The Heavenly Demon Can’t Live A Normal Life [EN]: Chapter 239

Early in the morning in the town of Marin, merchants were already setting up their stalls. But instead of shouting about their goods, they spoke quietly to the first customers.

“Don’t get your hopes up for the festival today,” one merchant whispered.

A customer frowned. “What do you mean? I’ve been waiting for this duel! Why say that?”

The customer’s eyes opened wide. Everyone was talking about the fight between Roman Dmitry and Barbosa. After Roman Dmitry beat Morales, people were very excited. They argued all night about who would win. If Barbosa won, Valhalla’s pride would be safe. But if Roman Dmitry won, it would be a huge event for the whole continent.

Roman Dmitry was still young, barely twenty years old. Usually, young people are called geniuses just for showing a little bit of magic. But Roman Dmitry was different. People thought he could become one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent, changing the future of the world. It didn’t matter that he was from a small country. Just by existing, Roman Dmitry was already making a big impact.

So why were the merchants saying not to expect much from this important fight?

The merchant leaned closer and whispered, “I heard from my friend’s servant… there was trouble at Roman Dmitry’s rooms after the festival last night. Someone used poison. They didn’t find who did it, and they tried to keep it quiet. But I heard Roman Dmitry is still going to fight, even though he’s been poisoned. So, don’t expect a great fight. He might not even win if he was healthy. How can he beat Barbosa now?”

“Poisoned?!” The customer’s voice rose. “Who would do such a thing?”

He was angry. Poisoning someone was shameful, especially at the festival. It would ruin Valhalla’s good name. Even if Roman Dmitry was from another country, poisoning a guest was wrong.

The rumor spread quickly. At first, it was just the facts: Roman Dmitry was poisoned. But as the sun rose, the story changed. People started saying:

“Roman Dmitry is poisoned and can barely stand! But he’s still going to fight to keep his warrior’s honor, even if he dies! Valhalla should be ashamed! They poisoned their guest, and Barbosa hasn’t said anything! Maybe Barbosa is scared of Roman Dmitry after the Morales fight and did this himself! People say Barbosa isn’t very honest.”

The rumors flew around Marin like the wind. Soon, everyone in town was talking about Roman Dmitry, the brave warrior who respected Valhalla’s honor. Any bad feelings people had before were gone. After his fight with Morales, people already liked Roman Dmitry. Now, seeing how much he wanted to fight even when poisoned, they loved him.

The merchants who started the rumors, the travelers who gossiped, even the people who just listened and nodded – they were all part of Hao Mun’s plan. Roman Dmitry’s spy network wasn’t just in Dmitry anymore. It had spread everywhere in the Empire, even to the common people.

It was perfect. They used things that happened before, some real facts to make the rumors sound true, and just a little bit of extra story.

People rushed to the festival. If Roman Dmitry, this honorable warrior, fell because of the poison, they would be furious at whoever was behind it.

The people of Valhalla were not always smart or open-minded, but they loved a good story and admired courage. That was what Valhalla was all about.

The festival was about to begin. Marquis Belphir frowned, hearing about the rumors spreading everywhere.

‘Someone is spreading these rumors on purpose,’ he thought. ‘It must be the conservatives.’

He didn’t think Roman Dmitry was behind it. Valhalla was too far away for Dmitry to control. Only the conservatives would want to cause trouble here. Besides, the rumors praised Roman Dmitry and made Barbosa look bad, like a villain. This seemed like an attack on the progressives, the group Barbosa belonged to.

Also, just before the festival, some nobles who were conservatives spoke to the Emperor.

“Your Majesty,” said one noble, “these rumors are worrying. People are talking about poison. We need to find out the truth, even if we have to stop the festival. The Valhalla Festival is important. We can’t let bad rumors ruin it.”

“Yes, that’s right!” agreed Count Gomes, the leader of the conservatives.

The Emperor of Valhalla looked at Marquis Belphir, his face showing he was bored. “Marquis Belphir, what do you think?”

Belphir felt a sudden, cold anger from the Emperor. The Emperor loved entertainment and was really looking forward to the duel. If rumors ruined it, someone would be in serious trouble.

The fight between Barbosa and Roman Dmitry was important to the progressives. Everyone knew about their plans with Chronos, but not everyone was involved in everything.

