The Berserker’s Second Playthrough Novel - Chapter 77

Chapter 77
## Chapter: 77

### Chapter Title: Every Moment, Every Time (6)

—

Duncan refrained from a direct, reckless charge. Instead, he withdrew into the shadows with silent deliberation.

This was no act of cowardice. Engaging a titan of that caliber in a test of raw strength would be suicide. He slid his blade into its sheath, stilled his breathing, lightened his tread, and vanished into the labyrinth of broken stone and debris.

Agon’s Furious Horn narrowed his gaze, his brow twitching with irritation.

With the merchant having slipped away, the rest of the group stood entirely defenseless. From a distance, it appeared a simple matter to stride forward and take the head of that silver-haired madman.

Yet, he remained rooted. The path ahead was a graveyard of tactical nightmares—countless jagged ruins and alcoves that served as perfect nests for an ambush. It was blindingly obvious that the merchant intended to strike the moment he lowered his guard.

“…….”

Awareness did little to ease the tension. When that man chose to conceal himself, his very essence seemed to evaporate into the air. This field of wreckage, offering concealment at every turn, was the natural habitat for a scavenger like that merchant.

Had his physical condition been peak, such games would be trivial. But the previous struggle and the resulting internal strain had left Agon’s Furious Horn on the precipice of exhaustion. Agony rippled through him—his muscles felt as though they were liquefying, and his skeletal frame groaned under its own weight. A single well-placed thrust from that dagger now could prove fatal.

Nevertheless, he could not simply turn away.

That insignificant worm had dared to brand him a “fraudulent great warrior.” It was a slur that struck at the very foundation of his honor.

With eyes burning with homicidal intent, Agon’s Furious Horn began to march. His strategy was blunt: if he threatened the lives of the others, the merchant would be forced to reveal his hand.

Precisely as anticipated, before he could close the distance, the merchant struck first.

Roarrrrr!

The infernal glow of the dagger failed to connect. The moment Agon’s Furious Horn detected the blur of movement, he pivoted with practiced lethality, bringing his massive axe around in a sweeping arc.

Thud—boom!

Duncan dropped into a desperate crouch, the heavy blade missing his scalp by a fraction of an inch. Pale with terror, he leaped backward, only to change his mind in a frantic heartbeat and lunged back into the giant’s reach.

“Uwaaaah!”

Crack—thwack!

“Gahk!”

His technique was full of holes. The wooden shaft of the axe slammed into his lower leg first. Duncan’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets as the sensation of splintering bone radiated through his nerves like a lightning strike. He choked back a scream of pure torment, stumbling away on a mangled limb.

“……Hah.”

Agon’s Furious Horn let out a dry, mocking laugh. The merchant possessed the skittering agility of a rodent, but his combat prowess was pitiful. Even in his current state of decay, the fact that he had felt even a shred of anxiety regarding this man seemed preposterous.

“U, uwaaaah!”

Several more attempts at an ambush followed, yet each yielded the same pathetic result. Agon’s Furious Horn parried every clumsy strike and delivered a punishing riposte every time.

Thud, roarrr!

Eventually, the merchant took a heavy blow to the wrist, sending his dagger spinning away. Agon’s Furious Horn followed up with a brutal thrust of the axe’s butt-end. The merchant’s narrow ribcage buckled inward under the force, the sound of snapping bone echoing in the ruins.

Splat!

“Guh, guhuh…….”

Duncan collapsed into a heap. Agon’s Furious Horn moved in to deliver the finality of death.

Slash—crunch!

“Aaaagh, aaaah!”

The edge of the axe tore through his tattered tunic, opening a jagged red canyon across his torso. Had the warrior swung with his full might, the merchant would have been bisected. As it stood, the wound was still mortal. Duncan was no hardened barbarian capable of ignoring a disemboweled stomach or shattered appendages.

“Gek, gekeh, guhk…….”

Each ragged gasp forced blood to froth between his lips from his ruined chest. His focus flickered like a dying flame, and his pulse hammered a frantic, uneven rhythm. A level of suffering he had never imagined possible painted his world in shades of crimson. Duncan scraped his broken nails against the dirt, twitching in a miserable display of agony.

The contest was over. The adversary was disarmed and bleeding out. Agon’s Furious Horn kicked the smoldering dagger into the distance and looked down at the broken man.

