The Heavenly Demon Can’t Live A Normal Life [EN]: Chapter 233

The festival became a blur of motion. It was a fight like no one had ever seen before. People couldn’t understand what they were watching.

No one had ever seen fighting like this. He was stepping on stones in the air to move!

A deep rumble shook the ground.

Bright flashes of light filled the sky, like paint thrown across the world.

Lightning cracked across the sky. Morales looked up and swung his sword.

The sound of metal crashing against metal echoed through the festival. *Wham! Wham!* Each blow was like a hammer hitting steel.

The force of the blow sent shockwaves outwards. Morales’ muscles burned, screaming in pain. Every hair on his body stood up as too much power rushed through him. He was pushed back, even while trying to defend himself.

Gasps and shouts of shock burst from the crowd.

Crack! The ground under Morales’ feet crumbled. The force of the blows had weakened the earth, and now it collapsed with every step.

Tap. Tap tap. It was a strange way to move. He seemed to float across the broken ground, light as a feather, not losing any speed at all. He moved like a dancer, not a fighter.

People here fought with powerful bursts of energy, called aura. But Roman Dmitry was different. His fighting style was about being light and fast. Using the falling stones to push himself forward? It was confusing and amazing to watch.

A flash of light! *Wham!* Roman Dmitry jumped to the side. It looked like there was no ground left to step on, just broken pieces. But then, he stepped on a stone no bigger than a fist and swung his sword again.

Morales was fast. He quickly tilted his head back, just in time to avoid the sword. But Roman Dmitry was relentless. He used the momentum to leap even higher, bringing his sword down again with even more force.

Morales’ face twisted in effort. Just blocking Roman Dmitry’s attacks was making him sweat and his face turn red. He realized, with a shock, that he was struggling, just like any other fighter would against this young man.

Morales had thought Roman Dmitry was just another strong warrior, like himself. But he was wrong. He never thought someone so young could be stronger. It wasn’t just about what he thought was normal or expected.

His memories of countless battles screamed that this couldn’t be true. Roman Dmitry couldn’t be stronger. But he couldn’t deny what was happening right now. In every clash of swords, Roman Dmitry was pushing him back, proving he was stronger.

Everything Morales thought he knew about strength was falling apart. He had to accept the truth: he might actually lose this fight.

*Wham!* They crashed apart. Morales, using a sudden burst of aura, pushed Roman Dmitry back. He stepped back, breathing hard, but a wide, wild grin spread across his face.

“This is amazing!” he roared. “I haven’t had this much fun in years!”

This was what he lived for. To test his strength against the strongest. To fight a true warrior like Roman Dmitry, here at the Festival of Valhalla. This was the life he had chosen.

He pounded his fist on his scarred chest. Each scar was a mark of battles fought and enjoyed. His eyes burned with excitement.

“From now on, I forget everything else!” he shouted. “Morales will give you everything I have, Roman Dmitry! I will defeat you!”

A deep rumble vibrated from Morales’ chest. Magical energy, mana, seemed to boil around him. A horrifying change began. His bones cracked and shifted with sickening sounds. His already huge body grew even larger, muscles bulging. Hair sprouted from his skin, thick and coarse, spreading like a dark fur, hiding his tattoos completely. Morales roared in pain and transformation, his face twisting into something animalistic. When he looked up, his eyes were no longer human eyes. They were wild, fierce, like a bear’s. He was becoming the beast within, a descendant of the wild men.

The Empire’s best fighters were not just strong. They were skilled. Morales was number 12 because he was more than just brute force. He had mastered the wild men’s power: transformation.

He had trained for years to control this beast form, to become one with the beast.

“Grrrr.” The beast’s blood roared in his ears. His senses sharpened to an unbelievable degree. He could smell the sweat of the crowd, hear the wind whistling past his fur, see every tiny crack in the broken ground. His world became incredibly vivid and detailed. He dropped his heavy sword. It was too slow now.

Claws, long and sharp as knives, burst from his hands. He channeled his aura into them, making them glow with power. Each claw was like a deadly sword, and he had ten of them.

