The Academy’s Barbarian
Chapter 60: It Is Not Your Decision (1)

The man with blue hair; with the sudden intrusion of Seoric al-Ghorfant, the atmosphere became tense.

Ulan looked at him with curiosity, and Count Deorg, too, stared silently at Seoric. A strange silence persisted for a while.

“I heard the story,” Seoric licked his lips; with a resonant sound. "But retaliation like this is not right. Regain composure and make a rational judgment," he spoke in a calm and composed tone.

However, there was no change in the Count's expression. After exhaling for a moment, he answered with a dry expresson, "This is not a retaliation."

"......Huh?"

"It is a formally requested duel.”

A duel. Seoric smiled slightly; it was obvious that there was a different intention behind the duel, even though it was beautifully wrapped up in words.

So, he asked, seemingly knowing the answer, "What is this duel for?"

"On behalf of my son's honor, I wish to clear the name of Deorg. As the master of Deorg."

Of course, it was a fallacy.

If a knight had damaged his honor, he should correct it himself. In other words, he should be the one to eventually fight for revenge. Having finished his speculation, Seoric was ready to retort, but the Count burst out laughing, “Originally, I was going to use this as an excuse and force a duel. But since Lord Seoric is here, it's okay to be honest.”

“What? What do you mean….”

"In truth, I don't care whether Himmel's honor is dragged through the mud or not."

With this unexpected answer, once again, silence filled the atmosphere. It was as if the Count had just denied himself the reason for the duel.

Seoric was just as confused; his burrow furrowed, "Then why......."

“I will ask the Lordship a few questions.”

But he couldn't continue this time; because the Count asked the question first, “Do you think a person who has reached the level of an Expert can unilaterally attack and beat someone who has reached the level of an Advanced knight?”

"That depends on the circumstances......."

"Then do you think it is possible to break a sword with your bare hands and close the distance so quickly that no one can perceive it?”

“……,” Seoric did not answer.

No one — no matter how skilled — could break a sword with their bare hands; the same goes for closing the gap imperceptibly. This was the realm of the Masters, not the Experts, after all.

"What are you trying to say?"

There must be a reason for this sudden question. When Seoric asked back, the Count looked up at the sky and murmured, “I broke through the wall 8 years ago.” As if recalling a distant memory; with a wistful look in his eyes, “After stepping on the corpses of the heretics and reaching the end of the aisle, I was finally able to reach the realm of a Master. It was a truly exhilarating feeling.”

Seoric also agreed with this. He, too, couldn't forget the moment he first stepped into the realm of a Master. It was not an exaggeration to say it was the most ecstatic moment of his life.

However, at that moment, the count's countenance darkened, "...Yet, that was all there was to it."

A gaze of listless resignation; with a voice void of any emotion, the Count formed a self-deprecating smile, "Since reaching the realm of a Master, I've never truly enjoyed a fight again; it is like I've been forcibly castrated of the driving force and purpose for living that had sustained me all these years."

The aftermath of the pyre, or Ash Syndrome— this condition was a curse that befell those who had just reached the realm of a Master; symptoms arose as the thrill of clashing with the mighty, growing, and traversing the boundaries of life and death faded away.

At first, you feel negative emotions — disappointment, emptiness, a sense of loss, and more.

Subsequently, an overwhelming sense of helplessness takes hold. Finally, accompanied by resignation, reality is accepted, and emotions gradually fade away — as if everything has been consumed, leaving only ashes.

That is why it was aptly named ‘The aftermath of the pyre, or Ash Syndrome.’

Of course, some might argue, if one cannot face the mighty, why not engage in duels with fellow Masters?

To state the obvious, it was impossible. Sᴇaʀᴄh the NøvᴇlFirᴇ(.)nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

"Though strength has increased, the shackles have multiplied."

Fighting among fellow Masters is strictly prohibited by law. Duels, sparring, and even trivial disputes are forbidden.

Naturally so. Any nation aspiring for unblemished strategic weapons would enact such prohibitions.

"I understand your sentiments. I went through a similar phase myself."

Seoric nodded in acknowledgment; he, too, had suffered from ashes syndrome, craving a fight with the mighty.

"However, that is but a fleeting phase. If you acknowledge and accept reality, the torment will cease."

"No, it's different now."

As Seoric's advice continued, the Count suddenly shook his head. Then, with a somewhat relieved expression, he responded, "An exception has presented itself."

"Huh? An exception?"

"A Master from a neutral faction, unaffiliated with the empire or any other nation."

The Count, who had closed his lips, let his eyes gleam; his gaze was directed at Ulan, who was yawning on the opposite side.

Seoric noticed this instantly, furrowing his brow in puzzlement, "But that barbarian is an Expert......."

"No, he's a Master," the Count interrupted and responded with a voice filled with conviction.

The reason for his certainty became apparent as he explained, gazing at Seoric with an unwavering expression, "If he were truly an Expert, he would not have been able to react at all when your Lordship first entered. He would have continued charging without recognizing your presence."

