Chapter 235

"Wow, at this rate, the Young Patriarch might actually pass all the Nine Dragons' trials!"

The murmurs in the audience grew louder.

While Theo Ragnar’s abilities were widely acknowledged, the idea of overcoming all nine trials seemed far-fetched.

Yet, he had already cleared the tests of three formidable members of the Nine Dragons—each considered among their strongest.

This was no small feat.

However, not everyone was quick to accept this as pure skill.

"Hey, don’t be so naive. You think this is all on the level?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Isn’t it obvious? The first three were all long-time supporters of the Young Patriarch."

"...Wait, so you’re saying—"

"From now on, it won’t be so easy."

Of course, not everyone agreed with such skepticism.

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting?"

"W-What?"

"Do you think those three are the type to just go easy on someone because they support him? Use your brain before talking."

"What the hell are you—"

"If you’re going to sit on your ass and talk nonsense, go home and yell at your walls, idiot."

Most of the crowd believed in Theo’s abilities and remained confident that he would overcome the remaining challenges.

Still, when the fourth challenger stepped into the arena, doubt began to creep in.

The overwhelming pressure radiating from the newcomer was palpable.

It was none other than Dante Roll, the Mad Dragon.

A man who exuded an aura of sheer, unrestrained dominance.

***

“I’m different from the three before me,” Dante Roll, the Mad Dragon, declared, his lips curling into a sly grin.

“This isn’t a trial like theirs. I only want one thing: a full-power, no-holds-barred match. You’ll have to defeat me outright, or I won’t make it easy for you to leave this arena.”

Dante’s overwhelming aura filled the entire arena, spilling over into the audience seating.

The senior officials scrambled to shield the spectators from its oppressive force. Even so, cold sweat trickled down their faces.

Theo remained calm, his gaze steady as he spoke, his lips barely moving.

“Is this a negotiation you’re proposing?”

“You’re sharp. I like that. Makes for a good conversation partner.”

Unlike his outward image of a straightforward brute driven solely by power, Dante’s true nature was far more cunning.

Theo understood that this was no mere trial but a veiled demand for a greater reward.

"He’s saying, ‘Give me more, or I’ll make this trial impossible to pass.’"

The implication was clear: if Theo didn’t give in, Dante might aim to tarnish his reputation by defeating him.

This wasn’t an idle threat; it was entirely plausible given Dante’s reputation.

Though known to walk the path of absolute dominance, Dante was also notorious for challenging even the Patriarch if it suited him.

If he bested the Young Patriarch, it wouldn’t harm his standing. In fact, it might even elevate it.

Theo pondered briefly.

"Should I just give him what he wants and move on?"

"Or… should I put him in his place?"

The latter option was tempting.

Dante’s presumptuous attitude irked Theo. They were no longer in a relationship where Theo needed Dante to advance his position.

With his foundations solidified, it might be time to humble the Mad Dragon and remind him who truly held authority.

“First, let’s see what he wants.”

“What is it you’re after?” Theo’s voice was cold, betraying his irritation.

Sensing the change in Theo’s tone, Dante’s eyes narrowed, his demeanor shifting to match.

“I want only one thing.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“The throne.”

Theo’s eyes darkened.

“After all the support I’ve already given you, you want more?”

Dante had been leveraging Theo’s vast resources to forge alliances across the empire, all under the guise of pursuing battles with strong opponents and hunting down remnants of the Sacred Demon Cult.

The wealth Theo had accrued in Ferrington had been funneled into Dante’s efforts, enabling him to rally nobles under his banner.

This faction was known as the Wolfpack Alliance, a group advocating for centralized imperial power and the reduction of the Elector Counts’ influence.

“Money is never enough, especially in times like these. You’re well aware that the emperor is without an heir and nearing the end of his days. The eunuchs are running rampant in court, seizing power where they can.”

Theo, of course, was well aware of the chaos consuming the empire’s political center.

“The eunuchs may be desperate to cover it up, but death isn’t something they can stop. Soon, the fight for the throne will erupt, and how significant do you think Ragnar’s influence will be in that chaos?”

