Chapter 95: Berserker and Conqueror (Patreon)

"You really are out of luck, brat from the Freya Familia."

Zald gripped his pitch-black greatsword with both hands, his lead-gray eyes fixed through the visor of his helmet on Ottar, who knelt on one knee before him.

"After all these years, struck down by me again — just like back then."

The flames around them shuddered violently, caught between the two colliding auras.

Ottar's shoulder plate had already cracked open, blood trickling down through the gaps in his armor. His arms strained, fighting to hold up the terrible weight bearing down on his blade, but his knees kept sinking deeper into the shattered street.

Zald wasn't using magic.

He hadn't activated a Skill.

He hadn't even shown a trace of the power called "Devour."

With nothing but a body forged through relentless training, raw swordsmanship, and base ability, he had pinned down the current strongest adventurer in Orario, leaving him unable to rise.

The heavy blade kept pressing down.

Ottar's armor let out a faint groan.

"You've grown, brat."

There was no warmth in Zald's tone.

It was the cold judgment of someone looking down from a higher place at those who came after.

"But your growth still isn't enough to get past me."

Ottar clenched his teeth, hot breath escaping his mouth.

No one in Orario understood the strength of the Zeus Familia and the Hera Familia better than he did.

He had challenged those two great Familias again and again.

Defeated by warriors of the Zeus Familia.

Defeated by heroines of the Hera Familia.

Defeated by those the world called heroes — people who stood before him like walls he couldn't climb.

Every time he fell, Ottar remembered why.

Not enough strength. Not enough speed. Not enough judgment. Not enough experience.

He carved each defeat into his body, sharpened his weapon on humiliation, and rose again, challenging those untouchable backs once more.

Even after Zeus and Hera left Orario, he had never truly defeated one of those top-tier powerhouses.

Those old memories stirred awake now.

The Zeus Familia at its peak.

The Hera Familia, savage enough to twist the common sense of any battlefield.

And standing above all those powerhouses, at a height even Ottar back then couldn't see the limit of, was Zald.

The height he had never crossed loomed over him now like a vast shadow.

His earthen-red pupils wavered.

Zald noticed.

"Scared?"

He eased off some of the pressure on the blade.

Ottar didn't rise immediately.

Zald stepped back half a pace, resting the black greatsword back on his shoulder.

"It's right to be scared. Anyone who can't even judge the gap between himself and his enemy deserves to die on the first strike."

His broad, deep crimson cloak billowed in the hot wind.

"Swallow your fear, then come at me with your fighting spirit raised."

Zald raised his left hand and beckoned to Ottar with one finger.

"If you don't want me to devour you, show me exactly what Freya raised you to be."

Ottar tightened his grip on the hilt.

Zald's retreat wasn't mercy.

He was waiting.

Waiting for Ottar to cast aside distraction and bring out greater strength.

If Ottar couldn't manage it, the next strike would end the fight.

Ottar pushed his battered body upright, planting his feet firmly on the ground again.

"You're wrong."

He raised his greatsword, its tip aimed straight at Zald's chest.

"What got me this far wasn't some goddess raising me like livestock."

The corner of Zald's mouth lifted slightly beneath his helmet.

"Oh?"

"I came this far on my own, to answer that lady's expectations."

Ottar exhaled the stale breath pressing in his chest.

His wavering gaze steadied again.

The fear was still there.

So were the old defeats — they hadn't vanished.

He accepted all of it.

With absolute clarity, he acknowledged that his enemy was far stronger than him, and then raised his weapon.

"I will beat you."

Ottar's toes crushed the paving stones beneath him.

"And then I'll go back to Lady Freya."

Zald lowered the greatsword from his shoulder.

"Good spirit."

Both steel-covered hands tightened around the hilt.

"Then take this strike."

The black greatsword rose high overhead.

There was no dazzling flash of magic, no complex incantation forming. But the instant Zald shifted his grip, the air over the entire street turned unbearably heavy.

Ottar's instincts screamed a warning.

Until now, Zald had only been testing him.

From this moment on, the man was finally about to swing in earnest.

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Ottar roared.

The sound shook loose shards of roof tile, and his massive body surged forward.

His first step cracked the ground.

His second step covered more than ten meters.

By his third step, he was already in front of Zald.

