Chapter – 62….
Fwoooosh!
The black blade of Grimungandr sliced across Bjornsen’s chest, wreathed in green flames.
Shrrrk!
Skin and muscle split apart, and thick black blood oozed out in streams.
“Urgh!”
Carlis wrinkled his nose at the stench that pierced his nostrils, but he did not stop swinging Grimungandr.
The gap in their physical abilities was far too great—if he didn’t finish Bjornsen now, he knew better than anyone that killing him would become impossible…
“VALHALLA… VALHAAAAALLAAAAA!”
Bjornsen’s head let out a furious roar as he counterattacked the approaching Carlis.
He was a fierce barbarian warrior reborn as a powerful undead—a Dullahan.
Even as his body burned and his soul writhed in agony under [Dragon’s Wrath], his battle instincts did not vanish.
And the sight of Bjornsen in that state was terrifying—he looked overwhelmingly powerful.
Fwooooosh!
Whish, whoosh!
Smeared in green flames, swinging his axe like a madman, Bjornsen looked like a creature dragged up from hell itself.
But that was only outward appearance.
Fwip!
The arrow shot by Marder pierced Bjornsen’s right knee joint.
Stagger!
Bjornsen’s massive body wavered and lost its balance.
Undead or not—if the joints of one’s limbs were destroyed, movement was impossible.
A Dullahan was no exception.
Slash!
Grimungandr cut into the arm holding Bjornsen’s axe.
Thud!
His right arm fell to the ground.
“Valhalla… VALHALLAAAA…!!!”
Whish! Whoosh!
Bjornsen grabbed his own hair and swung his severed head like a flail.
A Dullahan’s head was far more durable than steel—deadly enough to be wielded as a weapon on its own.
I can avoid this much.
Carlis dodged Bjornsen’s attack with ease.
With his right joint broken, Bjornsen’s movements were awkward, limping, and slow—easy to read.
Focus.
Carlis watched Bjornsen’s movements closely, looking for an opening.
His opponent was undead.
Ordinary methods could not kill him.
Especially a Dullahan—unless the head was destroyed, it would never truly die.
Attacking the body, even the heart, was meaningless.
Now!
Carlis’ eyes flashed sharply.
Hummm…
Aura infused Grimungandr.
Fwoooosh!
Funeral Sword—Worldbreaker.
The sword that carried the martial art of a hero who saved a nation cleaved toward Bjornsen’s flying head.
Shlak!
Bjornsen’s head split into two and crashed to the ground.
Thud!
The Dullahan’s body collapsed like a rotting tree toppling over.
Thus, the rematch between Carlis and Bjornsen ended in Carlis’ victory.
Bjornsen had wanted to return as a Dullahan to claim vengeance—but in the end, failed to achieve his wish.
Perhaps it was the price of ignoring the saying “Do not pull the whiskers of a sleeping dragon.”
Who would have thought that stepping on Carlis’ chest—where a baby dragon slept—would invoke the wrath of a real dragon?
Bjornsen was simply extremely unlucky. But as a dead man, he had no right to complain.
“Let’s see if your ancestors welcome a warrior who failed his vengeance.”
Carlis spat an insult at Bjornsen’s corpse.
* * *
While Carlis, with the baby dragon’s aid, dealt with Bjornsen, the battle still raged on—and Bowden Fortress continued to fall apart.
Rumble!
Crack! Crash!
“VALHALLAAAAAAA!”
“Guaaaaaaaah!”
Not only the gates, but the log palisades serving as the walls finally gave in.
The Butcher Tribe warriors and the undead minions of the black mage Crowley poured into the fortress.
“Fall back! FALL BACK!”
In the end, Helen could hold no longer and ordered a retreat.
There was nowhere to retreat to.
Her command meant: run to the small command building inside the fortress and make a last stand.
The fortress was about to fall—so they would barricade themselves inside and fight to the death.
“Fall back!”
“Damn this hell!”
The soldiers rushed toward the small building.
But the enemy did not allow the Dekaron troops to withdraw safely.
“You fools.”
Crowley gripped his skull-shaped wand and laughed mockingly.
“You really think you can escape?”
Crack! Craaaack!
The ground split open, and bony white hands burst out, grabbing the ankles of the retreating soldiers.
This spell was known as [Bone Shackle]—a black magic that summoned skeletal hands to bind one’s ankles.
“G- guh!”
“Let go!”
Soldiers swung their weapons to break free, but the [Bone Shackle] was harder than steel.
It was a literal shackle—preventing all movement.
“Keh-heheh! You rat-like vermin!”
“Finally, we can crush you!”
The Butcher Tribe warriors approached the immobilized soldiers.
“D- damn it!”
“So this is how I die… haha… hahahah…”
But contrary to what the soldiers expected, the barbarians did not attack them.
Because their chieftain, Zarkan, had given an order.
“Honorable warriors! These insects will be used as slaves or gifted to the black mage! Do not kill needlessly! Any who disobey will lose their head—by my hand! Understood?!”