Ragnar had already established itself as the supreme power in the north after crushing Troyban.

With its trade networks now reaching deep into the empire, no faction—Elector Counts included—could ignore Ragnar’s clout.

“And that balance of power will tip even further once the matter of the former Patriarch is resolved.”

Dante was certain of Ragnar’s dominance in the coming political war.

“That’s when I’ll reveal my true identity.”

“...!”

“You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Dante intended to make his move during the chaos, seizing the spotlight and announcing his imperial bloodline to the world.

He wanted Theo—or Ragnar, by extension—to publicly endorse him.

“All it would take is one word from you. A single declaration of support, and you’d secure a legend of having defeated the Mad Dragon while still maintaining ties with me.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed.

“Is a public declaration necessary? As a member of Ragnar’s Nine Dragons, wouldn’t it already be clear to everyone that Ragnar backs you?”

“Sure, people might assume that. But assumption and declaration are two very different things, especially in politics. You, of all people, should know the weight of a spoken word.”

Dante’s grin vanished abruptly.

“Or… are you planning to back that girl you’re so fond of instead?”

Theo’s expression tightened.

“What? Surprised? Did you think I didn’t know about her?” Dante sneered, his tone dripping with disdain.

“If you think you can pit her against me, let me make one thing clear—I don’t share. Especially not with some naive little—”

“Ah, I’ve heard enough.”

Theo’s voice rang out loud and clear, cutting through Dante’s tirade.

All eyes turned to him.

Even the other Nine Dragons and senior officials were caught off guard.

Until now, they hadn’t realized a hidden negotiation had been unfolding beneath the surface of this trial.

Dante’s eyes widened in shock.

“You—what are you—”

“I think you’ve forgotten something.” Theo interrupted again, his tone sharp and unyielding.

“Your place.”

“...!!”

“Don’t forget your place. You’re nothing more than Ragnar’s dog.”

The insult hit like a slap. Dante’s face flushed red with rage.

“You—!”

Theo’s foot slammed against the ground as he lunged forward, closing the gap in an instant.

“Fine. Let’s see if you can insult me and live to tell the tale!”

Dante’s fist came down like a thunderclap, aimed straight for Theo’s head.

Theo tilted his head just enough to dodge the blow.

BOOM!

Dante’s punch obliterated the space where Theo’s head had been, cracks spreading through the ground.

“What kind of lunatic goes all out in front of this many people!?”

The senior officials barely managed to deflect the shockwave, their faces pale with disbelief.

Even for Dante, this was reckless. To unleash the Mad Dragon’s Fist Blade outside a battlefield was sheer madness.

Dante was a martial artist who fought without weapons, relying solely on his fists and feet.

Yet his attacks were as sharp as blades, earning him a place among the Nine Dragons despite his unconventional methods.

CRACK!

The impact of his punches left deep, sword-like gouges in the ground and the walls of the arena.

But Theo didn’t flinch.

Instead, he closed the distance further, swinging the Drake Fang Blade.

CLANG!

Dante met the blade with his palm, sparks flying as the two forces collided.

“You dare challenge me with brute strength?”

Theo smiled faintly, releasing his grip on the blade.

Instead of retreating, he clenched his fists and unleashed a flurry of punches.

“What is that?!”

The spectators gasped. Theo’s strikes weren’t chaotic—each one carried the depth of Ragnar’s swordsmanship, translated into martial arts.

“He’s turning Ragnar’s sword techniques into fist techniques?”

Theo’s movements incorporated elements of Celestial Circle, the technique he had just mastered against the Maehwa Palace Lord.

It wasn’t just raw power—each strike held the precision and insight of a seasoned swordsman.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Each blow landed with explosive force, shattering Dante’s aura shield and driving him back.

Finally, Theo’s elbow, sharpened like a spear, struck Dante square in the chest, sending him flying into the arena wall.

CRASH!

The wall crumbled, debris burying Dante beneath it.

Theo exhaled softly, catching the Drake Fang Blade as it fell back into his hand.

Looking down at Dante, now sitting beneath him, Theo’s voice was icy.

“Now our eye level matches.”