The Berserker’s Second Playthrough Novel - Chapter 78

Chapter 78
### Chapter 78: Every Moment, Every Time (7)

—

Kadim and Duncan moved through the wreckage, scavenging for any items of value left in the wake of the battle.

Realistically, there were few treasures to be found other than the dark ichor and the severed heads of the fallen monsters. That was the extent of their haul.

“Master, I found another demon over here!”

“Understood. Pierce the main artery to drain the blood, then take the head.”

“Right… yes, sir…”

Even these trophies were becoming scarce among the higher-ranking tiers. With the primary demon eliminated and its dark influence severed, those who had been artificially elevated in rank had collapsed back into their pathetic original forms.

Kadim wasn’t particularly bothered. He hadn’t arrived with high expectations for loot. Most of the lifeblood he had collected during the actual conflict had been spilled, so even this meager harvest was a small mercy.

More importantly, he had managed to secure the specific prize he had been targeting from the very beginning.

A deep crimson pool gathered at the base of a massive crater.

It was the blood of the high demon, Pebilatus.

Since his final memories originated from three centuries prior, Pebilatus had met his end while inhabiting the frame of a low-tier demon. Scouring the area for a grand corpse would be a waste of time.

However, before the final breath escaped him, Kadim had pulverized his skull and physical form countless times. Shards and droplets of the high demon’s essence had sprayed across the battlefield. This specific pit—the site where he had relentlessly crushed Pebilatus every time he tried to rise—served as a reservoir.

Kadim descended into the depths of the hollow with caution. A nauseating, toxic stench of blood drifted upward. It wasn’t difficult to deduce the properties of this lethal liquid.

Consuming the blood of a high demon allowed a warrior to temporarily wield its “authority.”

In practical terms, drinking this essence would grant him the ability to manifest his “first playthrough body” once again.

“……”

This realization meant he could never consume it lightly.

The mindless fury of his first life existed on a scale that dwarfed his current strength, possessing power that was as terrifying as it was absolute. It was fortunate that this location was already a graveyard; had he lost control in a populated center, the death toll would have been catastrophic. The fragmented vision he’d experienced while drifting in and out of consciousness was equally haunting…

‘…Even so, I cannot leave this blood behind.’

He had come dangerously close to an actual defeat this time.

Pebilatus ranked among the ten most formidable demons he had ever encountered. Kadim’s triumph had relied on the unpredictable phenomenon of his current self-connecting to his past self—not because his own current strength was sufficient.

If he had failed, Pebilatus would have transformed the eastern continent into a nightmare realm teeming with demons. There was no promise that the next foe wouldn’t be just as powerful. To prevent a repeat of this near-catastrophe, he needed to be ready.

He required a “destructive power” capable of obliterating any threat, regardless of the personal toll.

…However, he swore a silent oath to never utilize it unless faced with a terminal crisis where no other path existed. With that solemn vow, Kadim slowly decanted the demon’s blood into his leather flask.

As he climbed back up, he retrieved the wooden thorns from a shattered support. Unfortunately, they had snapped into three fragments. Noticing they had been stripped of their petrifying properties, Kadim tossed them aside without a second thought.

Despite the losses, Duncan stumbled upon a surprising find.

“Master, look… isn’t this a staff used by those spellcasters?”

It was the metallic staff that had belonged to the mage from the ancient Magic Tower.

He remembered how striking the ground with it had triggered the emergence of iron barricades and restrictive wires. It appeared to be a magical catalyst that fired stored incantations simply by channeling “mana,” bypassing the need for verbal chanting. He couldn’t be certain of its exact nature, but it felt like a Unique grade artifact.

There were no practitioners of magic in their small circle, making it useless for the moment. Carrying such a recognizable item openly might invite unwanted hostility from other mages. Yet, discarding it felt like a massive waste of potential profit.

‘I managed to trade those chains from the adjutant to the magistrate for 200,000 luden, didn’t I? This should be worth at least that much…’

Kadim grabbed a discarded cloth and wrapped the staff carefully to obscure its shape. He would keep it concealed for now and look for a way to liquidate it later.

They loaded the demon heads onto a salvaged cart they’d found—the pile grew so high it resembled a small hill. The twisted, horrific visages, enough to trigger night terrors, were stacked atop one another, leaving a trail of gore in their wake.

