masters of coordinated, simultaneous attacks.
The onlookers couldn't help but be astonished.
It was surprising enough that they had stepped forward, but no one had expected a clash with the Bellerin Mercenary Group on the very first day.
In the history of Valhalla, there had never been such a rapid pace.
Even Carlos, who had famously passed the Warrior's Trial, had only accepted group battles after three days had passed.
Even so, they did not doubt Roman Dmitry's victory.
However, starting with the Bellerin Mercenary Group, Roman Dmitry would surely face extremely fierce resistance.
Flutter.
The battle began.
The Bellerin Mercenary Group charged.
This was entirely different from individual duels.
Spreading out in all directions, they targeted Roman Dmitry's blind spots.
Crash!
Rumble!
Three from the front, two from behind, and two on each side.
In a dizzying situation where attacks targeted every conceivable blind spot, there seemed to be no room to escape.
Clang!
Clash! Clang!
The attacks were blocked.
Roman Dmitry calmly parried the simultaneous onslaught, then swept the leg of the most aggressive attacker.
The man stumbled instantly.
The moment he lost his balance, a fist exploded against his face, and Roman slashed the chest of the comrade who rushed in to cover him.
Slash!
Blood splattered.
It was a shallow strike, not enough to kill.
Having dealt with two in an instant, Roman Dmitry faced the subsequent wave of attacks with a relaxed expression.
One against many.
It was certainly different from a one-on-one duel.
Yet, even in the midst of the violent clash, there wasn't the slightest sense that Roman Dmitry was in any danger.
The combatants became intricately entangled.
The Bellerin Mercenary Group demonstrated a coordinated assault that proved their reputation wasn't just for show, but no form of attack worked against Roman.
And without fail, more men began to fall.
Though they prided themselves on being skilled fighters, his counterattacks struck before they could even react.
However, the onlookers didn't know the truth.
Throughout this entire series of events, Roman Dmitry was regulating his breathing.
Had he exerted his full strength, he could have dispatched the Bellerin Mercenary Group much faster, but he was keeping the week-long duration of the trial in mind.
In other words, this very situation—which threw the crowd into shock and made them stare in disbelief—was actually a battle where he was pacing himself.
This was the battle of Heavenly Demon Baek Joong-hyuk.
He was well-accustomed to fighting against many.
If he expended stamina with one breath, he restored it by drawing in the next.
The energy of mana spreading throughout his entire body soothed his muscles, preventing any loss of stamina from the very start.
Valhalla's strategy was fundamentally flawed.
There is a saying in the world:
It is not the strong who survive, but those who survive who are strong.
Roman Dmitry, who had possessed the endurance to survive until the very end even back when he lacked martial power, was an existence far beyond anything the people of Valhalla could ever imagine.
Crack!
A face was shattered.
As Bellerin fell last, the shocked faces of the onlookers could be seen behind him.
"Next."
He spoke calmly.
Even though it was only the first day, the people instinctively felt that there was no hope for them in this trial.
* * *
Dawn was breaking.
At the sight before his eyes, the Emperor of Valhalla was lost for words.
...Is this truly a performance a single human can display?
Throughout the night, the battles had raged without pause.
People had expected meaningful results from the group battles, but now that dawn had arrived, the reality was devastating.
The surroundings were stained with blood.
Those who had rushed forward so eagerly were carried away one by one, and even those who enjoyed great renown in Valhalla found their reputations rendered utterly meaningless.
At this point, confusion filled their minds.
Roman Dmitry was turning into reality a feat that, by all common sense, even the great Carlos could not have achieved.
Suddenly, the Emperor of Valhalla realized he had not truly known Roman Dmitry.
Come to think of it, they had never fought side by side.
He had been at Hernad, while Roman Dmitry was in the North.
Each had been faithful to their respective roles, and they had only heard of each other's achievements through intelligence reports.
Only now did he truly understand.
Why people praised Roman Dmitry so highly.
Why Sanchez had resolved to rebel.
He defied all common sense.
Even after defeating so many opponents, his breathing remained perfectly steady, leaving everyone in utter shock.
Sanchez approached and spoke.
"...Your Majesty. There is no end to this. Roman Dmitry is not standing strong simply because he has superior physical stamina; he must have his own method of conserving it. Defeating him was an impossible task from the very beginning. Would it not be better to bring this to a close at a reasonable point?"
From the mouth of the bellicose Sanchez, compromise was mentioned for the first time.
Just as he said, it seemed realistically impossible.
But they couldn't do that.
Even if every single one of them had to be carried away on stretchers, they could not allow the moment of Valhalla's rebirth to begin like this.
It was then.
Roman Dmitry spoke.
"How irritating. Those who cannot face reality and rush in recklessly. Valhalla's history dictates that fighting to the bitter end, even if it means dying on the battlefield, is the mark of a true warrior. But my thoughts are different."
His tone had changed.
The warriors who had rushed at him all night... their unyielding gazes had begun to grate on his nerves.
Valhalla was, in the end, an entity that had to be subjugated.
Though he had made a temporary compromise with them, unlike other kingdoms, they were not the type to willingly submit.
Their eyes and their will proved that they were wild beasts.
Therefore, he intended to create a situation where they would have no choice but to fully accept the outcome.
"From now on, you may all attack at once without waiting for your turn. If you wish to stop me from entering the Southern Tomb, use any means necessary to bring me down. However..."
Shring.
He raised his sword.
His aura shifted.
As the sun rose on only the second day, Roman Dmitry unleashed his true presence.
"On the first day, I showed mercy out of consideration for our past relationship. But from this moment on, those who challenge me will pay the price of their challenge with their lives."