Marquis Belphir spoke calmly. “Your Majesty, rumors are just rumors. Barbosa is Valhalla’s warrior, not Roman Dmitry. Let’s watch Barbosa. He will beat Roman Dmitry easily. He doesn’t need poison to win.”

“If you say so,” the Emperor replied. “I hope it’s a good show.” He leaned back in his throne.

The Emperor knew about the poison rumors, but he didn’t care enough to stop the duel. He just wanted to see the fight, truth or no truth.

Just then –

*Thump-thump-*

The sound of drums filled the air. It was the signal for the festival to start.

*Thump, thump-*

The powerful drumbeats echoed. Marquis Belphir looked towards the stage and tightened his fist.

‘Barbosa,’ he thought, ‘you have to win to make these rumors disappear. Show everyone in Valhalla why you are one of the Twelve Swords of the Continent.’

He believed Barbosa would win.

Right then, the fighters walked onto the stage.

Barbosa and Roman Dmitry stood facing each other.

Barbosa looked Roman Dmitry up and down and smirked. “Are you feeling alright? That poison takes a while to work, you know.”

He laughed quietly, so only Roman Dmitry could hear. He wanted to make fun of his opponent without the crowd knowing.

Poison. It was a cowardly trick. But Barbosa didn’t care about honor. He wasn’t like the other warriors from Valhalla. They talked about rewards in the afterlife, but Barbosa wanted to enjoy life now.

He thought he was right. Morales, who cared so much about honor, died for nothing. Barbosa survived and was now Valhalla’s champion.

Winning is everything. In this changing world, Barbosa was the one who understood how things really worked.

But then, Roman Dmitry surprised him. He was completely calm. Even if the poison was hurting him, he didn’t show it. He looked straight at Barbosa and said something strange.

“When I first came to this world, I always wondered about the Twelve Swords of the Continent. People said they were the strongest. I wanted to know how strong they really were, and how long it would take me to beat them. A lot has happened since then. I came to Valhalla because I knew it was time.”

He wasn’t talking to Barbosa. He was making a statement.

Roman Dmitry stared at Barbosa and pulled out his sword.

“Let me tell you something,” Roman Dmitry said. “That poison you’re expecting? It won’t work.”

This fight was a test. He needed to show everyone that Roman Dmitry was important, even if he was from a small country. He also needed to prove it to himself.

Barbosa was a good example to test himself against before facing even stronger enemies later. If Roman Dmitry struggled even a little against Barbosa, he could never win a war against the Empire.

Chronos. Valhalla. The world was like a huge ocean, with powerful countries that one person alone couldn’t defeat.

To fight them, Roman Dmitry had to be incredibly strong, stronger than anyone expected. Only then could Dmitry stand up to the Empire, like a giant wall of iron, in the war to come.

Barbosa’s face turned hard. He could feel something different about Roman Dmitry now. Something dangerous.

Roman Dmitry spoke again.

Those words hung in the air. “From this moment on, I shall exert my full power. If you can withstand all nine of my attacks, then I will concede that the walls of Valhalla are indeed high.”

That was the moment everyone had been waiting for.

Roman Dmitry charged towards Barbarossa.

The sound of metal crashing against metal exploded in the arena. He was fast.

Roman Dmitry instantly closed the distance, wielding a sword swirling with aura.

Roman Dmitry moved like lightning. In a stance that seemed to appear from nowhere, his sword struck with incredible power!

The force of the blow shook the ground. A deep rumble echoed around them!

A fierce clash erupted.

Barbarossa, seemingly unfazed, received the attack and, in turn, detonated his aura, aiming for Roman Dmitry’s weak point.

The series of actions was natural and swift.

Although he resorted to dirty tricks to ensure a certain victory, Barbarossa proved in that single exchange that he was not a mere figurehead.

The Heavenly Demon Sword Style had no fixed form.

Roman Dmitry suppressed the opponent’s attack with brute force, and a hint of bewilderment flickered across Barbarossa’s face.

It was unexpected.

The opponent showed no sign of backing down, as if intending to lead the attack, and his relentless assault made it seem as though he considered himself the stronger one.

Barbarossa’s jaw tightened. *This boy dares to challenge me like this?* he thought, his pride stung.

The wind parted.