“Oh, Lord Remillion… what a ghastly display this is…”

Ignoring Duncan’s distress, Kadim commanded him to seal the neck wounds of each head using the hellfire dagger. It was a necessary step to stop local predators from tracking the scent of the blood. Duncan looked increasingly nauseated, but he performed the task with grim dedication.

By the time the scavenging and cleanup reached its conclusion, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. In the glow of the twilight, Soltana no longer looked like a fresh massacre site, but rather like a peaceful, ancient ruin.

The two men found a relatively clear spot to sit and finally exchanged accounts of the day’s events.

“…I encountered ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’?”

“Indeed, Master! He was moving in to finish you off while you were unconscious, so I jumped in and blocked his path! I demanded a duel to the death! And I triumphed brilliantly, restoring your honor in the process!”

“……”

Kadim had no memory of this. His mind had already surrendered to the void following the end of his berserk state.

Duncan sprang up, his face a mask of wounded pride as Kadim narrowed his eyes in blatant disbelief.

“I-it’s the truth, Master! I’ll bet my entire savings and my very life on it!”

“Your savings are negligible. And your life is already mine to take.”

“Then… I’ll stake my wife and daughter waiting back home!”

“……”

…Kadim was tempted to point out that he didn’t want them, but he decided to take Duncan at his word for once.

As the stories merged, the gaps in his theories began to close.

The commander of the Atalans was Agon’s Furious Horn.

He had summoned a holy artifact through the “Judgment of Atala.”

And he had distributed that celestial energy among his soldiers.

Given the way his physical form had disintegrated, he clearly hadn’t been able to handle the internal damage caused by the relic. He likely wasn’t much of a threat without his primary tool. However, the fluid that had been repairing his body was something that required further study.

How he had come to possess the “Judgment of Atala” and why he held the delusion of being “Atala’s Great Warrior” remained unanswered questions. Nevertheless, one objective had become crystal clear.

‘If you wish to hide the identity of this axe’s true owner, come to Agon’s arena…’

He would travel to Agon, take the life of the pretender, and seize the “Judgment of Atala” back.

Duncan read the intent in Kadim’s eyes. He gave a weary sigh and spoke in a low voice.

“…Are we heading straight for Agon, Master? It’s roughly a four-day journey on foot.”

“No, there is one stop we must make first.”

Kadim gestured toward the cart overflowing with demon trophies.

“We need to get paid. We’ll head to the frontline base to claim the bounty for the extermination, and then we move.”

“……”

“Low-tier demons are 10,000 luden a piece, mid-tiers are 50,000… I’m not sure the camp has enough gold to pay for that mountain.”

Duncan’s eyes widened as if he’d been struck by a bolt of pure inspiration.

The demon faces, which had seemed so repulsive moments ago, suddenly looked quite charming and profitable.

—

Within a palatial estate in Delutana, a study filled with luxury echoed with an air of tradition.

A groomed man in his forties sat at the head of a central table. He was the focal point of the political chaos currently gripping the city.

A representative of the Delutana council, one half of the Turis family’s influence, and the magistrate of Remtana who had sparked a firestorm in the Golden City: Enrico Turis.

He looked exhausted, but his gaze remained piercing. He drummed his fingers on the wood, buried in heavy contemplation.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open. A figure marched in with visible rage and, upon reaching Enrico, delivered a blow so hard it snapped his head to the side.

Enrico didn’t react with anger. He simply bowed his head, accepting the strike as his due.

“You’ve arrived, brother. I appreciate you taking the time out of your intense schedule.”

“……”

The patriarch of the Turis family and a top contender for the council chairmanship, Pellico Turis, stared down his brother while trying to steady his breathing. He eventually regained his composure and took a seat across from him, his expression icy.

“…I spent the night debating whether to just crack your head open and hand the pieces to the Church and the Tower, claiming we had nothing to do with you.”

“……”

“But a bird cannot fly if one of its wings is severed. The Turis family still requires your presence. We’ll consider that strike payment for my personal frustration—now, let’s look at the facts.”

Enrico nodded with resolve. This was a crisis beyond his personal reach. He would endure a thousand more strikes if it meant securing his brother’s and his family’s support.

Even the information available to the public was a massive headache.

A high-ranking Arch Paladin from the Church had trespassed on territory belonging to an ally. A senior mage from the Magic Tower, serving as a local adjutant, had intervened. During the ensuing clash, both had been killed…

This event alone was one of the most significant diplomatic disasters since the alliance’s inception. Everyone in Delutana, from the high lords to the commoners, was talking about it.

