At first glance, Yalta’s swordsmanship seemed chaotic and unstructured, but in truth, it was governed by his own set of rules forged through countless battles.
From childhood, he had fought for his life amid the endless wars between tribes. With every scar etched into his body, his strength only grew.
By the time his entire body was marked by the wounds of battle, no opponent could match him.
Among the barbarian tribes on the frontier, Yalta’s name was synonymous with invincibility.
His reputation spread across the continent, and the emperor, promising wealth and honor, demanded he join the empire’s ranks. Yalta willingly accepted, stepping into a wider world under imperial protection.
Yalta was confident.
No one had fought more than he had. A sword’s true power came only from life-or-death combat, not from lessons or training.
All the swordsmanship taught by the empire was a sham.
The enemy who had just appeared was no different—a typical knight of the continent.
Yalta smirked.
“Predictable. Still, this might be somewhat entertaining.”
He had been bored lately, lacking a worthy opponent.
Yalta wasn’t the type to find joy in weeding out insignificant foes. To him, the knights of Yohaim were more like plants—easy to uproot whenever he wished.
But now, finally, a beast with teeth and claws had appeared.
Not a wild animal who had fought for his life like himself, but at least a well-trained hunting dog.
“Hyah!”
Yalta shouted, swinging his sword. A fan-shaped wave of sword energy burst forth.
“So, there’s a decent mutt in Yohaim after all!”
Facing him was Hose, disguised as a hopper.
Hose’s face twisted in anger.
“What did you say?”
He was a dog lover who raised hounds on his estate. Though he didn’t fuss over their diet, hearing such cruel words about a dog he cared for stirred fierce rage.
Swinging his sword to meet Yalta’s, Hose shouted back.
“Dogs are our friends!”
Yalta was taken aback.
It was just a figure of speech—he loved dogs too. For barbarians who lived by the hunt, dogs were comrades equal to humans.
“Th-that’s not what I meant!”
“What do you mean, then?”
“You looked like a dog. That’s why I said I’d eat you!”
Yalta wasn’t much of a talker.
Hose’s anger flared even more.
“Then you’re right! Die, you little bastard!”
“Wait. So cows are our friends, then?”
“Who’s killing real cows? You’re just too ignorant to know it’s a metaphor!”
“I-I’m the same!”
“What are you saying? You ignorant barbarian!”
Yalta’s temper flared. When he first came to the empire, some had mocked him as a barbarian. Those words had always made his blood boil.
“You! Are you looking down on me just because I’m from the barbarian tribes?”
This time, Hose hesitated.
Discrimination between dogs and cows was one thing, but racial prejudice was far more serious.
If he wasn’t careful, his carefully crafted identity as a hopper might be seen not as a chivalrous hero but as a racist.
Hose tried to explain.
“No, it’s not because you’re a barbarian, it’s just that you’re ignorant…”
Yalta cut him off.
“Listen carefully. There is no such thing as absolute cultural superiority. Each culture develops in its own way, shaped by unique natural, geographical, and environmental factors. It’s not about who’s right or better.
That flawed mindset of thinking you’re inherently superior can easily lead to the belief that some races are better than others. As long as it doesn’t violate universal human values, don’t mock other cultures—respect them.”
“Uh…”
Hose was momentarily stunned. Yalta’s sudden, logical argument caught him off guard, leaving him disoriented.
Snapping out of it, Hose swung his sword again, shouting.
“Sh-sh-shut up!”
“Hah, resorting to brute force when you lose the argument?”
Yalta grinned.
“Now who’s the ignorant one?”
In the past, he would have killed anyone who looked down on him.
Then Graham arrived.
“If you kill everyone who insults you, there’ll be no one left around. From now on, if anyone belittles you, just say this,” he had told Yalta, making him memorize the words.
Grateful for Graham’s help, Hose shouted once more.
“Who’s calling who a barbarian!”
Hose’s face flushed red. His slime mask, highly detailed, even showed the blush, which only made Yalta laugh louder.
