Chapter 374: Villain (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 374: Villain (1)
Ten minutes ago.
Chris stood a few paces back, quietly observing the situation unfold.
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Yes, I saw plenty. I finally understand why Carlos—a man hailed as a great warrior of Valhalla—said that the empire's ugly truth lies buried within the Southern Tomb."
Chris listened closely.
Right after exiting the tomb, Roman Dmitry had made a strange remark.
He suggested that Duke Vieto might be the mastermind behind this entire affair, warning Chris not to panic no matter what happened next. Just hearing the hypothesis made Chris's blood run cold. It was a terrifying possibility he had never even considered, and for the first time, he found himself praying that his liege's prediction would turn out to be a needless worry.
However, as time ticked by, the conversation grew increasingly bizarre.
An ordinary person might not have noticed anything amiss, but to Chris, the dialogue completely lacked logical coherence.
"What do you plan to do now?"
"For now, I intend to return to Dmitry. I will rest and recover from my fatigue, then use the data obtained from the Southern Tomb to investigate Stern Valhalla. He is not a man to fall so easily. By the way, Your Majesty, please take care of yourself. After this incident, the Kronos Empire will undoubtedly target you for assassination. Valhalla can only survive if Your Majesty remains safe."
"...I am already prepared for that. No matter what Kronos does, I have no intention of backing down even a single step."
On the surface, it was a heartwarming exchange.
But the truth beneath it was vastly different.
Roman Dmitry had explicitly pointed to Duke Vieto as the mastermind. If that were true, there was absolutely no reason for him to engage in such a warm, supportive conversation with the man currently sitting on the throne as the Emperor of Valhalla. In fact, Roman’s initial demeanor at the start of their meeting had been colder than usual. Chris had naturally expected a fierce war of words. As he listened to the conversation veer strangely off-course, his hand instinctively drifted toward his sword hilt.
"Kevin."
"Yes, sir."
"Prepare for battle."
"Understood."
No explanation was needed.
At Chris's signal, Kevin gave a subtle nod, and the soldiers of Dmitry quietly prepared for combat.
They didn't know exactly what was happening.
However, they believed in Roman Dmitry.
No matter what unfolded next, they would ignore the apparent reality before their eyes and follow their liege's will.
It happened in a flash.
Grab!
"Gasp?!"
"What madness is this?!"
It was a sudden, completely unexpected move.
Roman Dmitry, who had been conversing normally just a heartbeat ago, abruptly stepped up to the Emperor of Valhalla, yanked his head back by the hair, and stared down at him with a freezing gaze. Watching from a distance, Sanchez's eyes widened in sheer horror. He rushed forward in a desperate bid to stop Roman, but the sudden turn of events led straight to an unbelievable conclusion.
"I am, by nature, accustomed to playing the villain."
Snap!
Roman Dmitry twisted his neck.
The Emperor of Valhalla—a formidable 5-Star Swordsman—collapsed instantly, completely unable to resist.
*
Shock paralyzed the crowd.
Sanchez froze in his tracks.
His gaze darted frantically between Roman Dmitry and the Emperor's lifeless body, his entire frame trembling violently as his mind rejected the reality before his eyes.
"A-Aaargh! Aaaaaaaargh!"
He let out a guttural, agonizing scream.
Who was the Emperor of Valhalla?
When everyone else had turned a blind eye to the tyranny of the former emperor, Duke Vieto had willingly risked his life for the people. It was an act of pure, noble spirit. Had he compromised with reality, he could have lived out his days in peace and absolute comfort. Yet, in response to Sanchez's desperate pleas to save the nation, he had taken on the mantle of rebel leader—a heavy burden no one else dared to shoulder.
He was a hero.
He should never have died like this. And above all, Sanchez could not believe that the perpetrator was Roman Dmitry.
"Y-You son of a bitch!"
"How dare you lay a hand on His Majesty the Emperor of Valhalla!"
An uproar erupted from all sides.
Those who had initially been too stunned to process the reality now flared their Aura, their eyes burning with murderous rage as they locked onto Roman Dmitry. The sheer number of onlookers gathered was immense. Hundreds of thousands of people surrounded the area, swarming densely as far as the eye could see.
It was a powder keg ready to explode.
The soldiers of Dmitry stood firm behind Roman Dmitry.
Though equally bewildered, they placed absolute trust in his judgment, regardless of the circumstances.
And then, Roman Dmitry spoke.
"I will explain the situation once things are settled."
They believed him.
Roman Dmitry was not a man to take unnecessary actions. Chris concluded there had to be a profound reason behind the bizarre conversation his liege had just shared with the Emperor of Valhalla. This was the unbreakable level of trust they had built, layer by layer. In a situation where a bloodbath could break out at any second, Sanchez raised his voice, his face contorted with mad fury.
"Roman Dmitry! Was this your intention from the very beginning?! When you told me to seek out Duke Vieto and initiate a rebellion, was it not for the coexistence of Valhalla and Dmitry, but to plunge Valhalla into the abyss?!"
