An Unexpected Arrival
The barbarian warriors surging from the Glorified Hoof village bellowed monstrous cries, their eyes blazing with crimson light as if entirely blind to reason. Sparks of brilliant red crackled off them with every tremor of their battle lust.
"They’re already in a Berserk state."
Berserk—the quintessential trademark of any barbarian warrior. It was their ultimate trump card, granting complete immunity to status ailments, conferring the Unstoppable state, and inflating their raw parameters through the roof. The drawback was severe: their life force ticked down steadily over time, and the bodily recoil was brutal enough that no one could use it recklessly.
"What in the world... is that?"
Standing at my side, Tsarkhella stared at the Glorified Hoof's charging warriors, her mouth agape in stunned disbelief. The cold sweat trickling down her neck and the fury burning in her eyes screamed absolute shock and incomprehension.
"Beats me... What the hell are they?"
My brow furrowed just as deeply. The situation defied explanation. Barbarian warriors turning into berserkers and charging out was one thing. Borrowing the traits of beasts and monsters through the power of Shamanic Ritual Tattoos was also par for the course. But when their physical bodies stopped being human altogether, that was a completely different story.
"Are those... werewolves?"
As the distance closed, their forms came into sharper focus, and they were unmistakably non-human. Thick, black hide shrouded their entire bodies, ending in elongated muzzles, razor-sharp fangs, and savage claws, all mounted upon digitigrade legs built for sprint and slaughter. They were living, breathing werewolves—except, of course, they reeked to high heaven of demonic energy.
"Grrr... To dare... to insult a warrior's pride and honor like this...?!"
Rather than feeling sorrow or grief, Tsarkhella’s temper flared so violently her hair looked ready to stand on end. Well, it made sense if you thought about it. A honed physique and skills chiseled through countless battles were the supreme pride of any barbarian warrior. To butcher that identity into such grotesque mockeries, regardless of how strong they had become—to someone as fiercely proud of her heritage as Tsarkhella, it was nothing less than a desecration of her entire way of life.
Thunder echoed across the wasteland. Flashing with blinding lightning, Tsarkhella streaked forward, appearing in an instant before her dazed, hesitating warriors.
"Warriors! Cast your eyes upon that sight which insults our very existence!"
With every eye fixed upon her, she thrust a clenched fist high into the air, baring her teeth in a savage snarl.
"Look upon those bodies! Look at those bloated husks, pumped full of crude demonic filth! Where in those vessels lies the glory of a warrior?! Where are the marks of triumph carved through agony and trial?!"
I couldn't personally relate to her dramatic speech, but her warriors were another matter entirely. Snapping back to their senses in a flash, one by one they locked eyes with the oncoming werewolves, white-knuckling their weapons as furious battle lust ignited across their ranks.
"Look at that foul miasma and those bastardized claws! Look upon those wretched, shameful cowards who discarded the weapons stained with their own sweat, blood, and tears!"
Lightning cracked the sky with an ear-splitting boom.
"Where is their honor?! Where is their pride?! If this is not an insult to every true warrior, then what is?! If this is not a mockery of our blood, then what else could it be?!"
"Aye! It is an insult!"
"Combat is our very soul! Our scars are our purpose to live!!"
Slamming weapons against shields and stomping the earth to stoke their frenzy, the warriors watched their Shamanic Ritual Tattoos ignite in radiant hues, scattering dazzling trails of light.
"Trample them into the dirt! Crush them beneath your might and proclaim our truth! Prove our strength! Our absolute power! Prove our way of li-i-ife!!"
"WRAAAAGH!!"
"SHRAAAAGH!!"
And on top of that—Berserk.
Their eyes saturated with blood-red fury, hundreds of barbarian warriors flexed their flushed, corded muscles and roared with primal savagery. Plumes of scalding breath billowed into the air as they kicked off the earth, surging forward without tactical formations or caution. There was undeniably something raw about it that spoke to a man's instincts.
Say what you will, but you couldn't beat them for pure, unadulterated machismo.
"Hmm... Muriel, you stay by me. The rest of you, go back them up. If they get wiped out charging like idiots, we won't be able to clean up the mess."
"Understood, Master."
"Lord Aljen, should we take the vanguard?"
"No. We don't know what’s waiting behind them, so conserve your stamina and mana as much as possible. The barbarians look like they're dying to rampage anyway, so let them go wild while you support from the flanks."
"Understood."