“Yes, Chief!”
Zarkan shouted as he entered Bowden Fortress alongside Crowley.
Unlike most barbarians, Zarkan was unusually rational—so he intended to use the Dekaron soldiers as slaves to mine mana stones.
It was a wise idea.
In barbarian society, laborers and farmers were the lowest caste.
They valued only warriors as noble.
Because of this cultural flaw, they lacked manpower for agriculture and mana stone mining.
Meanwhile, with Crowley’s spell immobilizing the Dekaron troops, they could no longer retreat and were surrounded.
They could not abandon their shackled comrades and run—so everyone was trapped.
“Aah…”
Helen let out a long sigh.
“Fucking hell…”
“I knew this day would come, but… so it’s today.”
“Grrr…”
The scouts ground their teeth in frustration.
They could still fight.
If they were to die, they wanted to die fighting.
But with their comrades held hostage by the black magic, fighting was impossible.
During this chaos, Carlis stood frozen, in shock.
“Butler! Hey! BUTLER!”
“….”
“BUTLER, SNAP OUT OF IT! YOU STUPID, USELESS MUTT!”
“….”
Even as the baby dragon scratched and bit him, Carlis did not react at all.
“You…”
Carlis’ gaze was fixed on a single undead soldier.
“Grrrk… grrr…”
A small body, pale skin—her limping gait awkward and unnatural, just like in life when her ankle had troubled her.
Gwen.
She had become a corpse soldier.
“….”
Seeing Gwen as an undead struck Carlis deeply.
Anyone would feel the same.
Losing someone close for the first time is never something one can take lightly.
“You said… you were going on leave soon.”
Carlis muttered in a hollow voice.
“Just a few days left. I was going to share the reward leave with you.”
“Gr… grrr…”
“You said you missed your family.”
“Grrr—RAHHH!”
Having lost all memories of her life, Gwen could only snarl by instinct. She couldn’t answer.
She was no longer Private Gwen of the 2nd Engineering Platoon.
She was just a corpse soldier—no longer a human.
* * *
“Bjornsen! My brother!”
Meanwhile, Zarkan found Bjornsen’s corpse and roared in anguish.
“Why are you lying here?! Get up! NOW! You must take revenge! Only then can you enter Valhalla! Only then will you have the right to stand before our ancestors!”
But just as Gwen could not respond to Carlis—Bjornsen, with his head split in two, could not respond to Zarkan.
“My brother’s honor…!!!”
Zarkan turned sharply toward Carlis.
“Sigmund… You dare disgrace my brother’s honor to the end. I may spare others—but you, I will never forgive. I’ll skin you aliv—”
“Hold, barbarian chieftain. Calm yourself. Have you forgotten our agreement?”
Crowley blocked Zarkan.
“Sigmund is mine. Do not touch him.”
“You said I could have the corpse!”
“And you shall. But there is no need to kill him yet. My experiments work better with fresh material. More fun to play with, too. Haaa…”
Crowley’s eyes glistened with revolting desire.
“I never agreed to that. Step aside.”
“Heh.”
Crowley chuckled.
“It would be wise to stand down. If not, things may become… unpleasant between us.”
“What did you say?”
Murderous intent flashed in Zarkan’s eyes.
“You senile old mage. Do you realize what you’re saying?”
“No need for that glare. I warned you.”
Crowley remained unfazed.
Partly because he was a powerful black mage—but mostly because four Death Knights stood behind him.
Death Knights were former knights reborn as undead, their power overwhelming.
“Do not forget: our alliance exists because of the continentals—not because we truly need your strength.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Threat? What a word. Call it advice, if you will.”
“You dare, old man…!”
Zarkan took a step toward Crowley—
WHOOOOOM!
A violent storm of mana erupted from Carlis.
“….!”
Crowley and Zarkan instinctively turned to look at him.
The aura radiating from Carlis was unmistakably abnormal.
“Hm.”
Crowley narrowed his eyes as if realizing something.
“A Bloodmark Awakening, is it?”
“What nonsense is that?”
“You barbarians truly are ignorant. Your tribes and the Sigmund family have fought for ages—yet you’ve never heard of Bloodmark Awakening?”
“….?”
“The blood in their veins— the Sigmund bloodline carries a primordial, divine beast’s power, inherited from ancient times. When that power awakens, it is called a Bloodmark Awakening.”
“Ridiculous.”
Zarkan scoffed.
“We barbarians are the true warriors blessed by our ancestral spirits. I’ve heard Sigmunds are strong, but our people also—”
“Ts, ts.”
Crowley clicked his tongue.
“You understand nothing. Truly the thinking of a rootless, upstart tribe’s chieftain.”
“…What?”
“The Sigmunds—”
Crowley never finished his sentence.
Whiiiiir!
Carlis was now enveloped in a dark vortex of energy, his eyes glowing a deep violet.
Bloodmark Awakening.
Just as Crowley claimed—the monstrous divine power carved into the Sigmund bloodline had awakened.