He was screaming in sheer agony.
As Sanchez shrieked at the top of his lungs, Roman Dmitry replied with a calm expression.
"What you see is not the only truth. Sanchez, calm down. If you are willing to listen, I will explain the situation—"
"No! I don't need any of your damn explanations! Duke Vieto became the Emperor of Valhalla! He was Valhalla's hope, the leader we absolutely needed for our future! And you killed him!"
He cut Roman off sharply.
His voice trembled with rage.
His bloodshot eyes showed not even the slightest willingness to understand this incomprehensible situation.
"Even if the man lying dead on the ground was Stern Valhalla, whom everyone condemned, a mere outsider like you has absolutely no right to execute the Emperor of Valhalla! My master, Lord Morales, and His Majesty the Emperor of Valhalla, who was our future—you killed them both! On this sacred ground where Valhalla began, you have trampled upon our hope as if mocking us!"
Reasoning with him was impossible.
His eyes were filled with madness.
He had closed his ears.
He was completely consumed by rage.
Sanchez drew his sword, flaring his Aura just like the thousands around him.
Rumble!
"Hear me, warriors of Valhalla! We shall mourn the death of His Majesty the Emperor of Valhalla with the life of Roman Dmitry!"
The situation escalated dramatically.
Just ten minutes ago, the people of Valhalla had sung Roman Dmitry's praises.
The warriors of Valhalla had respected him.
But now, everything had changed.
Staring back into their eyes—which burned with the fury of looking at a truly evil villain—Roman Dmitry stopped trying to explain.
‘The Emperor of Valhalla prepared for every contingency. Knowing that I would have no choice but to kill him to prevent his corruption from spreading across Valhalla, he must have planted instigators beforehand to seize control of the narrative in the event of his death. Explaining would change nothing. From the moment it was revealed that the Emperor of Valhalla was actually acting under Alexander's orders, coexistence between Dmitry and Valhalla became impossible.’
He remained perfectly calm.
Looking at the raging warriors of Valhalla, he delivered a final warning.
"I clearly asked for an opportunity to explain, and you are the ones who refused to listen."
The moment those words left his mouth—
"Attack!"
"Kill him!"
"Avenge His Majesty the Emperor of Valhalla!"
Boom!
Rumble!
From all directions, the warriors of Valhalla charged like a tidal wave.
*
It was a spectacular sight.
As they swarmed from all sides, completely filling his field of vision, Roman Dmitry swung his sword forward.
‘Heavenly Demon Sword Technique - Mid-Stage First Form.’
Flash!
Boom!
Aura exploded.
A destructive wave of energy instantly swept across the vanguard, tearing apart dozens of rage-blinded warriors in a single blow. But that was only the beginning. As more warriors rushed in to fill the empty spaces, completely devoid of the fear of death, Roman Dmitry leaped forward, meeting the army of Valhalla head-on.
Crash!
He shattered the Aura of the very first enemy he encountered.
As the opponent's eyes widened in shock at his broken defenses, Roman Dmitry severed his head in a single, fluid motion.
Slash.
The head flew off.
Through the brief opening created as the head separated from the body, the furious faces of the oncoming Valhalla warriors came into view. Roman Dmitry deflected their fierce, incoming strikes. The warriors attacked relentlessly, completely disregarding their own defense, but not a single one of their offensives lasted more than two exchanges.
Clang!
Immediately after he swung his sword, blood sprayed into the air.
His strikes were so fast that his enemies couldn't even comprehend how they were being hit, collapsing to the ground one after another mid-charge. Using the corpses of their fallen comrades as stepping stones, more warriors rushed in. Yet, they too failed to survive more than two consecutive attacks. Raging in the very heart of the enemy lines, Roman Dmitry responded with chillingly concise and clean efficiency, butchering them even while completely surrounded.
Then, a new threat emerged.
"Grrr, growl!"
"Argh!"
The tribal warriors charged.
The Wildmen.
Having transformed into beasts, they swiftly closed the distance, seizing the moment their allies' blood spilled to launch their ambush.
Crash!
Rumble!
Attacks rained down from all directions.
Aura flared from the beasts' claws, their erratic, sudden strikes creating a perilous storm of blades that threatened to tear Roman Dmitry's flesh to shreds. But that was all it was—a threat. Before their attacks could even reach him, their heads flew off, and their torsos were ripped apart. Though the beasts' highly developed senses granted them physical abilities far beyond human limits, even those heightened instincts could not comprehend how Roman Dmitry was moving.
By the time they realized an attack was coming, their heads had already been severed.
As the Wildmen fell, another tribe capable of manipulating fire puffed up their cheeks and spat out raging flames.
"Huuu."
Whoosh!
Roar!
A swirling vortex of fire erupted!
They completely disregarded the safety of their comrades, incinerating their own allies caught in the fray, aiming solely to end Roman Dmitry's life.
At that moment—
Whoosh!
Straight through the blazing inferno, Roman Dmitry charged.
