# Ivan the Great
"Duel! Duel! Duel! Duel!!"
In an improvised fighting ring, a circular cage built from the corpses of demons (the inedible kind), Ivan rubbed his forehead and grumbled.
"Why exactly?"
"...What?"
"Why are we doing this? Didn't we agree to talk?"
Einarr stared at Ivan with a blank expression. Talk? Did he mean the dialogue of steel?
'How primitive, like some medieval fantasy.'
Ivan clicked his tongue. There was no Samaria here, which meant no Good Samaritan law existed either. No legal protection for someone who helps others only to be attacked and asked to pay for their belongings.
There are no good Samaritans here. Only bad Droans.
After working for more than ten days straight, with the last two days spent personally clearing out demons, he had finally reached a rest period.
A good agent should naturally take rest. Proper nutrition and rest are the secrets to maintaining bodily functions with consistency.
But contrary to his wishes, Einarr was looking at him with an incredulous expression.
Objectively speaking, Ivan's thoughts weren't wrong. He had come running from a foreign land to help, rallied the yarls throughout the country, and essentially saved Droan at just the right moment.
Einarr wasn't shameless enough to show resentment toward Ivan for this.
But as a father...
"I-I-Iva... No!! Vanka!! Fighting!!"
"Grrrr."
His molars ground together at the sound of Asidis beating a drum and shouting.
After witnessing his daughter touring the country like a clown, making strange noises, now she's even cheering for someone else to defeat her father in a duel?
All forms of duels against a yarl are essentially challenges. It's not conducted like war, but rather the most moderate form of power succession tradition in Droan.
In other words, in this situation where all Droan warriors are watching, defeat is not acceptable for a king.
Even though he was the one who brought Ivan here, and he hadn't even considered the possibility of defeat... still.
"Ah, I see."
Ivan smiled faintly and nodded. He asked in an emotionless voice:
"Should I let you win?"
"What did you... this bastard..."
This bastard has no human heart.
Einarr felt his emotions becoming calm in that moment. Yes, that's it.
Outwardly, he was a hot-tempered king furious at his daughter's change.
Inwardly, he was a father hurt by his daughter's change of heart.
And at his core:
'To prove that even if I die and this guy continues the bloodline with Essi, the royal bloodline will remain the strongest.'
In front of all the warriors watching, he would draw out and showcase Ivan's full strength.
This wasn't about showing a warrior challenging the king, but rather proving that someone comparable to the strongest king in Droan history would continue his lineage.
So he had disguised his anger and made up unnecessary reasons to lead the guy into a duel—
'None of that matters now.'
Such trivial reasons were unnecessary now.
For Asidis's future, he would instill a human heart in this bastard.
"Come at me with everything you've got, brother. If you die, Essi will become a widow."
"Interesting."
Ivan smiled as he picked up his axe. As Einarr also raised his axe in response—
Ivan, who had been lost in thought for a moment, suddenly asked:
"Oh, speaking of widows, Einarr."
"What is it suddenly?"
"Is polygamy allowed in Droan?"
"...What?"
Does he intend to cheat before even getting married?
As Einarr's eyes wavered, Ivan continued matter-of-factly:
"I'm going to marry Elizabeta soon. She's pregnant."
"...Today."
Einarr lowered his head slightly and growled softly. His disheveled hair covered his eyes, making it difficult to read his expression.
"Today, there will be two widows."
Before those words could even finish, a beast-like killing intent tore through the air.
The berserk warrior, just as he had been when slaughtering the Seven Dragons, charged toward his opponent.
"Waaaaaaaaaah—!!!"
The Droan warriors cheered happily as they chewed and swallowed demon meat.
Is the physical limit of neural acceleration the maximum of a superhuman? In the slowly flowing realm of the superhuman, is the clash between two individuals decided merely by human techniques?
Regardless of martial arts and effort built up as a superhuman, do superhumans return to the human realm when faced with limitations?
