The Heavenly Demon Can’t Live A Normal Life [EN]: Chapter 369

The air became ice. Roman Dmitry’s words hung in the silence, heavy and bold. He had just said it was ‘fine’ for all of Valhalla’s warriors to attack him at once. It was an insult, a slap to their pride. But despite the burning anger, no one moved. The warriors who had been eager to fight him just yesterday now looked at each other, unsure, their bravado gone.

When Roman Dmitry had shown mercy to Valderas, a secret relief had spread through the crowd. If even *Roman Dmitry* could show mercy, maybe challenging him wasn’t a guaranteed death sentence after all. They told themselves they were brave warriors of Valhalla, ready to die for their empire. But deep down, Valderas’ survival had calmed the icy grip of fear in their chests.

Now, everything was different. Dmitry had made it clear: challenge meant death. A cold dread settled over them. How many warriors would fall before Roman Dmitry? A hundred? A thousand? Ten thousand? No one could be sure they could even *win*, no matter the cost.

Just then, a voice cut through the silence. ‘We will challenge him.’

A path opened in the crowd as people stepped back. Into the space walked hundreds of men, unlike any others in Valhalla. They were a mix of faces and builds, with wild, long hair and beards. Many had bare chests covered in swirling tattoos, and they carried strange weapons – axes, spears, and clubs unlike the usual swords.

These were the minority tribes, the heart of Valhalla. They were the people from the southern jungles where Valhalla had begun. Even as the empire grew grand and civilized, these tribes stayed true to their old ways, guarding the ancient traditions of Valhalla. Their very presence was a living history of the empire.

The leader of the tribes stepped forward. His name was Ger, from the Black Wolf tribe. He glared at the hesitant crowd. ‘Soft city people!’ he spat. ‘When did Valhalla become a place of cowards? Valhalla was built on facing the impossible! Roman Dmitry may be a great warrior, but he will not break the spirit of Valhalla!’

The air crackled with tension as hundreds of tribal warriors moved to surround Roman Dmitry. Ger spun his hand axes, his eyes locked on Dmitry. ‘Roman Dmitry,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘We thank you for what you did for Valhalla. But you must understand, we have to do this. You are too strong. And that is why we must stop you, even if it costs us our lives.’

Then, a strange cracking sound echoed through the arena. It started with Ger. His bones seemed to shift and grow under his skin. His body swelled, muscles bulging, and thick, dark fur burst from his skin. Around him, the other warriors changed too, each in their own way. These were not just wild men; these tribes held strange powers. Some could turn into beasts, others breathed fire, some could vanish into shadows. The minority tribes of Valhalla were known for their wild and terrifying abilities.

They were ready to die, to be the spark that would reignite Valhalla’s courage.

Growls and snarls filled the air as the transformed warriors closed in. It was a desperate moment. Roman Dmitry, facing overwhelming odds, calmly drew his sword. He was ready to fight.

But just as everyone braced for the clash, a shout boomed across the arena. The Valhalla Emperor, who had been watching from above, suddenly lowered the flag he held high. ‘Stop!’ he roared. ‘The warrior’s trial is finished!’

The Emperor felt a deep sadness. He longed to be down there, sword in hand, fighting alongside the warriors. He was a warrior of Valhalla first, and an Emperor second. It felt wrong to watch from the sidelines. It was a cruel twist of fate. He had become Emperor because of his warrior spirit, but now, being Emperor meant he could no longer act like a warrior. If he fought Roman Dmitry and died… chaos would follow. Valhalla was still fragile after overthrowing the tyrant. It needed a strong leader, not a dead hero. He forced down his own warrior’s pride. Sanchez was right. He couldn’t let any more warriors die needlessly.

The Emperor spoke loudly, his voice echoing across the arena. ‘Roman Dmitry is right!’ he declared. ‘Rushing to certain death is not bravery, it is foolishness. Times have changed. We are still warriors of Valhalla, but true pride is not about pointless sacrifice. Roman Dmitry has helped Valhalla. Why would we risk so many lives to fight him? Even if we somehow defeated him, what would be left of Valhalla if thousands died? Is that truly the warrior’s way?’