He poured his speed, strength, and full body weight into his weapon, swinging the greatsword up in a diagonal arc aimed at Zald's right arm. The blade whipped up a violent gale, scattering the flames along its path — cracks split even the buildings on either side under the pressure of the swing.

A full-power strike capable of shattering a Floor Master's defenses slammed straight into the black blade.

CLANG!

The roar tore through the night sky.

Blinding sparks burst from where the two greatswords met.

The veins on Ottar's arms bulged as he leaned his whole body forward, straining with everything he had to overpower his opponent.

Zald didn't move an inch.

His heavy boots didn't even leave a fresh mark on the ground.

"You've got the strength."

Zald twisted his wrist.

"Your blade's too straight."

The black greatsword deflected Ottar's weapon outward along its edge.

All the force Ottar had poured into his blade suddenly had nowhere to land. His greatsword was pushed aside, leaving his upper body wide open.

Zald's left fist had already reached his chest.

Ottar pulled his elbow in just in time to guard his breastplate.

A dull impact erupted.

Ottar's feet left the ground, his massive body sent flying backward. He twisted at the waist midair and, on landing, drove his blade into the pavement to force himself to a stop.

Zald didn't pursue.

He stood where he was, tilting his chin toward Ottar.

"Keep going."

Ottar pulled his greatsword free and charged again.

This time, he didn't try to match strength head-on.

His first strike aimed at Zald's knee, but just before the two weapons collided, Ottar suddenly redirected his blade toward the joint between helmet and shoulder plate.

Zald raised his blade to block.

Ottar immediately abandoned the swing, slamming his shoulder into the black blade instead. His heavy body pivoted around the weapon as a fulcrum, his armored leg sweeping toward Zald's side.

Zald blocked with his raised left arm.

The boot struck the arm guard, sparks scattering outward.

Ottar didn't pause.

The greatsword completed its rotation with his body and landed back in both hands. His second strike chopped downward at Zald's head.

"Better than before."

Zald raised his weapon crosswise with one hand.

The greatswords collided.

Ottar's attack was stopped in midair once again.

Zald's left arm shoved Ottar's leg aside, and pressing forward with the motion, slammed his helmet into Ottar's forehead.

CRACK!

Ottar's vision lurched violently.

Warm blood ran down from his brow.

Zald's knee strike followed immediately. Ottar gave up trying to keep pressing his blade and instead brought his weapon across his chest, using the broad blade to absorb the impact.

His body was still knocked off the ground.

Zald spun his greatsword, sweeping the flat of the blade at Ottar in midair.

Ottar raised his blade to meet it.

The two forces collided again.

This time, Ottar had no chance to adjust his stance before being blasted straight into a roadside building. The wall collapsed inward, the beams snapped, and rubble buried him in an instant.

Zald shouldered his weapon and watched the ruins.

"Reflexes aren't slow."

The rubble suddenly burst apart.

Ottar charged out of the wreckage.

Blood covered half his face, but his eyes were sharper than before. He didn't give Zald time for a leisurely assessment — his greatsword struck out again and again, each blow aimed at an armor joint.

CLANG!

The first strike was blocked.

The second grazed Zald's shoulder plate, leaving a shallow scratch on the thick metal.

The third strike shifted from a thrust into a horizontal slash, forcing Zald to step back for the first time.

Ottar seized the chance to close the distance.

He knew perfectly well that the gap in raw power between their blades couldn't be closed. His only chance to win was to shorten the distance and use fists, elbows, knees, and hilt strikes in turn, to keep Zald from ever completing a full swing.

Zald saw through the plan as well.

"Right choice."

He sidestepped Ottar's fist.

"But what makes you think close combat is my weakness?"

The black greatsword suddenly dropped from his hand.

Before Ottar could grasp what had happened, Zald's right hand had already slipped past his guard and seized the edge of his shoulder plate.

Steel fingers clamped down hard.

Ottar's shoulder plate crumpled on the spot.

Zald twisted at the waist, hoisted the Boaz — whose bulk nearly matched his own — off the ground, and slammed him down on the other side.

The street caved in with a boom.

Ottar's back struck the pavement, all the air forced from his lungs.

Zald flicked the falling greatsword up with the tip of his boot and caught the hilt with his left hand. The black blade swept immediately toward Ottar's neck.

Ottar rolled aside just in time.

The blade struck the ground.

The entire street split open, the crack running all the way to the distant fires.