Barbarossa tried to make Roman Dmitry move. His sword, moving like a snake, aimed for Roman Dmitry’s neck.

However.

Roman Dmitry did not retreat.

He avoided Barbarossa’s attack with only the movement of his upper body, and Barbarossa, twisting his sword, relentlessly pursued Roman Dmitry’s movements.

His swordsmanship was tenacious.

Attacking the blind spot the moment one thought they had blocked, and carving up the opponent’s flesh, was the swordsmanship that currently defined Barbarossa.

Barbarossa was thrown back.

Swept up in the aftermath of the aura, he failed to achieve his intended goal.

“That damn bastard.”

A situation contrary to his intentions.

Barbarossa rearranged his formation.

This confrontation.

Even an equal match was shameful.

It was possible to deceive the foolish masses, but figures like Marquis Belphegor knew that he had used poison.

What would they think watching the current situation?

The fact that he couldn’t overwhelm his opponent even with poison meant that his value would inevitably decline.

An unacceptable outcome.

Barbarossa drew up his mana.

From now on, he intended to push the opponent back.

A dark red aura exploded around Barbarossa, like flames licking at the air.

This time, he charged first, cutting off Roman Dmitry’s space and pressing down on the opponent head-on.

At that moment.

Successive attacks.

Cracks appeared on Barbarossa’s face.

He was being pushed back.

Despite clearly drawing up a considerable amount of aura, he received an unbearable shock in the clash with Roman Dmitry. It was unbelievable.

The opponent was only in his mid-twenties, and it was only natural that he should win in a battle of strength against strength.

Moreover, that attack just now.

Even Morales, at his full power, would have found it difficult to withstand, yet a quick glance at Roman Dmitry’s face revealed not the slightest change.

It was from that moment on.

A sense of foreboding arose.

The fact that the poison hadn’t worked as usual.

The sight of Roman Dmitry pushing him back.

In a situation where the possibility of defeat was emerging, Barbarossa exploded with his full power.

Barbarossa’s eyes went wide with fury. He took a deep breath, and the air around him seemed to crackle with energy. Silence fell over the arena. Then, with a roar, he unleashed his power.

“Die!”

Light erupted from Barbarossa’s sword, so bright it made everyone squint. The air itself seemed to vibrate with power.

Overwhelming power.

People felt as if they would go blind.

The aura of a 6-star was unleashed to its limit, and a power that ordinary people could not dare to even look at swirled around.

It was a different pattern from his usual methods. If he hadn’t lost his composure.

He would have worn down the opponent’s stamina with his unique, serpentine attacks, and surely guided the situation to his advantage.

However.

It didn’t matter much.

This time, he was certain that it was an attack that Roman Dmitry could not possibly block.

The world turned upside down.

The ground collapsed, and it was impossible to properly see the situation before one’s eyes.

A cloud of dust rose.

The crowd gasped. Barbarossa’s face showed he was starting to panic.

When the series of events calmed down a little, the scene that people saw was Barbarossa spitting out blood.

“Cough.”

He spat out blood.

His face was stained with astonishment.

It was absurd.

A 6-star aura.

To be defeated in a battle of strength against strength, having drawn up his full power.

The problem was that the opponent had only attacked six times so far.

Roman Dmitry had clearly warned that he would attack nine times, and there were still three more attacks remaining.

He staggered backward.

He wanted to deny reality.

But when he looked ahead.

Breaking through the cloud of dust, Roman Dmitry was charging towards him.

The absolute masters of the Murim.

Called the final form of the Heavenly Demon Sword Style the realm of the heavens.

In the first strike of entering that realm, Barbarossa burned his life force to the limit, drawing up his aura to its extreme to counter Roman Dmitry’s attack.

It had already surpassed the realm of common sense.

Somehow withstanding the nine attacks was the only hope, but his mind was blown away as the aura collided.

Annihilation.

Barbarossa’s existence faded away.

The parts that touched the aura burned away in flames, and until the moment he faded away, he could not take his eyes off Roman Dmitry with a look that denied reality.

If he had known that Roman Dmitry was this powerful.

He would never have committed the foolish act of pushing for a confrontation with him.

Dust scattered.

That was the end.

A clear result.

In a situation where the victor was decided, none of the spectators watching the stage could shout for joy.

No.

They couldn’t.