He hated the words he had to say. He, who had always spoken of Valhalla’s glorious battles, now had to argue for caution. It was painful, but it was necessary. It was the right thing for Valhalla.

‘Valhalla is wounded,’ the Emperor continued, his voice filled with urgency. ‘We have lost too many in the civil war, even those we fought were Valhallan. We are at a turning point. Our future depends on how we heal, and more bloodshed against Roman Dmitry will only bring more pain. Think carefully. As citizens of Valhalla, what is truly the wise thing to do?’

Ger, his face still fierce, argued back, ‘But we cannot back down! A warrior’s honor is in the fight, not just winning!’

The Emperor turned to Ger, his gaze firm. ‘What is wrong with recognizing true strength? Remember the great warrior Carlos? He passed the trial. He fought for a week, even through the Dark Elf gate, and entered the Tomb of the South. After six days, no one challenged him anymore. It wasn’t cowardice, it was respect for his power. They knew he had proven himself, and more fighting was pointless.’

A legend was born that day, a common man who achieved glory beyond emperors.

‘This is the same situation. Our ancestors took six days to see Carlos’s worth. We have seen Roman Dmitry’s in one. Ger, even if all your tribes die here, can you truly say we will defeat him?’

“……Tch.”

Ger clicked his tongue, looking away. He knew the Emperor was right, even if he hated to admit it. Losing so many warriors, especially the tribes, would cripple Valhalla. Their strength, their very name, would be weakened. Even Ger finally stepped back.

The Emperor raised his voice again, clear and strong. ‘By the power of the Valhalla Emperor, I declare it! Roman Dmitry has proven himself worthy! The warrior’s trial is over! Open the path for this great warrior!’

Now, only one gate remained. The final test: the trial of the Dark Elves. The crowd held its breath, every eye fixed on the entrance to the Tomb of the South. The Dark Elves, guardians of this final challenge, would appear soon. *Could he pass?* The question hung in the air, unspoken but heavy in everyone’s minds. This last trial was known as the ‘Trial of Mirrors.’ The Dark Elves guarded creatures from beyond the mortal world, and one of the most dangerous was the Doppelgänger. It was said to be the most mysterious being alive, able to perfectly copy anyone it faced. Against a weakling, it was weak. Against a swordsman, it fought like a swordsman. Against someone like Roman Dmitry… no one knew what to expect.

The air in Valhalla was thick with tension. Everyone knew Roman Dmitry was strong, but strength alone might not be enough to pass this final test.

Many brave warriors in Valhalla had tried this trial before, and failed. Even Carlos, known for his incredible strength, had struggled greatly. Now, it was Roman Dmitry’s turn. He faced a different kind of challenge – a trial against himself. The people of Valhalla watched, their faces filled with doubt. Even though they knew Roman Dmitry was powerful, they weren’t sure if he could succeed.

The trial was designed to test a warrior’s true self. They knew that the magic of this place would create a doppelganger – a perfect copy of Roman Dmitry. This copy would be just as strong, just as skilled as the real Roman Dmitry.

Suddenly, a sound broke the silence. *Creak*. It was the sound of something opening, slowly and heavily. From beyond a curtain of thick, dark trees that looked like a jungle, a strange feeling washed over the watching crowd.

Figures emerged from the darkness. They were elves, but not like any elves the people of Valhalla had seen before. These were dark elves, with skin like polished obsidian and eyes that seemed to absorb the light. Their faces were like stone, showing no emotion as they met the gazes of the crowd. With steady, silent steps, they walked towards the raised platform that everyone knew was the trial stage.

The dark elves were not alone. They dragged heavy iron chains that *clanged* on the ground. At the end of the chains was something terrifying. It was shapeless, like black smoke, twisting and turning as if trying to escape the chains that held it tight.

It was a rare sight. Seeing dark elves in person was a very rare experience.

Abruptly, they stopped walking.

The dark elves stared at the challenger, intending to fulfill their role as gatekeepers.

But then…

“……?!”

In that instant, their eyes widened.

Cracks appeared on their cold, expressionless faces, as if they had encountered something they shouldn’t have.

They knelt suddenly. Before the bewildered people could understand what was happening, the dark elves raised their voices, speaking to Roman Dmitry.