Hose felt humiliated.
“Shut up, damn it!”
He charged, searching for an opening.
Yalta’s sword was wild and untamed, making it hard to counter. But it had many gaps.
Though unfamiliar and tricky to read, it lacked finesse.
Deflecting a heavy downward strike at an angle, Hose aimed for Yalta’s wrist.
Often mistaken for a brute relying on strength due to his size, Hose was actually a highly skilled and technical swordsman.
Blood spurted from Yalta’s hand.
Hose was sure he had the upper hand.
But then, something unbelievable happened.
“Huh?”
He hadn’t cut the wrist.
Yalta, cloaked in mana, had bent Hose’s sword with his bare hand.
Though blood flowed freely, Yalta’s expression was unfazed.
“What are you doing?”
“Profit…”
Hose tried to pull free but couldn’t. His hand trembled.
Yalta smirked.
“You continent folk sure love your little tricks.”
Hose snapped back immediately.
“Calling me a continent folk—that’s discriminatory. What did you say earlier?”
“Huh?”
Yalta thought for a moment, then kicked Hose in the stomach.
“Whatever. I don’t care, continent boy!”
“Ugh!”
“Don’t like it? Then beat me!”
Though pushed back, Hose held onto his sword. Yalta released his grip on the blade.
No matter how strong, holding the blade is different from holding the hilt. Yalta’s powerful legs meant that if he kept gripping the blade, his fingers might get cut.
Retreating, Hose steadied himself and muttered.
“So, true debate really can’t be had…”
Indeed, he was one of the Ten Strong.
But not untouchable.
Yalta, sensing Hose was no pushover, wiped the smile off his face and raised his sword.
Their mana methods clashed, sparks flying at the boundary.
Hose suddenly thought of the sea at Bursen and smiled faintly.
“The Ten Strong, huh…”
There was a boy who used to swing his sword every day, gazing out at the sea.
He dreamed of one day joining the Ten Strong, and beyond that, becoming the strongest knight like Fiore Briole.
Though the path was still long, he felt he had nearly reached his first goal.
“Now, I’m not afraid of the Ten Strong.”
And indeed, Yalta was strong.
But Hose was not afraid.
Confidence welled up deep inside him.
Before coming to Yohaim, he had fought a near-death duel against Briole’s third prince on a coastal cliff.
In that battle, Hose gained what he sought.
He met the genius Yuri Briole and witnessed his potential, growing stronger through the experience.
Moreover, by sharing their respective sword visions, the two swordsmen glimpsed new realms neither had known before.
Since that day, Hose had realized he was on par with the continent’s strongest.
Now was the time to prove it with his sword.
“Yalta.”
“What?”
“You don’t belong among the Ten Strong.”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t feel it from you.”
“What does that mean?”
Hose took a breath, then raised his sword vertically.
A blazing wave of sword energy erupted like flames.
“Try to stop this.”
A beam of light shot toward Yalta like an arrow. The intensely compressed mana pierced straight ahead, erasing anything in its path.
An unstoppable, razor-sharp dagger.
Hose’s sword energy converged through space, aiming straight for Yalta’s chest.
Yalta’s eyes widened.
This attack was no joke.
Too fast to dodge, too powerful to block—he had to respond somehow, but he missed the timing.
He just stood there, stunned.
Just before Hose’s attack struck his chest—
Clang!
Someone intervened.
“Yalta, snap out of it.”
“Sir Graham?”
Graham deflected Hose’s strike, rubbing his elbow. The impact was strong enough to put it out of commission for a while.
“Why were you standing still, Yalta?”
“That’s…”
Yalta fought on instinct.
But his instincts hadn’t reacted to the attack that had just come at him.
In other words, no danger signal had registered. That’s why he’d been frozen.
Realizing what that meant, Yalta’s face twisted with anger.
“I was just careless, Sir Graham.”
His expression hardened.
