The Berserker’s Second Playthrough Novel - Chapter 105

Chapter 105
## Chapter 105: Judgment of Atala (8)

Kadim detected the presence of devil’s blood within the chalice the moment it was presented to him.

*‘That fool laced the vintage with the essence of a demon.’*

It was the lifeblood of a minor primordial entity he had hunted nearly fifteen days prior. The metallic, pungent odor hit his nostrils immediately, impossible to mistake.

For a commoner, ingesting such blood would result in agonizing internal destruction, making it a potent choice for an assassin. The flaw in the plan was the identity of the prey.

Kadim moved the drink away. Consuming it was unnecessary. The fact that the hidden coward relied on such shallow deception proved they were a weakling he could crush regardless of the tainted wine.

However, as he prepared to depart, a massive surge of instinct slammed into his mind, clouded his senses and seizing control.

*Thud—crunch!*

By the time clarity returned, the glass was empty and he was standing in the arena, grinding the skull of his adversary into the dirt beneath his heel.

“…”

His abstinence had lasted too long; the physiological hunger for demon blood had become a volatile force. Once that primal urge took hold, his willpower was useless against it.

The craving persisted. The blood he had just downed originated from a low-tier creature, lacking any real refinement.

It fell short of satisfying him. Every fiber of his being demanded more. He yearned for the ichor that would set his nerves on fire and harden his sinews—a more potent, concentrated essence from a high-ranking demon that could bestow true ruinous strength.

“M-My lord… are… are you functioning well?”

Kadim looked at Duncan with a vacant stare.

The merchant’s features seemed distorted. His face flickered, momentarily replaced by the visage of the warrior Kadim had just executed—a face filled with concern, yet horribly shattered and pulped.

He rubbed his eyes, and the merchant’s true face snapped back into focus. This episode of manic delusion had been brief.

Nevertheless, he remained cautious. The madness could return at any moment.

“I am perhaps not at my best. Leave me.”

“…What was that?”

“My old ailment is surfacing. Get out and ensure I am left undisturbed for a duration.”

Duncan’s eyes went wide with alarm. He stammered out questions, offering help repeatedly until he eventually turned and sprinted away in fear.

Kadim shut his eyes, waiting in the silence for the fever and the hunger to retreat.

—

Yubik, the Arena King, held the title of Kadim’s patron.

While their bond was defined by mutual suspicion and death threats, Yubik performed his duties as a sponsor diligently. This included providing Kadim residence within his palatial estate.

The manor was a monument to excess: a courtyard capable of drilling a hundred soldiers, a man-made oasis that felt like a natural lake, a theater-sized hall for feasts, a chamber where slaves waited to massage away the aches of combat, and a kitchen that never stopped producing luxury…

Kadim dismissed it all. His only destination was the massive bathhouse. In this arid land, it was the only place to scrub away the grime of the pits. Having managed to suppress his mania, he sought the water once more.

Upon entering, however, he was met by unfamiliar, gentle voices.

“Greetings, Lord Kadim. Your performance today was magnificent. The water has been warmed for your arrival.”

“Let us take your garments. Please, enter the pool and let your muscles relax—we are here to cleanse your body.”

The women were dressed in translucent sheepskin.

The group was a mix of Alliance members, people of the north, and even those from the kingdoms of Atala. A graceful Atalan woman with deep bronze skin and flowing dark hair stepped forward as their leader.

Kadim regarded her with a cold, piercing stare.

“Who allowed you in here?”

“We are the servants tasked with your care this evening.”

“…Did the master send you?”

“Indeed, the Grand Master commanded us to attend to you with the highest devotion. But… it is more than a command. We wished to show our own appreciation.”

Kadim’s brow furrowed. The woman’s eyes shone like dark, polished stones.

“Yesterday, you showed mercy by sparing the captives cast into the ‘blind hunt.’ We are the kin of those you allowed to live. My own sibling survives because of your compassion.”