“In the brutal hierarchy of the plains, all conflict is sanctified. I grant you recognition for the bravery it required to face me despite your insignificant, bug-like power.”

“Gehk, uhk, uhehk…….”

“However, the wisdom of Atala teaches that a true combatant knows the line between courage and suicide. You should not have provoked me with such lunacy—you should have tried to persuade me. That a zealot like myself is the ‘great warrior of Atala’? What a ridiculous notion…….”

“[Vanguard of the Indomitable Legions, Atala. Cast your gaze upon your soldier with pity, ignite your flame and lead him to the fray…….]”
⟨ Prayer to Atala ⟩

In that breath, the shattered merchant suddenly twisted and surged upward.

“Go to hell!”

Before the giant could react, Duncan slammed his weight down onto the enemy’s foot.

Stab, roaaar!

A pillar of hellfire surged toward the sky.

The giant’s eyes went wide with disbelief. He couldn’t grasp the reality of the situation. He had clearly disarmed the man—where had a second blade come from?

Through a mask of blood and pain, Duncan forced a smile. Even while being broken, he had clung to the counsel provided by Kadim.

‘Always carry a tool your foe hasn’t seen. When they fight with honor, you throw the hidden rock at their teeth.’

Before retreating into the ruins earlier, he had deftly pilfered a spare dagger from Kadim’s belt. He had waited for the exact second the arrogant fool believed the victory was settled to strike.

Roaaar!

The strike surpassed all hopes. The hellfire refused to be smothered; it feasted on leather and skin, rapidly climbing the warrior’s leg.

There remained only one defense. Agon’s Furious Horn shut his eyes tight and began the incantation.

The divine intervention of Atala descended like a violent sandstorm, crushing the flames into nothingness. However, the toll on his body was already catastrophic, and drawing upon that power once more broke him.

The internal backlash finally tore through his defenses.

Thud. His powerful arm fell uselessly to his side. His other limb hung in bloody ribbons, and his pillars of legs shook like grass in the wind. For a moment, Duncan forgot his own dying state, staring in awe at the disintegrating warrior.

Clang—

Agon’s Furious Horn let his axe fall and fumbled for a metal canteen. A final, meager swallow of liquid remained inside. He drained it desperately, attempting to splash the remainder on his stump of an arm.

It was then he looked back at the merchant, who was little more than a pile of gore.

The man’s eyes were glazed, his skin a sickly shade of violet. He had minutes left to live, perhaps half an hour at most.

“…….”

Agon’s Furious Horn knitted his brow, lost in a moment of silent contemplation.

This was the creature who had insulted his honor and brought him to this wretched state. Yet, leaving him to rot felt wrong. For a frame so frail to endure such devastation and still snap at his throat without flinching…… How many years had passed since he’d met an opponent with such a ferocious soul?

The creed of the plains dictated that the survivor was right and the fallen was wrong. But considering their respective power, this encounter was, in truth, his own failure.

He reached a conclusion. Agon’s Furious Horn limped toward the merchant with a look of grim respect.

“……I recant my words. I was mistaken. You are no insect—you are a combatant with the stubborn spirit of the mountain.”

He then emptied the last of the canteen over the merchant’s mangled chest.

A thick, radiant gold fluid poured out, hissing as it mixed with the blood, causing the deep laceration to slowly begin to bind.

“Kuhk, heuk! Haa…….”

“This clash is your triumph. Take this final drop as a tribute of surrender from the defeated…….”

“Kuhk, kuhaaa…….”

“Naturally, with the amount of life you’ve spilled, the path to survival is narrow. But as you survived our duel…… use every scrap of your will to keep breathing…… And…… inform your fellows. If they wish to conceal the identity of the true wielder of this axe, they must journey to Agon…….”

“Kuaaa…….”

“I shall be there waiting…… You crazed omen of destruction and your merchant lackey…….”

With those final words, Agon’s Furious Horn turned his back. He disappeared into the twilight, limping heavily, cradling his severed limb and dragging his monstrous axe behind him through the ruins.

A heavy, shocked stillness remained.

Duncan’s eyes flickered. The sky had shifted into a deep, bruised red, resembling a piece of rotting fruit ready to burst.