In most cases, yes. No matter how fast and fiercely one can move, it's ultimately a fight where both sides use their arms and legs to stab each other with weapons.
When one reaches the "Domain," the growth of a "superhuman" stops, and one continues training simply as a "swordsman."
However, there are some who have broken that mold.
Those who can form will and force their intentions upon the world. Those who can break the laws of physics and human limitations, leaving their mark on the world with a single piece of iron.
Beyond the realm of the superhuman, there exists the realm of will.
Only then does humanity finally break the limitations of the species and step into the realm of gods.
This totality is called talent. The realm of gods that no amount of effort can reach, that no ordinary person's struggle can attain.
"Kwaaaang—!!"
Einarr's axe made a thunderous noise as it struck down. This was clearly strange, as their time was now flowing faster than sound.
The fact that the sonic boom was heard before the clash meant they had remained within the limits of sound speed. But Einarr wouldn't deliver such a mediocre blow.
This means:
'From the very first moment of its trajectory, it tears through the air.'
Strength without technique. Power that alone can collapse walls and overturn mountains. Literally, the force of uprooting mountains.
Dodging won't work.
"Crunch!!"
Ivan gritted his teeth and swung his axe in response. Dodging alone couldn't deflect that strike. The force that transcended limits was exerting gravitational pull.
Near that trajectory, space was entangled with his axe blade. If he tried to dodge by a hair's breadth to counter-attack, his body would be sucked in and impaled on the axe.
So, counter-attack it is.
"Kuuuuung—!!"
Since he couldn't use the same force, he relied on technique. Ivan concentrated until his veins bulged and clashed his axe blade.
He neutralized Einarr's strike. With technique overcoming strength. His mental image was like flowing water. Like the rough open sea swallowing a falling avalanche.
"Kuuuung—! Kuuuuung—!!"
The sound reverberated dully. The sonic boom was not sharp at all. A noise like hammering at the deep seabed.
But it was sufficiently massive. Explosively bizarre.
"Kuuuung—!!"
Einarr's strength had already transcended the norm. From that time until now.
And Ivan:
'I've already seen it.'
He had already seen, read, and felt that attack countless times.
His role was high-value target elimination. During the Great War, high-value targets were demons, but after the war ended, other targets were also designated.
Krasilov's neighboring countries, all their monarchs and high nobles, and any noteworthy military forces had already been analyzed for assassination purposes.
So Ivan, who had fought closest to Einarr, could be considered a dagger prepared to assassinate Einarr. Whether it would actually be wielded or whether it was actually possible was beside the point.
At least, he had been prepared.
"Kuuuuung—!!"
"Your skills have improved!!"
Einarr's shout seemed to ring clearly in his ears. Ivan looked at his face.
The initial anger was gone, and now he seemed satisfied. Laughing heartily while constantly moving as if warming up.
Yet with each step, he was delivering blows that could tear a person apart.
"You must have something you haven't shown yet?"
Reading Einarr's lips, Ivan nodded. His smile grew increasingly deeper.
When they met a year ago, they hadn't seen the end.
The duel in front of the orphanage back then was merely a simple test, but not anymore.
This annoying brother had faced him then and hadn't been beaten unconscious. Both of them knew that if he got hit this time, it wouldn't end with just unconsciousness.
This was a duel as close to real combat as possible. Even without the intent to kill, a misjudgment in a split second could result in death. They were fighting at too high a level to hold back.
So, there couldn't be a better opportunity.
"Do you remember?"
"?"
While deflecting each of Einarr's whirling axes one by one, Ivan tilted his head slightly.
Soon, Einarr continued:
"Back in those days in the demon realm, whenever we had free time, the others tried to teach you this and that."
Gil Ber would grumble while pretending not to care and teach defensive techniques under the guise of sparring, and Enrique would openly stick close and supervise technical training.
From Patricia, emergency treatment and demon classification; from Beolgrin, how to find direction by looking at the sky and understanding the flow of magic.