Ottar planted one hand on the ground and spun his body up off it. His greatsword swept low at Zald's legs.

Zald didn't bother pulling his weapon from the ground.

He let go of the hilt and simply stepped down onto the flat of Ottar's blade.

The heavy weight transmitted down through the blade.

Ottar's arms sank sharply; the blade nearly slipped from his grip.

Zald followed through with a kick to his chest.

Ottar raised his left arm to block; his arm guard dented instantly. He rode the impact to leap backward, finally breaking free of close range.

The two of them opened up more than ten meters between them again.

Zald bent down and pulled the black greatsword free from the crack in the ground.

Ottar caught his breath.

After only a handful of exchanges, his shoulder plate, arm guards, and breastplate already showed obvious damage, and his internal organs had taken repeated blows.

Zald's armor had gained only one shallow scratch.

The gap between them was almost cruelly clear.

"Still want to keep going?"

Zald asked.

Ottar answered with action.

He charged again.

Zald let out a low chuckle, raising his greatsword with both hands.

"Good."

Both warriors swung at the same instant.

The black blades crossed in midair.

This time, Zald didn't deflect Ottar's weapon or use technique to redirect the force.

He chose to overpower him head-on.

"Too green."

The blade came down.

Ottar's attack — built from speed, spirit, and his entire body weight — was utterly crushed the instant they clashed. His greatsword was knocked wide, his arms flung up high.

His chest lay completely exposed.

Ottar's eyes went wide.

Zald's weapon had already changed direction after that brief contact, shifting from a side slash into an overhead chop. The heavy blade blocked out his entire field of vision — before the pressure of the blow even arrived, the ground beneath his feet was already crumbling downward.

Time seemed to slow.

Ottar saw the judgment in Zald's eyes.

Too weak.

Same as back then.

No matter how much effort he poured in, no matter how many life-or-death battles he crossed, standing before the old-era conqueror he would always earn the same verdict.

Fear clenched around his heart again.

But Ottar didn't close his eyes.

He forced his deflected weapon back, holding it crosswise above his head.

In the next instant, the black blade came crashing down.

BOOM!

The earth let out a wail.

The shockwave tore through the street, snuffing out the nearby flames all at once. The ground buckled as if struck by a massive war hammer, slabs of paving flying outward, and several already-damaged buildings collapsed one after another.

A deep crater opened beneath Ottar's feet.

A second shockwave rippled through the ground, and the whole city felt the tremor.

"What was that?!"

Noin, escorting evacuating civilians, staggered and quickly braced herself on her katana.

Lyra caught a girl who nearly fell and turned to look south. There, a massive gray pillar of dust rose, dwarfing the surrounding buildings.

"That's not an earthquake."

She bit her lip.

"Something hit the ground."

"You've got to be kidding — what attack could reach all the way here?!"

Kaguya pressed a hand to her sword hilt, a rare look of shock crossing her face.

Ryuu was stationed at the rear of the evacuation line. When the tremor hit, the eaves she stood beneath shook violently, and several roof tiles slid loose near her feet.

Adi hugged her backpack tight, shielding Artorias inside it from the falling debris.

The white rabbit's ears shot up.

In the delayed rumble that reached them, he heard the sound of two greatswords colliding.

He also heard one side's defense being forcibly crushed.

"That's Zald."

Artorias spoke.

Adi's breath caught.

"Who's he fighting?"

Artorias didn't answer right away.

That weight of force, the timbre of the weapons clashing, and the low growl that hadn't given up resistance even at the very end — all of it pointed to a figure he'd seen not long ago.

"Ottar."

He gripped the edge of the backpack tighter.

"Zald just hit Ottar."

Everyone nearby fell silent at once.

No one wanted to ask about the outcome right away.

Atop Babel.

Freya stood before the great window, her silver eyes cutting through the black smoke, fixed on the battlefield in the city's south.

In a spot far beyond ordinary sight, she saw a soul-light she knew intimately.

Moments ago it had stood firm like a fortress.

Now it plummeted suddenly under Zald's blow.

Freya pressed her fingers against the window.

"Ottar?"

The word never left the room.

She hadn't lost her sense of his soul. Ottar was still alive, but the light had grown terribly faint, as if the battlefield's darkness could swallow it at any moment.

For the first time, the goddess understood, with absolute clarity, that even her strongest child could fall.

