At a glance, Yalta's swordsmanship seemed unstructured, but it was built upon a personal set of rules forged through countless real battles.
From a young age, he had fought for his life amidst the wars between tribes. With each scar that accumulated on his body, his strength grew.
By the time his whole body was covered with the marks of battle, he no longer had any rivals.
Among the barbarian tribes on the frontier, the name Yalta became synonymous with invincibility.
That reputation spread even to the continent, and the Emperor, promising wealth and honor, demanded his submission. Yalta gladly sought refuge under the Empire and stepped into a larger world.
Yalta was confident.
There was no one who had fought more than him. The sword is something that grows stronger through life-and-death combat, not something you improve at by being taught.
The swordsmanship taught by the Empire? All of it was fake.
The enemy that had appeared now was no different—just another typical knight of the continent.
Yalta grinned slyly.
"So predictable. Still, this might be mildly entertaining."
He had been bored lately, with no worthy opponents around.
Yalta wasn't the type to find joy in plucking weeds. To him, Yoheim's knights were no more than plants that could be pulled out at any time.
But now, a beast with teeth and claws had finally appeared.
Although not a predator who had spent his life fighting to the death like Yalta, at least this one was a well-trained hunting dog.
"Hurrah!"
Yalta shouted his war cry and swung his sword. A fan-shaped burst of sword aura exploded forth.
"So Yoheim had a decent mutt hiding after all!"
And the one who stepped up to face him—was Jose, disguised as Hopper.
Jose twisted his face.
"What did you say?"
He was a dog-lover who raised dogs in his territory. He didn't particularly meddle in what his dogs ate, but to have an enemy he needed to kill anyway start throwing insults—that lit a fire in his chest.
Jose swung his sword as he shouted,
"Dogs are our friends!"
Now Yalta was the one caught off guard.
He had only meant it metaphorically—but he too loved dogs. For the barbarians who lived by hunting, dogs were companions as valuable as humans.
"T-That's not what I meant!"
"What did you mean, then?!"
"You were like a dog. That's why I said I'd devour you!"
Yalta wasn't exactly good with words.
Jose grew even more furious.
"So you did mean it! Die, you son of a cow!"
"Wait. Aren't cows our friends, too?"
"Who said I was literally going to kill a real cow?! I used it as a metaphor because you're an ignorant oaf!"
"I-I meant it that way too!"
"What are you even talking about, you dumb savage!"
Yalta flared up. When he first came to the Empire, there had been those who laughed at him and called him a savage. He'd cracked the skulls of every last one of them.
"You! Are you looking down on me because I'm a barbarian?"
This time, Jose hesitated.
Discriminating between dogs and cows was one thing—but racial prejudice? That was serious.
If he wasn't careful, the carefully built identity of "Hopper" might be seen not as a chivalrous warrior but as a racist bigot.
Jose quickly explained,
"No, it's not because you're a barbarian. It's just—you're really ignorant…"
Yalta cut him off.
"Listen well. There is no such thing as absolute cultural superiority. Every group's culture develops in its own way according to its natural, geographical, and environmental background. It's not about who is better or more correct.
That mindset of thinking your way is always superior can lead to the dangerous belief in racial hierarchies. So, unless it violates the universal values of humanity, you should respect other cultures instead of mocking them."
"Uh…"
Jose stood blankly for a moment. Yalta's sudden logical speech struck him like an unexpected blow.
Jose tried to regain his edge and shouted, swinging his sword again.
"S-Shut up!"
"Hmph, so now that you've lost in argument, you're resorting to brute force?"
Yalta grinned.
"So, who's the real ignorant one now?"
Back in the past, he would've killed anyone who belittled him.
That's when Graham had approached him.
He told Yalta that if he killed everyone who insulted him, he'd soon be alone—and taught him something to recite instead.
Jose, grateful for Graham's help, shouted again.
"Who are you calling a barbarian?!"
Jose's face flushed. His overly high-performance slime mask even replicated the redness in his face, and that made Yalta laugh even louder.
Jose felt a wave of embarrassment.
"Shut up, damn it!"
Jose dashed in, looking for an opening.
Yalta's swordsmanship was wild, which made it difficult to counter. But in exchange, it had many gaps.
