Chapter 33: Berserkers

Contrary to General Crassus’s belief, the rebels did not break. They continued to fight on. They fought harder, and the battlefield soon turned bloody. Limbs and body parts flew across the air, and the lines were turning disorganized.

Former gladiators, hulking men wielding heavy axes, swung their wicked blades, severing shields and limbs in sweeping arcs. Their fury was terrifying, but their desperation made them reckless and more dangerous as they cut lines into the ranks of the Roman army.

But even amongst all of that, Riven moved differently. He had since dumped his shield—it was getting in the way—and his sword as well. Instead, he used his Shape technique.

It was called Boneforge Blade, a jagged spectral sword that siphoned life from enemies with every cut, making them weaker while it made him heal faster.

With that in his hand, Riven began to carve his own path through the battlefield as he stepped out of line to head toward his target. Both rebels and the army fell by his hand as he threw away all and any disguise.

Where the others struggled, he flowed, flickering as he evaded wild axe swings and thrusting spears. All attacks seemed too slow in his eyes.

It was the first time he faced the difference between human and practitioner. He knew about it, but it was different when one could cut the other in two with just a single swing.

It made Riven excited, and his slashes fell faster, each death sending healing power through his body via the sword. He smiled, covered in red and bits of flesh. “They are all humans!”

But he was proven wrong the next instant. A rebel berserker broke through, smashing away bodies with a flick of his war hammer.

The brute turned to Riven, the whites of his eyes showing as he roared and ran at him.

Riven was stunned, but he raised his sword and lurched forward. Sword and hammer clashed. A battle of strength, and Riven was shoved backward.

“He’s stronger than me?”

And fast too, because the rebel berserker was upon him in a blink again. His hammer fell again and again as if he were a blacksmith.

Riven’s hand quickly grew numb, and a normal person would be dead already. “This man… I’m very sure he’s a normal man, but his strength is higher than some Rank Two. As if he has a Sigil that’s enhancing his strength!”

“…This… it must be what happens when humans are pushed and some limits are broken…”

But still, he was a normal human, and Riven was a practitioner.

The rebel berserker flung himself forward again, the battle axe in his hand making a blurring glint. All the soldiers around him were cut down as if they were made of tofu. Blood splattered across the man as he reached Riven, his great bulk casting a shadow over him.

Riven stood there, his sword in hand, gazing at the rebel berserker calmly. Since his technique book had combined with the Death Ledger, he had been able to see all his techniques in his mind. Both the foundation and the language of the dead appeared without issues.

So when the rebel berserker roared in his face and lifted his sword high into the air, all Riven said was, “You have a strong body. I want it.”

Then he used his Enhance technique—Bonebound Flesh.

His skin immediately turned a faint green, like a corpse left in the rain for too long.

Then the rebel berserker chopped down with a force strong enough to split him in two. With a small shake of his hand, Riven brought his sword above his head.

The axe met the spectral sword, and metal screeched. The rebel berserker’s eyes bulged because even in his madness, he had just witnessed something that shouldn’t be possible. How could someone of Riven’s size block his most powerful attack when he was using all his strength?

And to do it with only one hand!

Riven smiled. He had underestimated the man because he could feel the force vibrating in his bones, but it wasn’t that painful. “This is what it means to be more than human!”

He swung his sword and slapped the axe away, the force throwing the rebel berserker off. Riven used the opportunity and lurched forward, his sword cutting a thin, straight line across the man’s throat.

The bulky man took several steps back in surprise, his hand going to his throat to cover it, but the blood was too much. He fell to his knees, and the axe slipped from his other hand.

Riven bowed. “You are an interesting warrior, and maybe I should start using your technique of just cutting down everything in your way.

“But, strong one, you still have some work to do.”

Then Riven used his Burst technique—Revenant’s Call.

It was a technique that could call up to four undead, so he limited the power he put into it. “Heed me!”

Green-purple light flooded out of Riven and intertwined with the dead rebel berserker like a thread working on a doll. The man jerked upright and stood. His eyes were glazed over, and his body was slack, but he was standing on his two feet.

Riven nodded in satisfaction. He could feel the invisible thread connecting them. All the intelligence the man once had had been wiped away, and only the husk remained. It couldn’t do anything complicated—only obey simple instructions.

He pointed toward where he had last seen his target. “Well, do your job. Cut everything down.”

The undead jerked forward and swung its sword with even greater strength than when it was alive. It was as if, now that it was dead, everything in it was dedicated to just swinging its axe.

Riven walked behind it as the undead man created a path of blood and flesh for him. It was as if a wall of steel was pushing forward. Soldiers from both sides were cut down like broken dolls, bones snapping like twigs and flesh rending.

Suddenly, he heard a roar in front of him, and a man came charging at his undead.

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