The smoke slowly cleared.

Around the two of them, the entire street had been utterly reshaped.

Zald still stood at the edge of the crater.

The black greatsword hung at his side, its edge unmarked. His deep crimson cloak swayed in the lingering heat, his full suit of armor still heavy and steady.

At the bottom of the crater, Ottar's weapon had shattered.

The greatsword had broken through the middle, its front half embedded in rubble some distance away. The remaining half was still gripped in Ottar's hand, its broken edge webbed with fine cracks.

The Boaz's armor was badly damaged.

His shoulder bone and arm had taken the brunt of the impact, his body no longer able to stand. He knelt at the bottom of the crater, head bowed, blood dripping steadily.

Zald looked down at him.

"You blocked it."

Ottar didn't respond.

"Your weapon broke, and your body's at its limit, but you didn't just black out like you did back then."

There was finally a trace of acknowledgment in Zald's voice.

"Looks like Freya's effort wasn't wasted after all."

Ottar's fingers twitched.

He grabbed his broken blade and drove it into the ground, trying to use it to support himself.

His right foot planted firm.

His left knee lifted off the ground.

His battered body rose slowly.

Zald didn't stop him, only watched quietly.

The moment Ottar straightened his back, his legs gave out again. He stumbled half a step forward, the broken blade scraping against the ground, and finally he collapsed to his knees once more.

"It's not over."

A hoarse voice forced its way out of him.

Zald looked at the Boaz.

"Your consciousness is already starting to scatter."

"I can still swing a blade."

"All you've got left is half a piece of scrap metal."

Ottar raised his head.

His earthen-red eyes, though unfocused, still faced Zald directly.

"As long as I'm alive, you don't get to go anywhere near the Goddess."

Zald was quiet for a moment.

He raised his greatsword.

Ottar gripped his broken blade tighter as well.

His body could no longer hold a complete stance, but he still raised the blade in front of him.

"Not bad."

Zald walked forward.

"Too bad fighting spirit can't close the whole gap."

The black greatsword swung again.

This time, Zald used the flat of the blade.

The broad blade struck the broken sword, knocking the last remaining half from Ottar's grip. The remaining force passed through his shattered defense and landed on his breastplate.

Ottar was thrown clear out of the crater.

His body punched through several walls in succession before finally coming to rest in the rubble at the end of the street. Broken beams and stone rained down, burying his massive frame.

The roar gradually died down.

Ottar lay in the wreckage, his vision blurred by blood and dust.

He tried to clench his fist, but his fingers wouldn't obey.

He tried to stand, but his legs gave no response at all.

The last thing he saw was Zald's figure standing in the distance.

And those gray eyes, carrying disappointment along with a trace of grudging respect.

"Next time you stand before me, don't make me wait this long."

Zald shouldered his greatsword.

Ottar lost consciousness.

Orario's strongest had been defeated here.

"Hah, HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

On a nearby rooftop, Olivas threw his arms wide.

He had watched the final blow with his own eyes, had seen Ottar buried in the rubble. The distance was too great for him to confirm whether the Boaz was still breathing.

That didn't matter anymore.

Evilus had never needed the truth.

What they needed was a piece of news powerful enough to shatter morale.

"[The Brute] has fallen!"

Olivas's voice carried through the nearby streets via a magic amplification device.

"Orario's strongest adventurer has been defeated by Zald!"

The Evilus soldiers froze for a moment, then erupted into wild cheers.

"Zald!"

"Zald!"

"Zald!"

The chant spread from one street to the next.

The messengers deliberately left out the details of the fight, and no one mentioned that Ottar might still be alive.

By the time the news reached the next battlefield, it had become [The Brute] killed by Zald.

As it kept spreading outward, Orario's current strongest had become someone struck down in a single blow.

Lies mixed with truth, tearing through the burning city at top speed.

"Ottar's been beaten?"

Hogni, in the middle of repelling Evilus soldiers, faltered for a moment.

His black greatsword slowed by a fraction of a second.

An enemy lurking to the side lunged immediately.

"Hogni, focus!"

Hedin's lightning struck first, driving the attacker back. Hogni snapped back to himself, his greatsword sweeping to his side, though disbelief still lingered in his eyes.

"How could that boar possibly lose?"

"Of course he'd lose."