It was just unfamiliar, not impossible to read. It lacked precision.
Jose deflected the heavy downward strike with a slanted parry, and immediately aimed for his opponent's wrist.
Due to his size, Jose was often mistaken for a brute who relied on strength—but he was actually a knight who fought with great technical skill.
Blood burst from Yalta's hand.
Jose was sure he had seized the advantage.
But then, something unbelievable happened.
"Huh?"
He hadn't cut the wrist.
Yalta had enveloped his hand in mana and gripped Jose's sword blade directly.
Blood was pouring down, but Yalta showed no sign of caring.
"What are you doing?"
"Ugh…"
Jose tried to pull back, but couldn't. His hand trembled.
Yalta grinned.
"You continent folk really love your little tricks."
Jose snapped back immediately.
"'Continent folk'? That's a discriminatory term. What was it you said earlier?"
"Huh?"
Yalta paused in thought—then kicked Jose in the stomach.
"Screw it. Whatever, continent bastard!"
"Guh!"
"If you don't like it, then beat me!"
Jose staggered back but kept hold of his sword. Yalta finally let go of the blade.
No matter how strong you were, gripping the blade instead of the hilt came with consequences. Given Yalta's own leg strength, had he kept holding the blade, his fingers might've been severed.
Jose stepped back, regained his stance, and muttered to himself.
"True debate really is impossible after all…"
As expected, he was one of the Ten Strongest.
But not someone he couldn't challenge.
Yalta too seemed to realize that Jose wasn't an easy opponent, for he dropped his smile and raised his sword seriously.
Their mana methods clashed, and sparks flew along the boundary between them.
Jose suddenly recalled the seas of Bursen and smiled faintly.
"The Ten Strongest…"
There was once a boy who swung his sword every day, staring at the sea.
He dreamed of one day joining the Ten Strongest, and going beyond—even becoming the greatest knight like Fiore Briol.
There was still a long road ahead, but he felt that he had nearly reached that first goal.
"I'm no longer afraid of the Ten Strongest."
As he said, Yalta was strong.
But he wasn't frightening.
Jose could feel confidence rising from the depths of his heart.
Before coming to Yoheim, he had fought a near-death duel on a coastal cliff against the third prince of Briol.
Through that, Jose had gained what he sought.
He met the genius Yuri Briol, saw the potential he held, and took a step forward.
Furthermore, the two swordsmen had shared their visions, and glimpsed a new realm that neither had realized on their own.
Since that day, Jose had become fully aware—he now stood at a level equal to the mightiest on the continent.
It was time to prove it with his sword.
"Yalta."
"What is it?"
"You don't deserve a place among the Ten Strongest."
"What?"
"I don't feel it."
"Feel what?"
Jose drew a breath, and then raised his sword straight up.
And then, he unleashed sword aura that blazed like fire.
"Origin."
Then, he stomped the ground with force.
Kwaang.
Beneath his feet, web-shaped strands of mana spread out in all directions. They anchored Jose's body firmly to the ground.
In that moment, Jose resembled a great tree rooted deep into the earth.
He followed by pointing his sword at Yalta, as if aiming a cannon.
From its tip, mana ignited.
"Block this, if you can."
A beam of light shot forth like a line toward Yalta. The hyper-compressed mana arrow advanced in a straight line toward a single point, erasing everything it collided with along the way.
It was a sharp blade that nothing could block.
Jose's sword aura crossed space and converged on Yalta's chest.
Yalta's eyes widened.
This was not an attack he could simply shrug off.
Too fast to dodge, too strong to block. He had to react somehow, but in that instant, Yalta missed the timing.
And so, he just stood there, staring blankly.
Just before Jose's attack struck his chest—
Kaang!
Someone stepped in from the side.
"Yalta. Get it together."
"Sir Graham?"
Graham had deflected Jose's attack and was now rubbing his elbow. The impact was severe—it would be unusable for a while.
"Why were you just standing there, Yalta?"
"Well…"
Yalta fought by instinct.
But his instincts hadn't responded to the incoming attack just now.
In other words, there had been no warning signals. That's why he stood frozen.
Having vaguely realized what that meant, Yalta was furious.