"......!"

In that moment, Seoric's eyes widened; it was just as the Count said.

If he had been an Expert, he would have been unaware of the domain and just kept running. Then he would have stopped after realizing Seoric's existence.

'But.......'

…the barbarian didn’t. Ulan immediately stopped in place as soon as Seoric barged in. As if he even sensed his domain.

Quivering eyes full of excitement.

At that moment, the Count chuckled, "That's right. Lord Seoric."

With a smile full of joy, the Count gripped his sword tightly, "He is in the same realm as us."

Only a master can perceive the domain of a Master.

Realizing this obvious fact belatedly, Seoric hurriedly turned to Berge and asked, "Your Excellency, is what Count Istan said true?"

".........."

However, no answer came back. He neither affirmed nor denied it. His expression merely reflected surprise, like someone struck at the core.

Immediately after realizing this, Seoric's gaze underwent a transformation.

"Hahahaha."

The genteel expression vanished in an instant and soon, a belligerent grin formed at the corners of his mouth. The fighting spirit and morale that had been suppressed for many years seemed to writhe and ripple simultaneously; like a wild stallion about to break into a gallop.

In that very moment…,

"I'm going to die of boredom."

…a voice shattered the tension.

Ulan, who had yawned and stretched lazily, was now scratching his head with narrowed eyes, "So, are we fighting or what?"

Of course, we have to fight.

He wanted to say right then and there.

But there was a procedure for everything, especially when the venue wasn't a battlefield.

The Count stared intently at Berge. And not just him. Seoric also looked at him, making a silent demand. Caught in the gaze of two Masters, Berge sighed deeply, "This is why I hoped you two wouldn't meet."

Considering the circumstances, he had anticipated this.

Of course, it was surprising that the Count didn't care about Himmel's honor. Still, the result of the duel remained unchanged. Just as he sighed again…,

"Your Excellency, I also request," Seoric bowed respectfully.

Along with eyes shining with fighting spirit.

"I ask for permission for their duel."

"...."

He'd brought him here as insurance, but his demeanor changed as soon as he realized Ulan was a Master.

After that, Berge realized — there was no stopping them now.

"Don't do anything reckless."

"Of course," the Count nodded calmly.

However, the request didn't end there.

"A small wound would be fine, but I don't want to see any body parts dismembered."

"I promise."

"Swear on your family name."

"I swear."

An immediate answer without hesitation.

Seoric also added, "It's okay. I'm here."

With a confident look in his eyes, he smiled, "I'll be watching, and if it seems dangerous, I'll intervene immediately to stop it."

With an answer full of sincerity, Seoric's eyes changed; a gaze desperate to fight in any way possible. Berge sighed deeply.

'No matter who it is.'

All the masters are just fight-crazed bastards. After a long pause, Berge's tight lips parted, "I understand. I permit the duel."

As soon as permission was granted, an immediate blockade was enforced in the surrounding area.

This was to prevent any unnecessary rumors in case professors or students from other countries witnessed the duel.

As the preparations for the unofficial duel were being made, suddenly, Ulan entered the Count's field of vision. He was gazing towards the nearby forest.

The count, tilting his head, inquired, "Is there anything in that forest?"

"Nothing at all."

After lightly shaking his head, Ulan suddenly spoke, "I'll put a condition on the duel."

"A condition?"

"If I win, you will wash away the honor that the trash has defiled."

"What do you mean?"

"He insulted the honor of my friend."

Ulan explained what had happened during the preliminary round, regarding the cowardly and disgraceful words that Himmel had spoken. After hearing the story, the Count's face gradually hardened.

A few moments later.

"I understand. It is the duty of a parent to apologize for teaching their child wrong."

After all the explanations were finished, the Count nodded, "I promise. Regardless of the outcome of this duel, I will take responsibility for his mistakes."

"That is fine."

Ulan closed his mouth.

There was no need to take an Oath; because the Count's eyes were different from Himmel's. Those eyes are the same as Berge's — the eyes of a warrior. The eyes of a man who feels the weight of his words and actions, and who has a sense of responsibility.

Just after their conversation ended…

"The duel will now begin."

…finally, all preparations were complete.

The Inspector, who took on the role of the duel's judge, looked at Ulan and the Count and spoke, "Berge Erkazan, Seoric al-Ghorfant, and Deflyn Chernihiv. These three will be designated as the attendants of this duel. Do you agree?"

"I agree."

"I agree."

The Count and Ulan answered in unison and soon, a clerical voice followed, "In this duel, the act of taking the opponent's life is prohibited. Additionally, if the situation is deemed dangerous, the participants have the right to stop the duel at any time."

After finishing the formal explanation, the Inspector took out a silver coin from his pocket.

"The touch of the silver coin is the signal."

