The Heavenly Demon Can’t Live A Normal Life [EN]: Chapter 231

The happy shouts of the festival died away. Smiles vanished as if wiped clean. Eyes, once bright with excitement, now narrowed with a cold, hard look. The air, thick with the smell of roasting meat and sweet drinks, suddenly felt heavy with tension.

Dark red blood spread across the stone floor, like spilled wine.

It wasn’t just that someone had died that shocked them.

In Valhalla, a land known for its strong warriors, duels were common. Dying in a duel was normal, but the way Bartolo lost was surprising.

Bartolo was a ranked warrior in Valhalla.

He was a strong fighter. He knew Roman Dmitry was dangerous, so he watched Roman’s every move, waiting for the right moment to attack suddenly.

Bartolo had been careful. He watched Roman’s every move, waiting for the right moment to attack suddenly.

He thought he had the advantage.

People thought Roman Dmitry would be surprised and pushed back.

But.

He was beaten with one hit.

People could not even see the attack clearly. Bartolo stumbled, then fell.

It was shocking to see.

People had heard Roman defeated a strong knight in one hit. Now, they believed it was true. Their eyes were wide and shaking.

“Next.”

Roman Dmitry’s voice was calm.

As if it was nothing, Roman Dmitry looked away from Bartolo’s body.

Paulo and Marin watched.

They had different reasons for being there. Paulo wanted to show off his power. Now, this fight was to test Roman Dmitry, since he would be fighting Barbosa.

He didn’t need to win with a lot of force.

This fight showed that anyone who challenges Roman must be ready to die. This one fight showed how serious things were better than many words could.

If this was not Valhalla.

People might have given up already.

But the warriors of Valhalla wanted to fight, now that they knew Roman Dmitry was really strong.

“For Valhalla!”

A man stepped up.

Nobody knew him.

He knew he might die, but he wanted to be known, even for a moment, under the sword of someone strong.

“This time, I will fight you.”

People wanted to see if Roman Dmitry was really as strong as they heard.

The test for Roman Dmitry was just starting.

There were no judges.

There were no rules.

It was just a place to fight. When someone wanted to fight, people made space.

That was all.

Even without a signal, the challenger ran forward.

Tap tap!

The challenger threw a dagger first.

In Valhalla, warriors could use any means to win a duel.

If someone attacked as a group without agreeing to it first, that would be a problem. But using weapons like daggers was normal.

They would attack weak spots, bite ears, and even stab eyes. In Valhalla, where there was blood and death everywhere, staying alive was most important.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The daggers flew by.

The challenger threw the daggers, trying to hit Roman no matter where he moved. But Roman Dmitry didn’t move at all.

The daggers missed.

The challenger gritted his teeth.

He used his aura to make himself stronger and stabbed his sword at Roman’s heart.

Flash!

Squish!

His head spun into the air, his eyes wide with surprise.

Blood spurted out like a fountain. His body ran past Roman and fell to the floor.

Pat pat.

Blood fell from the sky.

Roman Dmitry didn’t try to avoid it.

On the battlefield, the Demonic Cult believed that accepting blood was the right thing to do.

“Next.”

“I am Gato of Valhalla.”

A man named Gato stepped forward.

He was a ranked warrior of Valhalla.

He was not much stronger than Bartolo, but he stared at Roman Dmitry, his face red with excitement.

Roman’s power was amazing. Gato thought it would be an honor to die while testing the skills of someone so strong.

Gato believed that his life would not be wasted if he died to verify Roman Dmitry’s skills.

Whoong.

Gato attacked first.

He used a flail (a ball with spikes on a chain). Gato used his strong muscles to swing the flail at Roman.

Crack!

The floor broke.

Gato’s power was amazing.

He used his aura to control the chain and block Roman’s movements.

It was a strange way to attack.

Most aura swordsmen used swords, but the warriors of Valhalla used aura in many different ways.

That was why they were strong.

They attacked in unusual ways to find weaknesses. The warriors of Valhalla became more passionate when their opponent was strong.

Some people in Paulo talked about giving up.

They were from Valhalla, but the people Roman faced now were the true warriors of Valhalla.

Rumble!

“Where do you think you’re going!”

Gato used his aura to change the direction of the flail from far away. He gritted his teeth, trying to hit Roman no matter what.

At that moment.

Tap tap tap.

The wind blew.

The chain that was surrounded by aura was cut. The flail fell to the floor.

Gato knew he was about to die.

If he didn’t give up now, Roman Dmitry’s sword would cut off his head. But Gato grabbed the short chain with his bare hands and swung it at Roman Dmitry.

“Die… Keuh.”

Swoosh.

A gleaming sword flashed.

Gato’s head flew off, his face full of madness.

He was excited that his opponent was so strong.

Thud.

A head rolled across the floor.

“Next.”

The duel continued.

Warriors, who were not afraid to die, kept challenging Roman Dmitry, but none of them could even make him try hard.

The bodies piled up.

At first, when only one or two had fallen, people still hoped that Roman Dmitry could be beaten. But as more than ten bodies piled up, their faces turned white.

Just now, it was the same.

This time, a warrior ranked 57th in Valhalla stepped forward, but after a few strikes, his chest was cut open.

Fuwak.

His body trembled.