There was no room for triumph. A freezing chill settled into his bones, though the searing pain had dulled into a numb fog. His spark of life wavered like a candle in a draft. Fading away into the dark didn’t seem so terrible.

But Duncan fought back.

Dying so quietly was too pathetic. He resolved to achieve one final task before he passed—for the sake of the day he would stand beside Kadim and face that monster once more.

“Guhk, ugh, guhk…….”

Using his last reserves, he began to crawl like a broken doll toward the mound of rubble.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

It was midday, and the harsh sun beat down through the gaps in the fallen masonry.

Kadim slowly peeled his eyes open.

Even in a state of wakefulness, reality felt thin. A lingering, foul sensation crawled up his spine, making him shudder. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog.

‘What was that…… that I witnessed? That crimson entity beneath the earth…….’

The images slipped away like sand. After a few failed attempts to grasp the memory, he abandoned the effort. Dealing with the immediate crisis was more pressing than decoding a nightmare.

Buried in a crater, he was pinned under layers of debris in the middle of this wasteland. It wasn’t hard to guess who was responsible.

“…….”

Attempting to stand felt as if his muscles were being shredded thread by thread. This was the cost of his chemical enhancement, calling upon the strength of his first life, and pushing his vessel past its breaking point. He gritted his teeth against the agony, forcing himself up until he could stand.

Kadim began sifting through the wreckage for his equipment. He located Lené quickly due to its “return” property, and he spotted the blood ghost relic nearby. However, a hellfire dagger and the wooden thorn were missing, prompting him to search further.

Before he could find the weapons, he came across something far more disturbing.

A thick crimson smear trailed from his position into the distance.

Kadim’s expression darkened.

‘It isn’t mine. Nor is it the monster’s. It’s still wet, but there shouldn’t be anyone left alive in this city…….’

He had to investigate. With his sword and axe ready, he followed the path without a second thought.

The trail wound through the jagged ruins. The way was choked with stones and dust, making every step a struggle. Wincing with every movement, Kadim threaded through the stone labyrinth until the space opened up, revealing the source of the blood.

He recognized the face immediately.

It was Duncan, lying in a pool of his own lifeblood, his fingers locked around leather canteens.

The caps were loose, and the liquid was seeping out. A sharp, metallic odor hit Kadim’s senses—a smell he knew all too well.

Demon blood.

“…….”

His jaw tightened, his features twitching with a mix of confusion and rage.

It defied logic. Why was Duncan here in this state when he should have been at the perimeter? Where was the gear and the dagger……?

Leaning down, he saw the man was dead to the world. His breath was a mere whisper, his skin was ice, and his heart gave only the occasional, weak thump. He was on the verge of crossing over.

“…….”

Kadim weighed his options.

He lacked the holy touch of a priest, the brews of a witch doctor, or the incantations of a sorcerer. He had only one method to pull a man back from the brink. It was a method that was ugly, primitive, and violent…….

He hesitated, but the choice was already made.

He could not let Duncan go. The merchant had proven his loyalty. Kadim still required a scout and a porter for the road ahead. More importantly, to understand what had transpired, he needed the man to speak…….

He placed Duncan’s hands firmly around the grip of the blood ghost, then turned the edge toward his own arm. He concentrated, triggering the “Hydra Tattoo.”

A vibrant red light radiated from the mark.

Kadim began to carve into his own flesh.

Slice—crunch! Slice—crunch! Slice—crunch!

The blade bit deep, blood surged forth, and the skin tore open only to knit back together instantly.

His rugged features were masked in shadows and gore. The pain was a physical weight on his mind. Yet, he remained silent, continuing the grim ritual. The crimson sword drank greedily from its creator, funneling that life force into the man holding the hilt.

Slowly, a faint red mist began to drift upward from Duncan’s body.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

As the sun began its descent, Duncan’s eyes finally snapped open.

As he regained consciousness, a look of delirious pride touched his lips.

“M-Master…… I, I did it…… I took down Agon’s Furious Horn…… It was the trick you told me about…… Heh heh heh…….”

“…….”

A cold, heavy silence followed.

Kadim wiped the blood from his arm and let out a long, weary breath. He wondered if he should have simply let the man die if his mind had crumbled that badly. Turning his gaze away, he spoke with a note of exhaustion.

“……Just keep quiet and sleep until your brain starts working again.”