Hedin shattered an incoming poisoned arrow with his staff, his tone cold and sharp.

"No matter how strong Ottar is, he's still just an adventurer. If you let an unconfirmed rumor open a gap in your guard, you'll be the next one to fall."

Elsewhere on another street, the four Pallum brothers were also shaken.

"You've got to be kidding!"

"We should have been the ones to take that boar down!"

"Shut up and hold formation!"

Alfrigg smashed an enemy soldier back with his shield, snapping his brothers' attention back into line.

The Evilus soldiers pressed their advantage.

The front line, which had begun to stabilize, wavered again.

Some fighters lowered their weapons and backed away.

Some couldn't stop themselves from glancing south.

And some, upon hearing that the city's strongest had died, lost the will to keep fighting.

Valletta stood on a rooftop, watching it all unfold.

She ran her tongue over her lips, laughing with open delight.

"Finally down!"

Valletta kicked aside a chunk of rubble at her feet.

"Finn! The king you were leaning on to hold this whole board is gone! From here on, everything about this total war has changed!"

She drew her crimson longsword and pointed it toward the Central Plaza.

"Everyone, attack! Spread the news of [the Brute]'s defeat down every street — let those so-called heroes hear it loud and clear!"

Evilus's battle cry surged higher.

Soldiers who had been on the back foot moments earlier surged forward again toward the defense line. Chanting Zald's name, they turned the victory of an old-era conqueror into fear they now threw back at Orario.

Allen, racing toward Babel, stopped at the edge of a rooftop.

He'd already turned the moment the tremor reached him.

His feline eyesight cut across the burning district and found the collapsed buildings in the distance, and Zald's massive figure still standing.

Ottar's presence, though, was almost too faint to sense.

Allen gripped his silver spear.

The shaft trembled in his palm.

"You've got to be kidding me."

His voice came out low and rough.

"There's no way that guy beat you."

Zald's order echoed in his head.

Return to Babel.

Protect Freya.

Swallow this, for the goddess's sake.

Allen had already agreed to it.

But his feet were already turning back toward the battlefield.

"Ottar!"

Anger overrode reason.

"The hell are you sleeping for? Get up!"

Allen shattered roof tiles beneath his feet, racing back the way he'd come.

His silver figure streaked over the burning city, moving so fast he left afterimages. As he ran, he hated himself for having listened to that order and left in the first place.

If Ottar was dead.

If Zald kept advancing toward Babel.

He had to stop that monster.

Even knowing he couldn't survive a single casual swing from the man.

Central Plaza.

Finn heard the Evilus cheering, his fingers tightening slightly around his spear.

"Captain!"

Raul came stumbling over.

"Word's coming from the south — Lord Ottar's been beaten by Zald! The Evilus soldiers are saying he's dead!"

The faces of the adventurers nearby changed instantly.

Finn climbed onto a makeshift platform.

"Any death report that isn't confirmed is to be treated as enemy propaganda!"

His voice cut through the commotion of the plaza.

"Ottar was defeated, yes — but that means Zald is pinned down in the south! Hold the line, no one is to leave their post!"

"But Captain, if even Lord Ottar lost, how are we supposed to deal with a monster like that?"

A young adventurer couldn't help but ask.

Finn looked at him.

"If one man winning alone were enough, this war wouldn't need any of us standing here at all."

The Pallum hero raised his spear.

"The time Ottar bought is still ticking away. We're going to use it to rebuild our lines, treat the wounded, and gather everyone still able to fight."

His gaze swept over everyone present.

"Zald defeated the city's strongest — but he hasn't defeated Orario."

The demoralized adventurers lifted their heads.

Finn pointed his spear toward the direction of the Evilus advance.

"Hold this position! Push back the enemy in front of us first!"

The battle cry rose again.

It was nowhere near as fervent as Evilus's cheering, but it was steadier than before.

Finn lowered his spear, looking south toward the city.

Zald's appearance had completely changed the board.

Alfia had already driven back Riveria and the others.

Evilus had finally revealed its true king and queen.

But Ottar had still completed his task.

He had forced Zald to stop, to fight, and through his own defeat had shown Orario a glimpse of the man's real strength.

A sharp sting shot through Finn's thumb.

Danger was still closing in.

He didn't look away.

"Ottar, you'd better not die."

Finn murmured.

"Next, it's our turn to find a way past that monster."