The ranked warrior fell to his knees.

The onlookers couldn’t help but step back.

“Next.”

The word echoed.

People glanced at each other.

Those who truly believed in and followed Valhalla were willing to die, but not everyone in Valhalla was ready to throw their lives away like those before them.

The world they lived in was the same. Only a few kept Valhalla’s reputation as a nation of warriors.

Most, just like in Paulo, were terrified when faced with so much violence.

They looked away.

Afraid that Roman Dmitry might pick them out, people no longer dared to look him in the eye.

“The day is still young. Is there no one else who wants to challenge me?”

Early morning.

People had rushed in eagerly.

But now, barely after dawn, their eagerness was gone.

Bodies lay scattered on the ground.

Their deaths proved that just being brave was not enough to beat Roman Dmitry.

Roman Dmitry said,

“The festival is tomorrow. If anyone wants to challenge me, they can knock on the door anytime.”

He turned to leave.

And so, the people blankly watched Roman Dmitry disappear inside.

Marin was buzzing with excitement and fear.

The center of the talk was Roman Dmitry.

She had heard from Sanchez that he would accept challenges, but around midday, she heard shocking news.

“…It’s already over?”

“That’s right. People rushed there early in the morning, but no one could stand up to Roman Dmitry’s attacks. Heads were flying with every challenge, and after about a dozen deaths, no one dared to challenge him anymore. So, I figured it was a waste of time and came back.”

“Roman Dmitry was that strong? What were the Valhalla rankers doing?”

“Are you kidding me? Do you think the rankers didn’t step up? The first one to have his head chopped off in one hit was Bartolo, one of Valhalla’s rankers. Other rankers like Gatu also stepped up, but they couldn’t do anything against Roman Dmitry and were beaten. That’s what I saw.”

“This is insane.”

People were shocked.

The reputation of those who had lost to Roman Dmitry was not small.

If they said Bartolo died after a close fight, they could understand it, but the fact that he died in one hit was hard to accept.

They had ignored the rumors coming from the distant battlefield.

They made fun of the idea that Roman Dmitry had easily defeated Butler, Count Nicholas, and even Commander Gustavo, calling it battlefield rumors meant to create a hero.

But now, they couldn’t ignore it.

The reputation of rankers like Bartolo proved that there was real evidence behind Roman Dmitry’s actions.

“…To have the skill to beat Valhalla’s rankers at the age of 20. I wondered how the Cairo Kingdom defeated the Chronos Empire, but a once-in-a-lifetime hero has been born.”

They recognized Roman Dmitry.

However, they still couldn’t let Roman Dmitry step onto the festival stage as he was.

It was still not enough.

Barbosa.

Valhalla’s top ranker.

Even if they believed the rumors, he was not a good match for Barbosa.

“I wish the top rankers would step up. We can’t let Roman Dmitry stand on the festival stage like this.”

“Maybe Morales will step up? His student Sanchez spread the rumors about Roman Dmitry, and Barbosa’s opponent was supposed to be Morales anyway. He’s strong enough to beat Roman Dmitry. And he’s also a good warrior to represent Valhalla.”

“That’s right. No matter how skilled Roman Dmitry is, Morales has a better chance of winning.”

People agreed.

Morales.

They hoped he would step up.

Even though he wasn’t one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent, Morales was a monster known by all the warriors of Valhalla.

They were sure he would win.

They believed in their nation’s warrior without a doubt.

Hwareuk.

Hwareureuk.

The light flickered.

In the red light that lit up the dark space, a giant man carefully wiped his sword with a dry cloth.

“Sanchez, do you know why I want to fight Barbosa?”

The man was Morales.

Sanchez answered with certainty.

“Because of a past fight.”

“You are also right. The problem between Barbosa and me started with a tiring fight. But unlike what people say, the real reason for the fight is not because I feel inferior to Barbosa. Barbosa… one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent, who Valhalla is so proud of, is not as honorable as people think.”

Morales remembered his past with Barbosa.

When they first fought, Barbosa beat Morales using unfair tricks.

It was from that moment on.

Morales hated the name Barbosa.

“I hate Barbosa. I don’t like how he gets cheered on and acts like Valhalla has blessed him. That’s why I wanted to fight him. I can’t stand being near Barbosa. I have trained hard with my sword, wanting to beat Barbosa, who is just a puppet for bad leaders who are ruining Valhalla’s traditions. But Roman Dmitry stole my place. Either they are ignoring me, or the leaders are trying to protect Barbosa with a dirty plan. What I know for sure is that the festival stage is my place.”

“You are absolutely right.”

Sanchez didn’t expect this.

Barbosa and Morales.

He didn’t know that their fight had a special reason, not just a rivalry that had been going on since they were young.

Morales raised his sword.

The greatsword, perfect for his large body, gave off a powerful feeling.

“Sanchez, from now on, gather the people of Valhalla, so everyone can watch my fight with Roman Dmitry. I will prove to the Valhalla leaders that I am the right opponent for Barbosa. If I beat Roman Dmitry, then Barbosa will have to face me.”

If he lost.

That would be his limit.

Morales’ muscles, covered in tattoos, moved as he stepped out into the sunlight.

The monster of Valhalla.

A monster stronger than anyone he had fought before finally moved his large body.