Nodding, Rebecca drew her twin swords and sprinted forward. Nemeth, Wendy, Lira, and Cacciola shot across the wasteland right behind her. Latipi, seemingly loath to leave my side, stayed put while shooting cautious glances at me, casually plinking arrows from a distance. Yet every single shot uncannily pierced straight between the eyebrows of a werewolf. You had to admire the skill, whether you wanted to or not.
"...Arpe. How’s Cecilia holding up?"
"She suffered extreme exhaustion from having her holy power drained so abruptly, but there’s no physical injury. She'll wake up once enough time passes."
Tending to Cecilia with her songs and potions, Arpe let out a sigh of relief and dabbed at her forehead. True to her word, Cecilia’s complexion looked rather pale, but she seemed stable.
"That's a relief. Still..."
A prickle of unease crept down my spine. Whatever mysterious divinity had sucked Cecilia dry of her holy power was currently waiting inside the Glorified Hoof village. Fighting without our primary healer was risky. We were stacked with overwhelming firepower, sure, but that didn't guarantee we’d walk away unscathed.
"Tsk..."
It hadn't been long since I declared I wouldn't rely on the Absolute Ring set, yet here I was, staring down a situation where I might have to bust it out anyway. I’d hoped to take my sweet time picking and choosing the ideal prey to harvest with my Shamanic Ritual Tattoos, but circumstances weren't exactly cooperating.
"...?"
As I weighed the options, I caught someone staring intently at me. When I turned my head, Vivian flinched and whipped her gaze away.
"Uuuugh..."
She fidgeted, groaning softly under her breath like she had a mountain of things to say, which only made my chest tighten with awkwardness. Part of me wanted to say something, but I wasn't sure if that was the right call.
"Hey. Alzen."
Right then, Weller tapped my shoulder and tilted her chin up with a haughty, petulant expression.
"What am I supposed to be doing?"
"You stay on standby, sister. If things go sideways, we might need a massive spell, so just keep one primed."
"Hmph. Fine."
"Lord Alzen, should I stay here as well?"
"Hm? Ah, Pashtra. Yeah. Stay here and guard me."
"Understood!"
Pashtra had been snorting through her nose like a warhorse, revved up by the barbarians' charge and ready to tear into the fray at a moment's notice. Yet at my instruction, she answered with a resounding shout and planted the haft of her battleaxe into the earth. My eyes momentarily drifted to her heaving, mountainous bust, but sadly, now wasn't the time to admire cleavage.
A chorus of savage howls and monstrous roars ripped through the air as the werewolves and barbarian warriors collided head-on. Rabid shrieks mingled with the sickening sound of snapping bone and tearing sinew, spraying shredded flesh and gore across the dust. It was violently cinematic, but I couldn't help grimacing at the sheer carnage.
"...If we didn't have Master-rank fighters, that would've been a disaster."
The barbarians, empowered by both Shamanic Ritual Tattoos and Berserk, were plenty formidable, yet the werewolves' raw power was a notch above them. Had Tsarkhella and our other Masters not intervened, the very first clash would have ended in a routing slaughter.
"Gwahahaha! Throwing away your warrior's pride and honor, and this pathetic strength is all you got?!"
Lightning exploded across the front line. She was having the time of her life. Watching Tsarkhella butcher werewolves with a manic grin plastered across her face, I scanned the broader battlefield.
"Hmm..."
The werewolves easily outnumbered our side two to one, but the presence of our Masters was more than enough to offset the difference. Even if the barbarians took some casualties, continuing at this pace would guarantee a clean victory.
Just then, a pillar of pitch-black light surged skyward from the heart of the Glorified Hoof village. It radiated an ominous, spine-chilling presence—almost like holy power turned entirely inside out into pure malevolence.
"...Right. Whatever you are, you’re finally stepping out."
The unknown puppet master watching from the village clearly didn't care for the sight of their werewolves getting rolled over. I readied myself to beam tactical orders directly into everyone's minds via Telepathic Transmission, fixing my gaze upon the black pillar.
"...Cough?!"
The next second, a mouthful of dark blood surged from the pit of my stomach, spraying out like a geyser.
"...Damn it. I can't even look at it without taking backlash?"
The difference in our existence's tier was so unfathomably vast that mere observation carried a price. Even facing Demon King Otilib’s clone hadn't been this crushing. Could whatever lurked over there be something beyond a Demon King?
Immediately after, a deafening wolf's howl rang out, rattling the entire wasteland down to its bedrock.
"Ngh...!"
Just hearing it churned my entrails, a blatant display of supreme authority that ground our fundamental disparity into my skin. My knees nearly buckled, and it took everything I had just to stay upright.
"Kyaah?!"
"Ack...!"
"Cough?!"