He no longer showed any ease. Clenching his sword tightly, his muscles bulged. Mana pulsed fiercely, kicking up dust around him.
“I’m really going to kill you.”
Yalta’s spirit had changed.
Jose, who had been watching the scene unfold, swallowed his disappointment and took a step back. He hadn’t expected Graham to intervene so suddenly.
“Yeah, it’s never going to be that easy.”
From now on, things were bound to get tougher.
Just then, the lord of Johaim, standing behind, shouted out.
“We’re retreating for now! Come here, Hopper!”
Johaim’s troops were pulling back.
While Jose was engaged with Yalta, other forces were locked in fierce battles elsewhere. With the asymmetric threat of Yalta tied up by Jose, Johaim’s army had managed to make some gains.
“Hopper! We’ll fight again next time! For now, let’s retreat as planned!”
“Understood.”
Jose nodded and flashed a grin at Yalta.
“Hey! See you again, you barbarian!”
“Running away, continent scum?”
“Running? If it weren’t for your nurse barging in just now, you’d be lying on the ground with a hole in your chest.”
“Shut up!”
Yalta snapped, clearly riled up. The fact that he’d almost died had bruised his pride.
Jose took a step back toward the lord of Johaim and threw one last taunt.
“Next time we fight, make sure to bring that nurse of yours! Looks like you wet yourself—someone’s gotta clean you up, right?”
With that, Jose turned and began retreating alongside Johaim’s forces without hesitation.
“You bastard!”
Yalta’s veins bulged as he tried to give chase.
But Graham stepped in to block him.
“Don’t stop me!”
Yalta growled, shoving his face close to Graham’s.
But Graham remained calm, placing a hand on Yalta’s chest and shaking his head.
“You’re too worked up. We can’t fight like this.”
“I’ll decide when to fight!”
Yalta bellowed. Normally, he followed Graham’s lead, but when his anger flared like this, he wouldn’t listen to anyone.
Graham spoke quietly.
“Yalta. Take a deep breath.”
After a moment of huffing and puffing, Yalta’s lips twitched, and he exhaled deeply.
Repeating the process a few times, he wiped his flushed forehead with his palm and said,
“Sorry. I got carried away, Sir Graham.”
“You can’t let your emotions control you.”
“Yes, yes. But still…”
Yalta muttered in frustration.
“Why aren’t we pursuing those bastards as they run?”
“There’s no need to spill more blood unnecessarily. This is enemy territory—we don’t know what traps might be waiting.”
“Ugh…”
Though he respected Graham, Yalta was clearly annoyed by such cautious talk.
“Alright. If you say so, Sir Graham.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Not at all.”
“By the way, was his name Hopper…?”
“Was that guy named Hopper?”
Yalta looked toward the direction where his opponent had disappeared.
“He’s no ordinary man. Not much weaker than me. Next time, I’ll rip his head off and put it in a display case.”
For Yalta to admit that meant Hopper was a fighter on par with the Ten Strong.
“Did Johaim really have someone that skilled…?”
Between the three brothers who had beaten up the soldiers in the sweet potato field and this Hopper who had held Yalta back, unexpected obstacles kept appearing.
Who would have imagined so many talented fighters were hiding in Johaim?
In times of chaos, heroes buried in obscurity tend to step forward.
Yalta still looked far from calming down.
“We don’t know what tricks those mountain folk might have pulled. Let’s burn the city as we advance.”
“No, we won’t do that.”
“They tried to poison His Majesty. There’s no need to show mercy to a country like this. That’s the only way to scare them into submission.”
“I won’t punish innocent people for the crimes of a few. We just need to capture Johaim’s king and hold him accountable.”
Graham was resolute.
His acceptance of the commander’s role was precisely to minimize casualties. In fact, Graham exercised strict control over the army to reduce civilian losses in Johaim.
If it weren’t for him, corpses would have piled up like mountains wherever the imperial army passed.
“Ugh…”
Yalta watched Graham with a strange look in his eyes.