The Berserker’s Second Playthrough Novel - Chapter 94

Chapter 94
## Chapter 94: Arena King (1)

The trail stretching from Galentana, the crown jewel of the Free City Alliance, toward Agon was a study in transition.

The landscape was shedding its vibrant emerald coat. Now, the view was dominated by shades of ochre and scorched earth rather than lush greenery. The intense midsummer sun, which usually fostered life, had turned into a suffocating heat that baked the stones and birthed shimmering yellow illusions on the horizon. A thirsty, frantic wind tore across the path like a madman searching for water, kicking up clouds of grit.

This was a territory where the typical abundance of nature had simply vanished—an arid island in the middle of a fertile continent. It was a realm defined by drought and isolation.

The Agon region stood alone as the only true desert within the Free City Alliance.

“Hah… hah…”

Duncan was gasping for air, his tongue practically hanging out as he hauled the heavy dark sack. Even though the temperature was the same as elsewhere, the complete absence of shade made the sun feel like a physical weight. Sweat dripped from his chin, matting the thin goatee that wiggled with every labored breath.

Beside him, Kadim moved with unnerving composure. This climate was nothing to him. Compared to the blistering wastes beyond the mountain ranges—the ancestral lands of the Atalan people where the very air could sear lungs and boil blood—this was a mild afternoon.

As they navigated the cracked earth, Kadim was lost in his own mind.

The chaos back in Galentana had been a total wildcard.

In his previous life and during his time within the game’s narrative, the Forgotten God and its zealots were nothing more than a footnote—flavor text with no real impact. He had dismissed them as a dead-end plot point. He never imagined that three centuries later, they would emerge as both a hindrance and a source of aid.

At the very least, he now understood the motivation behind their obsession with him.

[*The combatant clad in the abyss shall return. He will soak the earth in unholy blood and tear down the false radiance in the skies.*]

That was the prophecy of the Forgotten God.

He found it strange that the shamans of the wastes hadn’t been the ones to receive this vision, but the gist was clear enough. Given his history of toppling a high-ranking demon alongside the Hero’s party, it stood to reason that he, a legendary Great Warrior of Atala, would be the subject of such a foretelling.

However, the revelation only added to the weight on his shoulders.

The idea of the sun being a watchful eye and Elga being a fraud changed everything. The implications were staggering.

If Elga was an imitation, where was the true deity? What was this entity’s goal, ignoring the demonic scourge to focus on human suffering? More confusingly, why did it continue to bestow divine miracles upon Elga’s clergy and knights? Was there a link between his arrival in this era and the rising demon tide?

Had he asked these questions of his old friend Gordon, the response would have been predictable:

*“Haha! Brother Kadim! Do not let doubt cloud your spirit! The designs of the heavens are deeper than any ocean, far beyond the reach of our mortal minds!”*

The memory of that booming, cheerful voice brought a faint, internal smile to Kadim’s face.

But Gordon’s answer relied on unshakable faith. If a man who had sacrificed his entire existence to a god realized that god was a hollow shell, how would he react? Would his spirit break?

Or perhaps, Gordon had seen the truth long ago.

*“…I’ve never heard of such a thing. Slaying a great demon? If you had done that, there would be statues of you in every cathedral…”*

If Gordon had uncovered the lie after Kadim’s disappearance and been purged from history for his discovery, where would a man like that go?

“…Hah… Master… Master…?”

The desperate wheezing snapped Kadim back to the present.

“…What?”

“Can we… please… just a moment… under that crag?”

Duncan looked like he was about to collapse, his skin a sickly grey. Kadim gave a short nod and detoured toward the shade.

There were mountains of mysteries left to climb, but Kadim knew he had to keep his eyes on the path ahead. He needed to sharpen his edge, find the lingering shadows of his old comrades, cull the demons, and handle the immediate threats.

He was inhabiting the frame of Kadim now—a berserker whose very essence was defined by a ruthless, brewing insanity. He had to act before the bloodlust completely eroded his mind.

Finding the Judgment of Atala in Agon was the first step.

The shadow of the rock offered a reprieve from the glare. Duncan fumbled for a water skin, drained half of it in seconds, and fell backward into the dirt. Kadim took a measured drink and sat in silence.

As Kadim adjusted the heavy bag, he paused.

The bag was enchanted to distort space, making it lighter than it should be, but it wasn’t weightless. Currently, it held about sixty kilograms. It was a breeze for Kadim, but for a normal man, it was a punishing load.

Yet, Duncan had carried it for three days without a word of complaint—other than his heavy breathing.

“Hah… hah…”

Kadim watched him closely. There had been other signs. The cart full of demon trophies had been heavy enough to break a seasoned soldier, yet this scrawny merchant had hauled it for a week.

Initially, Kadim thought it was just the adrenaline of profit, but sheer greed couldn’t explain this. On the Golden Highway, Duncan had almost fainted after a light jog. Something had changed his physical ceiling.

Kadim scanned his memory for the turning point.

Then he remembered.

During the struggle against the creature known as Agon’s Furious Horn, Duncan had ingested a significant amount of Kadim’s blood via the Mosquito.

It seemed preposterous. That blood was meant to keep him from dying, not turn him into a marathon runner. It wasn’t as if Kadim possessed the blood of a dragon or a high demon.