The two of them took their respective stances; Ulan with a stone axe made of bloodstone, and the Count with a silver-gleaming sword. At the moment when they each aimed their weapons at each other…

Clang!

…the silver coins hit the ground.

And the two men disappeared at the same time.

* * * * *

Clang!

The resonating clash of metal echoed through the air as the axe and the sword met in a fierce collision. However, after a single strike, both of them stepped back without any indication of who struck first. Their retreat was not out of fear of the other’s prowess; they had questions that needed answering.

The Count was the first to break the silence. "I have a question."

"What is it?"

The Count’s eyes fell to the axe, Gula, hanging at Ulan’s belt. "Aren't you going to use that axe?

In response, Ulan's reply was blunt and direct. "Because you didn't draw your sword either."

"What do you mean? My sword is right here," protested the Count, swinging his sword through the air.

However, Ulan's statement didn't imply such a meaning. So he shook his head and spoke the true meaning of his words.

"You are really holding back your strength."

"......."

The Count suddenly closed his mouth.

Ulan stared at his sword wordlessly.

From the outside, it was just an ordinary weapon.

But that sword was a magical weapon.

He found this out when he clashed with the weapon for the first time. The Gula hanging at his waist resonated faintly, thanks to the meager mana it possessed.

'And.......'

For some reason, the Count, instead of enhancing the power imbued in the sword with spirit, or aura, as it was called, had suppressed it.

In other words, he put shackles on himself.

So Ulan, too, exchanged blows with the count with a bloodstone axe, not Gula. Meanwhile, at that time, the Count's lips curled again, "When did you find out?"

"From the moment we clashed swords."

"That's amazing. I didn't think you'd be able to tell that."

The count smiled and muttered; Unlike the tone of his voice, his face was filled with a smile. As if he couldn't help but be happy.

"This is a cursed sword."

"A cursed sword?"

"Yes, it has the power to freeze those who are not the owner and to devour their mana. So I don't use it in places other than the battlefield."

And now, he couldn't use it even more.

This duel had several conditions attached. Taking the opponent's life was prohibited, and causing severe injuries was also forbidden. Therefore, the Count suppressed the power of the cursed sword.

"I still want to use it though."

Of course, it was natural. Since he was facing a Master, he wanted to face him with all his might. But the Count valued his oath more than his desire.

"I can't help it, I've already promised."

So, he wouldn't use the cursed sword.

The Count, grappling with his inner turmoil, adjusted his sword.

To fight Ulan again.

But then, Ulan unexpectedly struck his own chest with a fist.

"I am here," he declared.

"......what?"

"My heart beats here, and my arms and legs are attached to this body. Not over there."

What is he talking about out of the blue?

The Count furrowed his brow. He couldn't grasp Ulan's intention.

"I alone have the right to my life. It also means that only I can put it on the scale."

"What are you saying right now...?"

"The opponent you should ask for permission from was never that side."

His crimson eyes turned to the outside of the battlefield.

To the place where the attendants were gathered, and among them, where Dean Berge was. The Count's gaze also turned to the same place as he was staring.

"I'll allow you."

"......!"

The Count's eyes widened. It had finally dawned on him what he meant.

Ulan smiled, baring his teeth, "Show me your swords."

All of it!

The Count's eyes gleamed with a belligerent glint, and his own were increasingly colored similarly. In his heart, he wanted to do as Ulan said, right now.

However, the last hesitation held him back.

Did Ulan notice? He added more words, "You can rest assured."

"Of what?"

"I'm not weak enough to offer you my arm or leg."

The Count's eyes narrowed; after a moment, the corners of his mouth twisted, and he burst out laughing, as if he couldn't hold it in any longer, "Pfft, hahaha!"

A loud laughter echoed through the dueling ground. It was understandable. He hadn't heard anything like it since he became a Master.

If someone unworthy had said it, it would have been considered an insult, and he would have cut their throat.

But.......

'That barbarian has the right.'

With the rueful laugh, the Count broke the shackles of hesitation; he threw away the last shreds of his mask. Now, all that remained was a swordsman who was crazy about fighting.

"If you just testify after the duel...."

If he would just say that it was not a violation of the oath and promise, but that Ulan had allowed it, he would show the Sword of Deorg right now.

Just as he was about to say that…

…Ulan took the lead, "Sure."

With a short answer as the last, there was no need for further conversation.

The Count retracted the aura that suppressed the sword and immediately released the power of the cursed sword.

Thud! Woodddook!

The ground around quickly froze.

Looking at the blue sword emitting cold frost, Ulan grabbed Gula. Then he immediately raised his spirit to the limit.

A familiar sensation spread throughout his body; with his hair and eyes dyed red in response to his spirit, Ulan looked at the Count with a face devoid of a smile.

Thump!

As soon as he took a step, his domain expanded…

…and finally, when the two domains met…

…the true battle of the Masters began.

End of Chapter. . . . . . . .Thanks for Reading. . . . . . . . . )

Translator's Notes:-

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