“…”

“Had a lesser man been in the arena, our families would be mourning. We thank you for this life. Our service is a small thing compared to your deed, but we will do everything to please you.”

She bowed deeply, hand over her heart, and the others mimicked her. Their gratitude was palpable and sincere.

But Kadim’s voice remained flat.

“I have no use for this. Go offer your scrubbing to those who lack the strength to wash themselves.”

“…”

The woman faltered, her expression wavering. She quickly recovered, brushing back a wet lock of hair and shifting to a more inviting tone.

“If our presence bothers you, we apologize. But we offer more than just bathing. We understand that the violence of the arena leaves a man with heavy fatigue and a restless spirit. We wish to purge that dark energy from you…”

“Dark energy, you call it?”

“…Yes?”

“You would not survive the contact. If you touch what is inside me, you will all perish.”

She initially thought it was a boast of masculine ferocity and began to smile.

But when she looked into Kadim’s eyes, the smile died. She realized he was stating a mechanical fact.

“…You are not jesting?”

A sudden, paralyzing dread filled her. Her knees gave out. Kadim looked away, dismissing them with a sharp wave.

“Get out. Before your interference costs you your lives.”

“P-Please forgive us. We are leaving. Th-Thank you… should you desire us, we are always near.”

The Atalan woman and her companions fled. Alone, Kadim stripped off his gear with a grim face and let the water take the blood and sweat.

He understood Yubik’s game. The man felt intimidated after their last encounter and was trying to use pleasure to chain him down.

Motives aside, Kadim knew that intimacy was poison for his current state of mind. Giving in to physical desire would soften his edge and allow the mania to take root. He had no intention of slaughtering innocents as he had in his first life.

It wasn’t just the women that were a threat.

The fatty meats, the aromatic wines, the fine silks, the beds of down… everything the merchant prince offered was a trap.

Such comforts invited memories of a past life. To indulge was to allow the blade of his mind—honed for cutting, piercing, and breaking—to rust. This was why he chose the life of an ascetic.

Yet, his discipline faltered when he entered his sleeping quarters.

“…”

A silver cylinder sat on the table, cold enough to be beaded with condensation, a faint mist of frost clinging to it, and white foam visible at the top.

A can of beer.

A perfectly chilled, crisp beer, an exact replica of his memories, waited for him.

No hidden game mechanic could produce this. It had to be a hallucination. Yet when he reached out, the metal bit into his hand with a convincing chill. It felt too tangible to be a dream.

He gazed at the object with unsteady eyes.

His consciousness drifted into the abyss of his past, waking the person he used to be.

He was not truly Kadim—he was a soul from the modern era. Before this brutal world had eroded him, he had suppressed that identity. He forced himself to exist as Kadim. Through two lifetimes of struggle, he believed the modern man was dead.

But the core of his psyche still held a final line of defense.

The act of killing, the butchery, the consumption of demon blood—none of that belonged to the man he once was.

He was not Kadim.

But as he watched his own mind ache for a cold drink, and felt his throat go dry in anticipation, the line between himself and Kadim blurred into nothing.

Slowly, he tilted the can. The foam evaporated and the vessel vanished into the air like a ghost. The vision confirmed that his madness had not fully cleared.

He let the image of the beer and his lingering sentiments go. There was no room for nostalgia. A pivotal battle was approaching. He needed to be Kadim—the Great Warrior of Atala.

He had to pass sentence on the pretender, the desert sorceress, and the corrupt sanctuary that made a mockery of survival.

He pushed the modern man back into the depths and let Kadim rise.

The opulence of the room felt suffocating. He vaulted through the window, leaving the mansion behind. Night had claimed the city, but the festival kept the streets glowing. Avoiding the crowds, he moved like a shadow toward the perimeter.

He stopped in a barren stretch of the wasteland, leaning against a stone to think before looking up.

The eyes of Elga were gone; the moon was cloaked in shadow. Only the cold, sharp light of the stars remained.

