Chapter 68: Unofficial Ranker (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 68: Unofficial Ranker (1)
Willas arrived in Dmitry just before dusk.
After stating his purpose and identity at the checkpoint, the captain of the guard immediately escorted him to meet Baron Romero.
"I am Romero Dmitry. I hear you've come from the Temple of Valhalla?"
"Yes. I am Willas, a priest from the Cairo branch of the Temple of Valhalla. As I mentioned at the checkpoint, we heard rumors that Roman Dmitry defeated Homeros, the 49th-ranked Ranker. While the Temple of Valhalla is under no obligation to verify unofficial ranking matches, this is such an unprecedented event that we intend to meet the individual involved and determine whether to reflect this in the official rankings."
"That is wonderful news. You have come to the right place."
Baron Romero couldn't hide his joy.
Ranking verification! It was a momentous occasion for the Dmitry family. Even if it was at the bottom of the list, a family that produced a Ranker was instantly recognized as prestigious for that reason alone.
Dmitry's history was short. Because Baron Romero was the first patriarch of the family, they had yet to acquire any honorable achievements worthy of high society's recognition, possessing only immense wealth. Yet, here was an opportunity for Roman Dmitry to become a Ranker. If this became reality, the noble circles would have no choice but to acknowledge the Dmitry family from then on.
And of all people, it was his eldest son who had achieved this feat.
Baron Romero served tea to entertain his guest and sent a servant to summon Roman. However, the servant returned with a troubled expression.
"…My Lord. Hans, the servant in charge of Young Master Roman, says that the young master is currently working in the forge and has completely cut off all contact with the outside. What should we do? Hans said that if this is an urgent matter, he will go and bring Young Master Roman himself."
"No. That won't be necessary."
Working in the forge.
A pleased smile spread across Baron Romero's face. Ever since his conversation with Hendrick, he knew Roman was deeply interested in blacksmithing and possessed genuine talent for it. It was an incredibly joyous realization. Because it proved his eldest son was worthy of inheriting the family business, Baron Romero refused to interrupt his work in the forge for anything. Not even for a visit from the Temple of Valhalla that could elevate the family's prestige.
"Priest," Baron Romero said. "I apologize, but since it is already late today, how about resting for the night and meeting Roman tomorrow? I will make sure to inform him that you wish to speak as soon as his work is finished."
"I understand."
Today or tomorrow, it made little difference. Seeing Willas nod readily, Baron Romero smiled.
"Since you are here, why not take a tour of Dmitry? I will assign someone to guide you. Please take a look around and see what kind of place the Dmitry family is. It won't be a bad experience."
Having nothing pressing to do, Willas accepted the offer.
Hans took charge of the tour, ensuring he could lead the priest straight to Roman when the time came. Walking ahead, Hans began his explanation.
"The Dmitry family possesses the largest iron mine in the Cairo Kingdom and produces the highest quality steel. As you can see, the structures of the inner castle are built incredibly sturdy using this steel. The same goes for the castle gates. Thanks to the reinforced steel gates and towering walls, Dmitry is known as an impregnable fortress."
His tone was calm as he detailed the history and characteristics of the estate. As they walked through the streets, Hans spoke of Dmitry's unique traits while Willas and his attendant followed in silence.
In truth, Willas wasn't listening to a word Hans said. Letting the tour guide's voice fade into background noise, he was lost in his own thoughts.
For a swordsman capable of defeating Homeros to be born in such a remote region… If the Dmitry family were a knightly household with a deep history, I could understand. But it seems highly unlikely that such a master could be born in a land where mining is the primary industry. Moreover, if it's the eldest son of the family claiming this feat, there is a very high probability that nobles blinded by fame fabricated the rumors.
It was an obvious assumption. Being a Ranker was a position of absolute glory. There were plenty of people who tried to claim that glory through lies, and their common characteristic was that they never participated in official ranking matches. An unofficial ranking match, verified solely by the testimonies of those present at the scene—there was a reason the Temple of Valhalla did not actively accept 'unofficial results.'
After walking for some time, they arrived at a training ground ringing with passionate shouts.
"One!"
"One!"
"Two!"
"Two!"
A group of men were in the middle of a rigorous drill. Willas's eyes gleamed with curiosity. Born in the Valhalla Empire, he was far more interested in a scene like this than some tedious family history.
Are they ordinary soldiers?
They didn't look like knights. The ages of the men varied wildly, and there was even someone who looked like a mere boy in their ranks. Knighthood was not a rank one could attain at such a young age. Since the troop lacked uniformity in its composition, they were highly likely to be conscripts rather than professionally trained soldiers.
Willas asked, "May I watch the training for a moment?"
"I will go and ask."
At Willas's request, Hans ran over to the man who appeared to be the commander. The commander glanced at Willas and nodded, seemingly indifferent.
"He says it is fine to watch from a distance."
"Thank you."
They moved to a shaded spot and sat down. Even then, Willas only watched with mild curiosity.
After concluding the basic drills, Chris—the commander in charge of training the soldiers—spoke up.