Vivian, Arpe, Weller, and Pashtra also spat blood and stumbled, though they managed to keep their footing.
"Phew...!"
Gritting my teeth, I forced my eyes wide open. My role was to analyze whatever crawled out of that village the moment it showed itself and relay the data to my party.
“Gwahahahahaha! How exhilarating! What an absolute delight! Stanashila Aljen! Look at the pitiful state of you!”
"...Huh?"
Yet the entity that revealed itself was completely unknown to me. It was something never seen in the game, never mentioned in the world lore documents—a totally unprecedented anomaly. Its sheer scale, transcendent aura, crushing pressure, and sinister majesty were so off the charts that my mind immediately jumped to a Demon King, but...
...Wait...
"Why the hell are you the one popping out of there?"
The sheer absurdity of the familiar face made the question slip out before I could filter it. In fact, it wasn't just familiar—I knew the bastard personally.
"What? I recognize that face!"
"Don't tell me... that guy...?"
Tsarkhella and Weller reacted in identical fashion the moment they caught sight of him.
“By following Her grand design, I have at last obtained the power to eradicate all of humanity with my own hands! Hahahaha! Now every race shall tremble in terror and bow their heads before my might!”
"...Stanasila Berick."
Indeed. The figure laughing so triumphantly was none other than the second son of the ducal house, Stanasila Berick. He was embedded smack in the center of a mountain-sized wolf's forehead, with only his face protruding like some grotesque tumor. It was pathetic and downright hideous, yet he was grinning from ear to ear as if thoroughly thrilled with himself.
“Stanashila Aljen! Just as you said, I seized a brand-new lifeline! A lifeline far grander and greater than that pathetic Third Princess! Let me express my gratitude! Thanks to you, I was able to steel my resolve once more, and at long last, I was chosen!”
"...Hah."
So he went and sold his soul to the demons? I tilted my head, genuinely baffled by his stupidity.
"...Berick. You’re quite a sight for sore eyes. Nice makeover."
“Still running that arrogant mouth without knowing your place, I see! Hehehe... But because I am in such high spirits today, I shall generously pardon your insolence! After all, it was thanks to you that I can now wield the grace bestowed by the Demon King in its entirety!”
"...Demon King."
Another Demon King sticking their nose in, then. Well, nobody short of a Demon King could manufacture an abomination of that scale, so I suppose it made sense. Still, the whole thing raised far more questions than answers.
What was that colossal wolf with Berick lodged in its forehead? How on earth could a useless hack like Berick command a creature of such insane stature? How had it drained Cecilia's holy power, and why was it radiating demonic energy despite drinking in all that sacred light? Nothing added up.
"The Demon King's grace? Looking like that? Hmm..."
After studying it for a moment, I narrowed my eyes.
"It probably isn't Otilib, the Demon King of Life... She can't birth any life form whose tier exceeds her own. Which leaves only... Annus, the Demon King of Death."
If that lunatic bitch was behind this, the pieces started falling into place. Annus was a relentless corpse collector, which meant this wolf was almost certainly one of the prized specimens in her morgue. Given the divine aura still clinging to it, it was no ordinary beast. Piecing the clues together, this had to be the corpse of Kubel, the ancient Beast God who had once manifested upon this realm.
Granted, it would be an avatar rather than Kubel's true celestial form, but still... If that giant wolf was Kubel and Annus was the architect, the riddle of how Cecilia's holy power had been siphoned solved itself. Annus's authority innately pulled holy power toward itself like a magnet—making her, in a perverse way, the most tragic of the Demon Kings. She had poured her authority into Kubel's corpse as a vessel, using that authority to draw in holy power and reanimate the carcass. That endless sea of low-tier undead had been nothing more than chum to bait out sacred magic.
The only missing piece of the puzzle was how someone as utterly worthless as Berick could control a corpse of that transcendent grade.
“......”
Hearing my deduction, Berick froze, his face souring into sheer disgust.
“Still acting like you know every damn thing in the world with that smug face. You disgust me.”
"...By the way, Berick. Setting aside congratulations on your hideous new makeover... don't tell me you dragged yourself all the way out here for revenge just over what I said back then? Really?"
“...I will crush you like a bug, over and over, until you die in the most agonizing torment imaginable.”
"Ha! You really are the pettiest little bastard. I'm speechless..."
Emptying a hearty swig of alcohol down my throat, I let out a long breath and curled my lips into a mocking smirk.
"Question is... do you actually have what it takes?"
His eyebrows violently twitched in impotent rage. And curiously enough, the colossal wolf bearing Berick in the center of its forehead twitched its brow in the exact same way.