“Savior of the World Tree. The dark elf clan welcomes you, savior.”

It was an unexpected turn of events. A savior, no less.

While the people of Valhalla were bewildered, Roman Dmitry understood quickly.

‘It must be because of the World Tree,’ he thought. He remembered Arcadia, a land far from Valhalla. There, he had faced a terrible Fire Demon and, in doing so, had saved the frozen World Tree from destruction. The elves of Arcadia had been deeply grateful. They called him “savior of the World Tree” and promised to grant him any wish he had for their people. It seemed the dark elves, though different from the elves of Arcadia, also felt the power of the World Tree and recognized him because of it.

Roman Dmitry. The World Tree had blessed him.

The dark elves’ proud demeanor crumbled instantly at the overwhelming emotion they felt just by facing him.

“Savior,” the dark elf continued, his voice filled with respect. “We are not worthy to test you. If you wish to pass, go through us and enter the Tomb of the South. We will not stop you. No one will dare to stop the savior.”

It was an unexpected development. The dark elves, who were thought to be the final gate, instead volunteered to protect Roman Dmitry.

People were bewildered. What on earth was going on?

However, Roman Dmitry refused their offer. He had a reason.

*‘This doppelganger,’* he thought, *‘it absorbs power. Can it truly copy my strength? Can it become exactly like me? And if it does, can I defeat it?’* He was filled with questions. Winning or losing didn’t matter as much as finding the answers. He couldn’t just skip this final test. He needed to know.

“Dark elves. If you truly consider me the savior, proceed with the trial as planned.”

The savior’s command. The dark elves could not refuse.

The one who appeared to be their leader rose and released the iron chains he had been firmly holding.

“Please, be careful.”

Darkness flowed out from the chains, spreading across the ground like spilled ink. The shapeless entity, now free, moved around Roman Dmitry, seeming to drink in the magical energy in the air. It pulsed and swelled, then settled back in the center, beginning to breathe heavily. The smoky form started to change. It became thicker, like dark liquid being poured out, swirling and bubbling. *Gurgle. Gurgle, gurgle.* It was a strange and unsettling sight. Everyone watching held their breath. Slowly, the liquid began to take shape, like clay being molded by unseen hands. It started to look like Roman Dmitry.

Shape transformation. It was the doppelganger’s ability. If the transformation was completed perfectly, that entity would unleash Roman Dmitry’s power.

However, the doppelganger suddenly convulsed violently.

In a state of near completion, it strangely broke apart like clay again, writhing madly. Even the dark elves couldn’t hide their bewildered emotions. They had conducted numerous trials using doppelgangers according to their covenant, but never once had they shown such a reaction. It was an incomprehensible situation.

Limbs grew again. It created a new face, and a long, full beard grew, something that could not be found on Roman Dmitry.

“Wh-what is that……”

“What on earth is happening?”

It was an old man. A strong build with a long, full beard. Despite his considerable age, he felt very powerful.

People could not recognize who that entity was, but Roman Dmitry knew at once.

*‘It’s… me? But older… from my past life,’* he realized. He recognized the face, the powerful build, the long, full beard. It was Baek Jung-hyuk, a name from a life he had lived before, a life where he was known as the Heavenly Demon – a legendary warrior of immense power. The doppelganger wasn’t just copying his looks. It was reaching deeper, into his very soul, and pulling out the essence of who he truly was at his core. Roman Dmitry might appear to be the young master of the Dmitry family in this life, but his true foundation, his deepest power, came from that past life as Baek Jung-hyuk. The doppelganger was now trying to become that powerful figure, the Heavenly Demon reborn.

It was then.

Its mouth gaped strangely. The doppelganger screamed. It clutched its head with both hands, kneeling down, and writhed madly as if unable to bear the pain.

This too was a sight the dark elves were seeing for the first time.

No, to be precise, they had heard that there was a similar reaction in the legends passed down through generations.

Soon after, the doppelganger shattered.

Torn to shreds, what had been a human body turned into a dark mass of liquid, splattering in all directions. At that sight, the dark elves, with blank expressions, alternately looked at Roman Dmitry and the pieces of what was once the doppelganger’s body.