"Today, we will conduct sparring matches between peers. Pair up, and begin upon my signal."
"Yes, sir!"
Everyone moved in perfect order. Although their original number had decreased by one due to Lucas's departure, there were exactly thirty-one people in total including Chris, leaving thirty soldiers to form perfect pairs. Fifteen simultaneous duels. Since this was a familiar routine, the soldiers quickly paired off and prepared to spar.
Tap, tap.
Swish!
One pair immediately rushed at each other. A short man launched the first attack, swiftly closing the distance and thrusting his wooden sword at a vital point. His opponent countered without yielding an inch. In the blink of an eye, they exchanged several blows. Even as the fierce sound of wooden swords slicing through the air echoed out, neither man blinked, keeping their eyes locked on each other.
Clack!
Cl-cl-clack!
Their weapons clashed violently. Every single strike was lethal. They didn't just aim for obvious targets; they calmly deflected incoming attacks while maneuvering to strike at their opponent's vitals. And the moment an opening appeared? They pounced instantly, willing to risk injury for a decisive blow. It was supposed to be a simple sparring match with wooden swords, but the intensity made it look like a fight to the death.
The other pairs were no different. The soldiers engaged in fierce competition, refusing to yield a single inch, looking more like gladiators in an arena than conscripts in a training ground.
"Focus, everyone! Keep your eyes on your opponent!" Chris bellowed.
When these men were first recruited, they had been a cut above ordinary soldiers, but by Chris's standards, they had been nothing more than a ragtag bunch.
But now, everything was different.
They had transformed their bodies through the Asura Mind Method. Above all, the soldiers who had mastered the forms of the Asura Sword Technique had evolved into true warriors. The Asura Sword Technique was a martial art that provided an answer for every situation. Whether attacked from above, the flank, or the legs—it taught them how to block, evade, and counterattack seamlessly, while the Asura Mind Method maximized that physical potential.
Their current state was forged from blood, sweat, and tears. Their faces, once constantly bruised from wooden swords, were now hardened and alert. Relying on the forms of the Asura Sword Technique, they tracked their opponent's weapon to the very end before launching the perfect counterattack. Even though victory or defeat in this spar meant nothing, not a single soldier showed the complacency of someone willing to lose.
Yet, even among this bloodthirsty group, one fought more fiercely than the rest.
That person was none other than Kevin.
Kevin was small in stature. He was the reason Willas had assumed there was a boy soldier among the ranks, but his fighting style was completely at odds with his slight physique.
Whoosh!
He evaded his opponent's strike by a hair's breadth. Leaning his upper body backward in a bold maneuver, Kevin let the attack slip past before immediately stepping into the opponent's guard to strike a vital point. The speed of his wooden sword was unbelievable. By choking up on his grip, he reduced his attack time, making it seem as though his strikes were coming from multiple directions simultaneously.
Thwack!
Clack-clack-clack!
But all his attacks were blocked. Kevin's opponent was no easy foe. Like the departed Lucas, he was a former war mercenary—a completely bald man named Puki.
"Kevin, do you think your body will hold up if you abandon your defense like that?" Puki sneered.
His shaved head glistened in the sunlight. The tattoo snaking down from his crown was eerie just to look at, but Kevin remained completely unfazed.
"Win first, then talk."
Thud!
"Ugh."
Kevin slammed his fist into his opponent's flank. Striking Puki's body was like hitting armor made of solid muscle, yet Kevin's awl-like punch still caused Puki's expression to twist in pain. This was exactly why everyone dreaded facing Kevin. Roman had ordered them to treat sparring like a real battle, but Kevin took that command to a terrifying extreme.
Fighting as if a single loss would mean his death, Kevin treated the spar like a life-or-death struggle, prompting Puki to growl in spite.
"Fine. Let's do this."
From then on, their clashes truly mirrored a battlefield duel. Puki ruthlessly targeted vitals where a single stray hit could be fatal, but even while walking this tightrope, Kevin never took a step back. Constantly pressing forward, he maintained the perfect distance to strike, evading Puki's fierce counterattacks with concise, minimal movements.
Swoosh! Swoosh!
Kevin's eyes gleamed red.
The Ghost Soul Demonic Art.
His movements became like those of a phantom. Under the relentless, inescapable onslaught that clung to him like a shadow, cold sweat began to pour down Puki's forehead.
This bastard.
When they had first become Roman's private soldiers, the one who surprised everyone the most wasn't Roman or Chris, but Kevin. He was just a boy who looked entirely unremarkable on the outside, yet he displayed the most hostile and savage fighting style of them all, even during the Great Warrior Battle. Perhaps because Chris was an insurmountable wall, soldiers like Puki desperately wanted to defeat Kevin at the very least. That overheated competitive spirit was exactly what had driven the troops to improve so rapidly.
It was then.
Clack!
Right after a vicious exchange, both men exposed a momentary vulnerability. In a split second, their gazes locked. Then, as if on cue, the energy of mana flared from both of their wooden swords as they lunged at each other.
It was unmistakable.
That was a 1-Star Aura.