Tap. *Rumble!* When he pushed off the ground, it was like an earthquake. Morales, now a giant beast over three meters tall, charged at Roman Dmitry. With each swing of his clawed hands, he tore chunks out of the earth, leaving trails of destruction in his wake.

Just watching Morales charge was terrifying. He looked unstoppable, a force of nature. It seemed impossible that Roman Dmitry could survive. He looked like a mouse facing a lion.

But Roman Dmitry did not flinch. He stood his ground, facing the monstrous beast head-on. He would not back down.

*Wham! Rumble!* The fight exploded into a frenzy. It was beyond anything normal. Morales attacked with wild abandon, as if he knew Roman Dmitry would block. He didn’t even try to defend himself, just kept attacking, again and again. Roman Dmitry’s counterattacks were barely slowing him down.

The beast’s senses were incredibly sharp, maybe ten, twenty times stronger than before. He could almost read Roman Dmitry’s mind. Before Roman Dmitry even moved his finger to attack, Morales was already dodging. He could predict every move. If Roman Dmitry even started to swing his sword, Morales’ claws would be there to block it instantly.

*Wham!* A brutal blow landed. Blood splattered from Morales’ mouth. His face was twisted in a savage grimace, but his eyes shone with wild joy.

“Let’s finish this!” he growled, blood dripping from his lips. “Let’s see who is left standing!”

*Bang! Wham!* Morales unleashed a storm of attacks. He didn’t care if he lived or died. He only cared about victory. Or if he fell, to fall fighting. They were not enemies, but here, in Valhalla, only one warrior could stand at the end. To be a warrior of Valhalla meant to face death without fear, at any moment.

Roman Dmitry was the perfect opponent for this festival. He faced Morales’ attacks without hesitation, blow for blow. This was the true warrior’s duel Morales had always dreamed of.

Morales felt his life force draining away with every roar, every attack. His body was tearing itself apart from the inside. Every muscle screamed, every bone ached. He knew he was pushing himself beyond his limits, and even if he won, he would be broken. But he didn’t care. He had to win. However…

‘I will win,’ Morales thought fiercely. He was ready to die, but he would never accept losing.

Quickly, Morales gathered his aura. He felt like he was losing control, like Roman Dmitry was too strong. He used every bit of aura in his body to stop Roman Dmitry from pushing him back. A red glow surrounded Morales, burning brightly – his aura, the source of his power.

Ten powerful lights suddenly burst from his fingernails. The watching crowd gasped. This showed everyone that Morales was a truly strong warrior, ranked 12th in Valhalla. People called him a ‘berserk’ fighter because of his wild attacks. Even the top 10 warriors tried to avoid fighting him. He was known for being unpredictable and attacking without caring about defense. This made him a terrifying opponent.

So, people said that even Barbosa did not want to fight Morales.

Barbosa was famous as one of the ‘Twelve Strongest Swordsmen’ and a ‘6-Star’ warrior. But even Barbosa knew he would get hurt fighting Morales. To beat Morales, you *had* to be ready to take damage. That’s what people said about Morales. He was a true warrior of Valhalla, strong and respected.

Crack!

Once again, he shattered the ground.

He knew the opponent would retreat.

His bizarre movements would not be restricted by the terrain, but he intended to predict the opponent’s direction and explode his aura.

At that moment.

Twitch.

Morales’ eyes wavered.

Even before he could explode his aura.

A gleaming sword split his chest.

Morales was strong.

The beings he had faced so far.

He was a being of a different dimension from them, but there was a fact that the people of Valhalla had overlooked.

The rumors that had spread throughout the world.

The achievements that had shocked people were not the result of Roman Dmitry giving his all.

‘Morales. You are a true warrior.’

Valhalla.

The warrior’s country that people spoke of.

The Valhalla Roman Dmitry saw was not what he expected. He had heard rumors that Valhalla was very unfair to different races and only cared about power. But he was disappointed. He thought Valhalla would be a strong country to fight against the Chronos Empire, but it didn’t seem like it had the strength or honor to lead.

In the midst of that.

Morales proved the foundation of Valhalla.

How Valhalla was born, and in what way it had built its empire, his existence said it all.