"I merely let my guard down, Sir Graham."
So said Yalta, his face deeply twisted in frustration.
He no longer kept up any pretense of ease. He gripped his sword tightly and swelled his muscles. Mana pulsed violently, kicking up dust around him.
"I really will kill him."
Yalta's aura had changed.
Watching him, Jose swallowed his disappointment and took a step back. He hadn't expected Graham to intervene so suddenly.
"Well, of course it wouldn't be that easy."
It looked like things were about to get more difficult.
At that moment, the lord of Yoheim, who had been standing behind, shouted.
"We'll retreat for now! Come, Hopper!"
Yoheim's forces were pulling back.
While Jose was engaging Yalta, the rest of the army had also fought fierce battles. With Yalta, a high-impact irregular force, tied down by Jose, Yoheim's army had managed to gain some ground.
"Hopper! We can fight again next time! Let's retreat for now, as planned!"
"Understood."
Nodding, Jose smirked at Yalta.
"Hey! Let's meet again, you barbarian bastard!"
"Running away, continent scum?"
"Run? If your nanny hadn't jumped in, you'd be lying on the ground right now with a hole in your chest."
"Shut your mouth!"
Yalta was riled up.
The fact that he'd nearly died, even for a moment, had clearly bruised his pride.
Jose, stepping backward toward the lord of Yoheim, hurled one last taunt.
"Make sure to bring that nanny next time too! Looks like you pissed yourself—you'll need someone to clean you up!"
With those words, Jose turned away. Then, without hesitation, he began retreating with Yoheim's forces.
"You bastard—!"
Yalta's face turned red with fury as he tried to chase after Jose.
But Graham stepped in to block him.
"Don't stop me!"
He growled as he shoved his face toward Graham.
But Graham remained calm. With a composed expression, he placed a hand on Yalta's chest and shook his head.
"You're too agitated. You mustn't fight like this."
"I decide when I fight!"
Yalta shrieked at the top of his lungs.
Normally, he followed Graham's lead, but when he was this enraged, he wouldn't listen to anyone.
Graham said softly,
"Yalta. Take a deep breath."
Yalta, panting heavily for a while, finally pursed his lips, then exhaled deeply.
After repeating the process a few times, he brushed his still-flushed forehead with his palm and spoke.
"My apologies. I lost my temper, Sir Graham."
"You must not be swayed by emotion."
"Yes, yes. Still though…"
Yalta muttered with a grumble.
"Why aren't we pursuing them when they're retreating?"
"There's no need to spill more blood than necessary. It's enemy territory—we don't know what traps they may have set."
"Grr…"
He respected Graham, but couldn't help grumbling when he said things like this.
"Understood. If it's Sir Graham's order, it must be correct."
"Thank you for understanding."
"No, not at all."
"By the way, was his name Hopper…?"
"That guy's name is Hopper?"
Yalta stared in the direction his opponent had disappeared.
"He's no ordinary man. He's not much weaker than me. Next time, I'll tear off his head and put it in a display case."
For Yalta to acknowledge him to that extent meant that this man named Hopper had strength comparable to the Ten Strongest.
"Did Yoheim really have someone that strong…?"
The three sworn brothers who had beaten up the soldiers in the sweet potato field, and this man named Hopper who had stood against Yalta—unexpected obstacles kept appearing one after another.
Who would've imagined Yoheim had so many hidden talents?
In chaotic times, heroes hidden in obscurity were bound to rise.
Yalta still hadn't fully calmed down.
"Who knows what tricks those mountain folk are plotting—let's burn the city as we advance."
"No, we won't do that."
"They tried to poison His Majesty—there's no reason to show mercy to a country like this. Only by striking fear into them will they bow their heads."
"I won't extend that crime to innocent people. Capturing Yoheim's king and holding him accountable will suffice."
Graham was resolute.
The reason he had accepted the position of commander was precisely because he intended to minimize unnecessary loss of life. In practice, he had maintained strict control over the army, ensuring minimal civilian casualties in Yoheim.
Had it not been for Graham, the path of the Imperial Army would have been marked by mountains of corpses.
"Grr…"
Yalta looked at Graham with a strange expression.
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