The flames had absolutely no effect on him, and the binding spells of the curse-weaving tribe crumbled the instant they touched him. Their heads spun in disbelief. By all accounts, a coordinated assault of this scale should have given him trouble simply due to their sheer numerical advantage. Yet, Roman Dmitry shattered every single attack with overwhelming, absolute power.
Ger was no exception.
Charging alongside the Wildmen, his eyes widened in shock at the devastating reality.
Flash.
"Urgh."
Blood splattered from his chest.
Ger was a formidable 5-Star Swordsman, a powerhouse capable of defeating a 6-Star Swordsman when bolstered by the physical advantages of his Wildmen heritage. Yet, he now faced a reality where he was no different from an ordinary Valhalla foot soldier. Even Ger could not sustain more than two exchanges before Roman Dmitry's blade left a deep, long gash across his chest.
He staggered.
Retreating a few steps, he stared at the chaotic, swirling battlefield, only now realizing the horrifying truth.
"...No way."
It was overwhelming.
No matter which direction they attacked from, Roman Dmitry slaughtered them all.
People had showered him with praise for his performance during the trial, but looking at him now, it was obvious that hadn't been Roman Dmitry's full strength. His presence seemed to expand immensely, covering the battlefield like a suffocating shadow. Ger felt goosebumps break out all over his body at the realization of Roman's true intent—he wasn't merely trying to escape. He intended to slaughter every single soul that stood in his way.
‘If we had challenged him back then, we wouldn't have even managed to exhaust him. We would have just died in vain.’
It was an undeniable certainty.
He was a being beyond the heavens.
From the moment he took on the challenge, passing the trial had been a foregone conclusion.
Though he finally understood the true level of the man called the First Sword of the Continent, Ger could not back down.
He was a warrior of Valhalla.
He was the representative of the minority tribes.
For a warrior, dying in battle against the strong was an absolute honor.
He willingly put his life on the line.
To avenge the Emperor of Valhalla.
To prove his pride as a warrior.
And so—
Flash.
As he lunged toward Roman Dmitry, his head was severed before he could even attempt a strike.
*
Screams echoed from all directions.
Death ran rampant.
Sanchez, who had ordered the attack, wept tears of blood as they mingled with the splatters of gore raining around him.
"Ah..."
It was pure despair.
He was losing his mind.
With his spiritual pillar, Lord Morales, dead, and now even the Emperor of Valhalla slain, Sanchez was utterly incapable of rational thought. He had been so genuinely happy when the rebellion succeeded. He had believed they could finally steer Valhalla in the right direction, but the one-sided slaughter unfolding before his eyes completely shattered his dreams.
It was over.
Valhalla's hope was dead.
If he could not avenge him, Sanchez felt he could no longer live as a warrior of Valhalla.
[Yes, kill him. Kill him.]
[You must kill Roman Dmitry at all costs.]
[He killed the Emperor of Valhalla. He killed Valhalla's hero. What are you hesitating for?]
A devilish whisper echoed in his ears.
Sanchez did not think of it as a hallucination.
He believed it was his own true desire.
Look at what Roman Dmitry had done!
He had murdered the Emperor of Valhalla, yet showed not a single shred of remorse.
He was a monster with whom Valhalla could never coexist under the same sky, and right now, the command of the forces rested entirely in Sanchez's hands.
His mind grew hazy.
As if drugged, Sanchez staggered forward, his face twisting into a mask of pure madness.
"I will kill him. I will kill him at all costs."
Beep.
He picked up his magic communicator.
This battle was fundamentally different from the one fought on Valhalla's territory in the past.
Back then, Roman Dmitry had survived the joint assault of Valhalla and Kronos, escaping safely back to Dmitry. But Sanchez was absolutely certain that such a feat would be impossible this time. People said that the true root of Valhalla lay right here in the Southern Jungle. This was not merely a symbolic expression; in reality, deep within this densely wooded jungle, warriors representing thirty percent of Valhalla's entire military force lay in wait.
They hadn't budged an inch, not even during Valhalla's civil war.
But for these warriors—who reacted solely to external threats—Roman Dmitry had just provided the perfect justification to mobilize.
Through the magic communicator, Sanchez screamed, howling like a wounded beast.
"Hear me, warriors of Valhalla! His Majesty the Emperor of Valhalla is dead! The outsider, Roman Dmitry, has dared to murder Valhalla's hero on our sacred ground! As the representative of His Majesty, I command all warriors of Valhalla from this moment forth: Kill Roman Dmitry! Do not let him escape the Southern Jungle! Stop him by any means necessary!"
He was entirely consumed by venomous rage.
Staring with wide, bloodshot eyes at Roman Dmitry, who continued his relentless slaughter, Sanchez bared his blood-stained teeth in a manic grin.
"This is an imperial order! Every single one of you, answer the call!"
The Southern Jungle.
An order mobilizing their entire hidden force.
It was an unprecedented event in history, something that had never occurred since Valhalla had risen to become an empire.
Sanchez was absolutely certain.
Roman Dmitry would never leave the Southern Jungle alive.