His blood boiled.

Valhalla talked a lot about fighting and struggle. Roman Dmitry thought this was similar to a dangerous group he knew, called the ‘Demonic Cult.’ Both Valhalla and this group seemed to believe in a ‘survival of the strongest’ idea, where people had to fight to survive. This was something Roman Dmitry had seen in many places.

The confrontation with Morales was not about showing mercy.

If Valhalla was similar to the Demonic Cult, then from now on, it was time to prove what was right through force.

Roman Dmitry.

The swordsman of a weak country that people criticized.

He proved that he was not at all lacking as Barbosa’s opponent, but rather an existence that should be worried about defeat.

A battle of strength against strength.

He enjoyed the confrontation.

He wanted to witness his presence directly with his eyes, rather than some overwhelming thing that ordinary people could not confirm.

In that sense, Morales was an existence that truly made Roman Dmitry happy.

The wild attacks as he transformed into a wild man showed that the Salamander Continent had built its own world.

Squish.

The sword splitting his chest.

His skin was rough.

His skin, as hard as steel, was torn, but Morales pushed on with his attack without uttering a single groan.

“Kraaah!”

Wham!

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Even knowing that his defeat was imminent.

There was no fear of death to be seen.

Against Morales, who was burning his own presence, Roman Dmitry willingly mixed his attacks with him.

He cut his arm.

He blocked the attack.

He cut his leg.

He slammed the being who rushed to hug him straight into the ground.

Crack!

Blood splattered.

His face was crushed, and the ground was shattered.

The blood flowing from Morales had already become abundant, but Morales immediately raised his head and showed his blood-soaked face to the people.

Screams were heard from the surroundings.

They could not accept the fact that Morales, whom they believed in and followed, was being pushed back so unilaterally, but the scene before their eyes forced reality upon them.

Drip, drip.

Blood staining the floor.

Morales grinned.

Pain was familiar.

He knew he was in a desperate situation.

It was certain.

He would die today, in this place.

Morales changed back to his normal form and shouted, his face wild. “People of Valhalla! Remember this day! Roman Dmitry, from the Dmitry family, came here even though he knew Valhalla was trying to trick him! He is a true warrior! You all doubted him, but he bravely accepted our challenge! He is not afraid to face Valhalla, even before he fights Barbosa!”

It was desperate.

His voice, filled with malice, proved that Morales’ life was not long for this world.

“What a joyous thing this is. Valhalla has lost its roots as it leaps into an empire, and the country has become a great power, but it has a more petty heart than a small country. No longer are warriors pursuing strength, but an era where people who respond to political schemes seize power. Therefore, welcome the existence of Roman Dmitry. Enjoy his stage. Keep your eyes wide open so that no one can interfere with the confrontation between Barbosa and Roman Dmitry.”

The Valhalla Imperial Family.

Barbosa was their dog.

The Imperial Family would surely think of a plan for a perfect victory, and they would try to manipulate the situation as he had knelt in the confrontation with Barbosa.

Roman Dmitry, who arrived in Paulo.

The fact that he was not guided by the people and suffered from racial discrimination alone proved the petty mindset of the leaders.

“Cough.”

He vomited blood.

Morales picked up his sword again.

He raised his aura with a sword that had already been damaged and rushed towards Roman Dmitry like a shot.

He was already.

His insides were dead.

In the intense collision, his life showed a precarious appearance like a candle whose flame had melted away.

A touch-and-go situation.

In response to his appearance of exploding his life force and rushing straight in, Roman Dmitry showed ‘some’ of his power.

Flash.

Intense light.

No one saw the truth.

Even before they could recognize that something had been accomplished.

Roman Dmitry’s sword once again split Morales’ broad chest.

Squish.

Pain arose.

With the feeling that burning pain was spreading throughout his body, Morales smiled brightly as he looked at Roman Dmitry.

He had gained conviction from the attack just now. A strong conviction that Roman Dmitry could defeat Barbosa.

‘Barbosa. A messenger of death who will replace me will soon come for you.’

Morales collapsed as he was.

After that.

People, including Sanchez, were staring with wide eyes and expressions stained with shock.