Even the Hero, even Maximillian tried to teach him swordsmanship.
Good memories. It was a tough time, but looking back, not bad memories.
He was such a good learner that it was worth teaching him as a hobby. The more he fought better and survived longer, the more noticeably the party's mission progress improved.
At first, he was clearly a talented but slightly lacking man in his 20s, but he quickly grew into a party member who could stand shoulder to shoulder with them.
During all this, Einarr never taught Ivan anything.
No, he couldn't.
'Because there was no way to teach without killing.'
At that time, it was too advanced for Ivan to follow. And other things were too simple and trivial.
Tactics of pushing through numbers with strength alone didn't suit Ivan's fighting style. This guy, despite appearances, was a technician.
And his will-cutting technique was the kind that couldn't be taught without killing. The moment someone faced it to learn, they would die.
But at this moment, Einarr realized it had finally become possible.
"Prepare your best."
"Swoosh..."
Einarr's body jumped backward. The axe blade trembled finely as it swept through the sand dust. A strange resonance came from the two axes in his hands.
Tendons rose up, writhing like snakes.
Here it comes. Ivan adjusted his stance as he watched. The martial art of will, the highest level of martial arts that can be obtained when a superhuman transcends another superhuman, is coming.
This is the pinnacle of what can be achieved with a human body that touches the realm of gods.
"Max split the sky, and Enrique devoured shadows. Gil Ber stopped tsunamis and avalanches. I am different."
Einarr's smile became increasingly ferocious. The swirling killing intent was taking shape and tearing through the air.
A feeling of gravity distorting. Everything around seemed to be swirling toward Einarr. Senses, the survival instinct that every living being has, rang alarm bells.
This is an illusion created by one person's killing intent. Almost like the highest form of mental magic. Ivan struggled to keep his knees from bending involuntarily.
Gil Ber remained a knight, and Maximillian had no interest in power.
Beolgrin was content as a royal advisor, Enrique loved a free life, and Patricia chose a life of obedience to God.
In contrast, Einarr became king.
A king who encompasses an entire race, unique in history. A king who subjugated millions of people by strength alone and unified Droan, which had never been unified throughout its long history.
So, this is the king's mental image.
Greed that devours everyone before him, the lust for power that holds the life and death of all people in his grasp, killing intent toward everything in the world that resists, absolute trust in his own strength.
All these things mixed into one, purely.
Justice—the desire to protect the future of his people.
And the way to express it, in true Droan fashion, is just one.
If it had to be named, Einarr's:
"Reign."
"Whoooosh—!!"
The tendons in Einarr's arms intertwined like tree roots, and as the fierce killing intent distorted the center of the world—
As the axe fell, the knees of all the warriors watching Einarr and Ivan's duel hit the ground.
This is the power that allows one to face an army with just two axes.
This is the technique of the berserker who was in charge of "facing multiple armies" in the Hero Party.
"Did you see it well?"
Einarr said with a wild smile.
"Once you learn this too, you will be the 'successor.'"
When the name "reserve" was first attached, it meant someone who could replace a "vacancy in the Hero Party."
But among those who received this position, none actually accompanied the Hero Party. Warriors of that caliber had to fight in the Great War for their respective countries.
Except for this guy.
Thus, the only "reserve" that actually functioned as intended. They called him a replacement and used him as a guide, but the reality was different.
The more they taught him, the more the Hero Party gradually realized his ridiculous learning ability.
What if this guy had met a decent master when he was younger and trained diligently? That thought occurred to them.
So regardless of martial lineage or faction, they each taught him a piece of their secret techniques. Subtly, pretending not to, they taught the guy who considered himself an assassin.
When everyone failed, when they ultimately couldn't defeat the Demon King.
At that time, so he could "reserve" all of us.
So if we were to give it a name, yes. "Successor."
The successor of the Hero Party. For the one who could perform all roles alone.
"Hmm."
In the dust, Ivan's blue eyes flashed.
"I've 'seen' it all."