And yet, there was no other explanation. Kadim peered at the merchant’s bearded face.

“How are you feeling, Duncan? Any changes in your body?”

“I’m feeling like a corpse, Master… please, five more minutes…”

Kadim turned away. If he had the energy to complain, he was healthy.

Still, it wasn’t a bad development. While not on the level of his former allies, Kadim had begun to view the merchant as a fixture. If the man he was stuck with was becoming more durable, it only made things easier.

“Sleep. I’ll wake you when the sun dips. Close your eyes.”

“Oh… bless you, Master…”

Besides, with this new stamina, training him to defend himself would be far more effective.

“I’ve secured some new gear. Before we move out, I’m going to teach you how to use it. We aren’t moving until you show progress.”

Duncan’s eyes widened as he touched his new blade and dagger, but the joy was short-lived. He remembered what “training” looked like with a barbarian: it usually involved being beaten until you learned how to stop being hit.

—

The wasteland night arrived, cooling the parched earth under a silver moon.

A small fire provided the only light. Kadim was putting Duncan through his paces, the ring of steel and the whistle of a staff echoing in the quiet. Duncan was almost entirely on the defensive, but Kadim was secretly impressed.

The merchant’s growth was startling. He didn’t tire as easily, and his instincts had sharpened enough to parry or dodge three out of every ten strikes. More importantly, he was learning how to fade into the shadows during a scuffle.

It made his previous kidnapping by low-level cultists seem like a fluke.

*Whoosh—!*

Duncan managed a narrow escape and allowed himself a brief, arrogant smirk.

“Heh, I was just off my game back then, Master… but now, after facing down the Furious Horn, I’m a different breed of—”

*Thwack—*

“Gah!”

Kadim increased his speed. Duncan went back to being a punching bag, lucky to dodge once in a hundred attempts.

By the end of the session, Duncan was a heap of bruised flesh, groaning into the sand.

“Ugh… everything hurts… please, let me die…”

The exhaustion of the march combined with the fresh welts was overwhelming. He wanted nothing more than to lose consciousness, but Kadim was a hard taskmaster.

“Get up. We’re moving.”

“…What?”

“I said we’d leave after the training. The training is over.”

Duncan briefly considered trying to knock Kadim out so he could sleep, but the mental image ended with his own head being crushed like a grape. He couldn’t even win in his own imagination.

“Uuuuugh…”

Duncan dragged himself upright. The only mercy was that Kadim took the bag this time.

The night road through the wastes was lonely. The only sound was the crunch of their boots. Kadim watched the horizon, where the dust mixed with the dark sky like a spectral fog.

“Why is this place a desert?” Kadim asked abruptly.

“Huh?”

The question caught Duncan off guard. Having lived all his life in this era, he assumed Agon had always been this way.

But Kadim knew better. In his original world—or at least the version he knew—the eastern continent was fertile. He had checked the maps.

Under Kadim’s heavy gaze, Duncan scrambled for an answer. “Well… it is weird, I guess? The rest of the Alliance is green and healthy. Maybe… I don’t know, a dragon burned it all down a long time ago?”

Kadim ignored the guess. Three hundred years was a long time, but not long enough for a flourishing plain to turn into a wasteland naturally. Something—or someone—had caused this.

“…Or maybe when the gods were building the world, Atala just dropped a bag of dirt here by mistake…”

Kadim stopped in his tracks.

“Wait. Say that again.”

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Atala is perfect! I’m just delirious from the walking! Forget I said anything!”

Kadim wasn’t angry. He was processing.

The shamans in this region were stronger than they should be. And the “Furious Horn” had possessed that bizarre, regenerative marrow. The pieces were starting to drift toward a center. To find out why that monster had stolen his title, he needed to get to Agon immediately.

Kadim picked up the pace. Duncan struggled to keep up, his legs cramping as the gap between them grew.

“Master! Wait! Please… just a second…”

Surprisingly, Kadim actually halted. But it wasn’t to wait for his companion.

He caught a sharp, metallic scent on the wind. He reached for the handle of his hatchet and turned toward the darkness.

In the distance, shapes were moving. Crimson eyes flickered like dying embers. A pack of bipedal, hyena-like beasts surrounded a towering, mutated creature with a broken horn.

*—…Finally… fresh meat…*

*—…Hehehe…*

A troll hunting party, led by a mid-tier progenitor.

Kadim narrowed his eyes. It was a threat that would wipe out a squad of soldiers, but for him, they were barely an appetizer. However, there was a problem.

*—Kek! Over here!*

*—Help! Someone!*

The sounds of a struggle reached his ears. The monsters had already cornered their prey. At this distance, they might finish the job before he could intervene.

Duncan finally caught up, looking confused. “Master? What’s going on? Why did we stop?”

Kadim ignored the question, focusing on the victims. Among the panicked group, he recognized a shock of familiar hair. Someone he’d run into before.

A grim smile played on Kadim’s lips. He felt the hydra tattoo on his skin begin to throb as he tossed the heavy bag back to Duncan.

“Stay back and watch the gear, Duncan. We have company.”

“Wait, demons? Right now?”

“Yes. And it looks like an old acquaintance is in trouble.”

Before Duncan could respond, Kadim was gone. Like a streak of dark ink across the sand, he lunged into the night, heading straight for the slaughter.