The Great Warrior felt his pulse, heavy and rhythmic, like the beat of a war drum.

—

Following the death of the ‘Vile Hunter,’ a strange narrative began to leak from the underworld of Agon.

The Demon Slayer had made a pact with a devil to obtain his strength.

The public was split down the middle.

One side laughed at the notion.

“Total garbage! Why would a man who has piled demon corpses to the sky join them?!”

“Demon Slayer!! Demon Slayer!! Demon Slayer!!”

“The savior of the Golden Highway! The warrior of pure will!”

“The reign of Agon’s Furious Horn is ending! Witness the new king!”

They were mesmerized by his power and his stoicism. They ignored the whispers, wanting only to see him reach the peak and dethrone the master.

The other side was convinced of his guilt.

“I knew it! No human could fight with that kind of savagery!”

“He’s a contractor! He traded his soul for a win!”

“Don’t act so high and mighty! Without your master’s power, you’re nothing but a goblin!”

“The tournament is a lie! Cancel the bets! I want my gold back!”

They were certain he had brought demonic corruption into the ring. They spread their vitriol, hoping for his public execution.

Agon was in a state of civil unrest. While the crowds shouted, the gamblers took it further, drawing steel over the rumors. To speak for or against the Demon Slayer in the wrong alley was to invite a cracked skull.

Meanwhile, the main brackets continued.

The Bone Dust Crusher, the Net Devourer, the Crimson Butcher… all fell before Kadim’s twin blades. The final match was at hand.

It was time for the ‘Armed Battle’ to determine the challenger for the championship.

The rules were simple: bring whatever tools you desire. Ancient dwarf smithing, holy relics, enchanted staves—everything was permitted. It was a stage where gear often trumped raw skill.

Kadim felt no anxiety.

With his red blade, his blue axe, and the dagger of hellfire, his arsenal was unmatched. Unless his opponent possessed the ‘Judgment of Atala’ itself, he could not lose.

But as he prepared to step out, a figure appeared.

“It has been a long road, sellsword. My congratulations on reaching the threshold of the finals. Are you prepared?”

“…”

It was Adonis, the healer from the Agon faction who had crossed the wastes with him.

Kadim narrowed his eyes. The man had disappeared for days only to resurface now. Adonis offered a thin smile.

“I have news: your opponent has been replaced. The ‘Utan’s Ogre’ withdrew last night. I suspect he didn’t want to die by your hand! So, I’ve introduced a replacement gladiator—the other masters have approved.”

The timing was suspicious. Kadim felt a vein throb in his temple.

“Is Agon’s Furious Horn finally stepping into the light?”

“Oh? Hahaha… No, not yet. But this will please you. He is exceptionally skilled, and you share a history.”

“…”

“He was once known as the ‘Indomitable Warrior,’ though he requires a new name now. Perhaps you can name him after the fight. I’ll be watching from above…”

The healer left with a mocking grin. Kadim briefly considered dragging the man back to beat the truth out of him.

But the signal for the start echoed through the stone.

*Gooong!*

“…”

The healer’s games would have to wait. He would end this farce quickly. No matter the strategy or the man, a severed neck was a universal end.

Stepping into the sunlight of the arena, Kadim finally understood the healer’s malice.

“Waaaaaaaaah!!!”

“Demon Slayer!! Demon Slayer!!”

“Boooooo!! Down with the demon!!”

The roar of the crowd was white noise. Kadim’s focus locked onto the figure standing across the sand.

A massive frame covered in ritual tattoos, weapons engraved with forgotten runes, eyes that burned with an unsettling black light, and a heavy iron hook where a right hand should have been.

The warrior’s parched lips parted. A whisper, barely audible over the wind, reached Kadim.

“It is good to see you, brother Kadim. I did not imagine our paths would cross here…”

“…”

Kadim’s mouth tightened for a split second.

Then, he raised his gaze and stared silently at the one-armed warrior, Perun.