But the actual truth was far more terrifying.

The Arch Paladin and the mage had never actually fought—they had died in completely different locations. One fell in Twin Valleys, the other within the Tower’s hidden stronghold. And a single individual had ended them both.

An Atalan mercenary possessing terrifying, god-like power.

“…And you believe this man is the ‘Demon Slayer’ who traveled the Golden Highway using the credentials you provided?”

“I do. It hasn’t been confirmed beyond doubt, but the evidence makes it the most likely conclusion.”

“Hah…”

Pellico let out a long breath. He had known this, but hearing it again made his head ache. This scale of scandal was unheard of in the history of the alliance.

At the very least, very few people knew the full story—a small mercy. Pellico rubbed his eyes and spoke with gravity.

“As you are well aware, Delutana must always protect its wealth… Recruiting a mercenary with that level of skill is usually a smart move. Generally, we would seek to befriend such a person, not make them an enemy.”

“……”

“But this has gone too far. Why would we risk a war with the Church and the Tower just to keep one mercenary on our side? Demons are already choking the highway—we don’t know how that will end. Provoking those two powers is essentially a death sentence for Delutana.”

“…I agree, brother. But at that moment, I felt I had no other path. And by setting up a believable crime scene, we can mitigate the fallout. Senior Adjutant Renato is still in Remtana, meticulously preparing the site according to my plans…”

“No. I’m talking about sheer value. No matter how formidable this mercenary is, he can’t possibly stand against the masters of the Tower or the ‘Decagram’ on his own, can he?”

“……”

Enrico closed his eyes, reflecting on the situation.

He thought back to the mercenary’s impossible feats and their past dialogue, then looked back at his brother.

“Brother, he isn’t a common sellsword. When we spoke, he claimed to be Atala’s Great Warrior, much like ‘Agon’s Furious Horn.’ I don’t know the full history, but I could tell he wasn’t spinning a lie.”

“…Stop with the myths. We need to deal in reality.”

“Then let’s be realistic: if he truly possesses the power to challenge even the ‘Decagram’… what would we do then?”

“……”

Pellico’s eyes sharpened, his gaze locking onto Enrico’s with intense focus.

“The alliance was forced to surrender to the Empire in only three days. The ‘Decagram’ has been known to erase entire cities in a single night.”

“……”

“An Arch Paladin is a threat, but the ‘Decagram’ is on an entirely different level. Are you willing to stake your life on that claim?”

Enrico met his brother’s stare without flinching. Pellico let out a low, frustrated sound.

“…We may have to, whether we are certain or not. The archbishop of the Elga Church has officially announced a visit to Delutana.”

“…!”

“The public reason is to discuss the demon threat, but there’s no way he’d travel for just that. He’s going to try and corner you. we must have a solid defense ready before he lands.”

“……”

“…In the worst-case scenario, he already knows what happened. If so, we have to decide: do we help them capture the ‘Demon Slayer,’ or do we try to use his strength against the Empire and the ‘Decagram’…”

Enrico’s expression became as hard as stone. Pellico gave him a moment to process, then snapped his fingers to bring him back.

“Stay focused, Enrico. Let’s put the worst-case scenario aside and plan for the possibility that they are still in the dark.”

The two brothers spent the next hour debating strategies. However, the more they discussed it, the more they realized their disadvantage: they had no way of knowing how much their opponents knew or what their next move would be…

Pellico suggested they gather more intelligence and meet again the following day. Enrico nodded and prepared to leave. Given the circumstances, he would postpone his request for the Tower records.

But Enrico stopped and sat back down.

“One more thing, brother. Have you ever seen this emblem?”

“…?”

Enrico drew a quick sketch on a piece of paper: a face where the eyes were covered by hands, but with additional eyes drawn onto the backs of those hands. It was a disturbing image.

Pellico’s brow furrowed deeply.

“What is this? Where did you come across this, Enrico?”

“It was on silver coins that the mercenary had. He asked if I could identify the origin. Do you recognize it?”

Pellico rubbed his temple, searching through his memory.

He tried to connect the symbol to any known faction, but eventually shook his head with a heavy sigh.

“Hah… and you’re sure this mercenary is Atalan?”

“Yes.”

“I have no idea. That is the sigil of the ‘Forgotten God’ cult. They were wiped out by the Elga Church a long time ago. I can’t imagine why an Atalan would be carrying it…”

The Turis brothers sat in silence, both staring intently at the unsettling symbol.