Chapter 114

Chapter 114
Goltaran let out a sharp cry as he sat up with a jolt.

“Keurgh!”

A searing agony pulsed through his cranium as if it were being split by a wedge, causing his features to contort in a grimace. Fearing his skull had actually been cleaved open, he reached up with trembling hands to feel the top of his head.

Fortunately, his scalp was whole. It was his signature horned helmet—an object synonymous with his very persona—that had been shattered.

The broken shards of the headgear lay scattered on the ground around him. Dazed, Goltaran lifted his eyes to see a massive, radiant figure standing over him, holding his own obsidian-colored axe.

“Y-You… you son of a…”

Thud!

“…Guh!”

A heavy boot struck him, forcing him back to the earth. Kadim held him down with a knee pressed firmly into Goltaran’s chest, the edge of the axe resting dangerously against his throat.

“Stripped of those horns, the title Agon’s Furious Horn doesn’t seem to fit you much anymore.”

“Urgh… what… what kind of insanity is this…”

“How much of it is still in your head? Do you have any memory of your bloodlust while draped in those divine artifacts?”

Goltaran’s pupils contracted with a sudden shock.

Fragmented images flickered behind his eyes. Through his wavering vision, he saw the demolished stadium and the piles of the dead. His voice, thin and brittle like a wounded animal, shook as he spoke.

“Was it… me? Did I do this to this city… to these souls?”

“You’re responsible for about half of the carnage.”

“No… that can’t be… The divine artifacts were supposed to shield me from every curse and hex… why did I lose my grip and perpetrate such monstrosities…”

“…”

The ‘Berserk’ enchantment cast by the shaman was a blessing of strength, not a psychological affliction like ‘madness.’ It didn’t merely erase logic; it pushed martial ability to its peak. This was the inherent danger of divine artifacts: they were incapable of purging a blessing, even when the consequences were as dark as a curse.

Kadim didn’t bother with a lecture. He simply pressed the blade into Goltaran’s skin until a bead of crimson appeared, speaking with a freezing tone.

“Urgh…”

“The Wilderness Shaman has faced her trial and is gone. For her part in propping up a fraudulent Great Warrior, for her disrespect toward the true one, and for scarring this earth with forbidden idols—she offered her confession and dissolved into the desert winds.”

“…!”

“Since you took part in that theater, you are equally deserving of an end. However, the shaman pleaded for your life, claiming you were merely a puppet lost in your own fantasies. Therefore, I will offer you a single chance to define yourself.”

“…”

“Answer me. Who are you?”

“…W-What?”

“I asked for your name.”

The inquiry seemed simple, yet it carried a crushing gravity that made the warrior feel insignificant. Goltaran tried to steady his racing pulse and searched for an answer.

‘Damn it, who am I? It’s obvious, I am…’

The words died before they could reach his lips.

In truth, he was a void.

Agon’s Furious Horn? Hardly. Now that the helmet defining that title was in pieces, the name was hollow.

The champion of the arena? No. After the massacre of the very people who cheered for him, that glory was ash.

The savior of the alliance? False. He hadn’t been the one to slay the central demon or halt the chaos.

The commander of the Indomitable Legion? No. With his most loyal soldier gone, he was a leader of nothing.

…The Great Warrior of Atala?

The furthest thing from it.

It was a mantle he had stolen out of sheer cowardice, a lie to escape the grave. He knew better than anyone that he was a pretender to that sacred name.

“I… I… I am…”

His mouth felt full of lead. He stuttered, unable to find a footing. Every title he tried to claim was stripped away by his own realization. The life he had constructed on a foundation of falsehoods disintegrated with that one question.

Finally, only a single truth remained.

“I am… Goltaran.”

“…”

“A pathetic coward, a man of no consequence—Goltaran. That is… all I am.”

The confession was raw, followed by a heavy, expectant quiet.

Kadim stared down at the broken man for a long moment before pulling the axe away and rising to his full height.

“The shaman was wrong; you aren’t a fool. You have a clear sight of your own soul.”

“…”

“Now, give your word in the name of Atala. Swear that you will never again seek the mantle of Great Warrior or the power of ‘Atala’s Judgment.’ And swear that you will never cross my path again.”

Goltaran’s face contorted with a mixture of agony and relief. Looking like a man caught between a sob and a manic laugh, he asked a desperate question.

“So… it was you? You truly were the Great Warrior of Atala?”

“…”

The blade returned to his throat, demanding the oath rather than providing a confirmation. Goltaran whispered the vow. Once the words were spoken, Kadim retrieved a fragment of the shattered helmet and began to walk away, as if the matter were settled.

Goltaran scrambled to his feet, pursuing him.

“W-Wait! Please! I need to understand!”

“…”

“If you are the true Great Warrior, why did you act like a mindless beast back in Soltana? If I hadn’t seen you in that state, I might have approached you with honor…”

Kadim tilted his head toward the surrounding wreckage and the fallen.

Just like your situation, it was not a path I chose.

Goltaran stopped in his tracks, the realization hitting him. He had tried to murder the Great Warrior without a second thought, yet the man was sparing him despite them both suffering the same fate. Fighting back his shame, he called out again.

“Then why did you disappear? Why leave the world behind without a single trace? If you had left even the smallest sign, a man like me would never have dared to steal your name…”

Kadim stopped walking.

His gaze seemed to pierce through time. The question struck a chord. Looking back, he saw that his own life had been a strange, inverted reflection of this pretender’s journey.

It was for this reason that he decided to answer a question he would normally have walked away from.

“…I believed my work was finished. I sought to return to the place where I belonged. My spirit and my frame were broken; I had nothing left to give to the world, not even a parting word.”

“…”

“But I was wrong. Just as you lied to yourself about being the Great Warrior, I lied to myself by thinking I could stop being one. I never foresaw that you would endure such trials, only for a new darkness to rise over this land.”

“…”

“But my flight is over. I recognize now that my task is incomplete. This world is my home as much as any other. Even if I am consumed by the fire of the coming battles, I will stay. As for you… find a purpose that only a ‘nobody’ can achieve.”

Goltaran looked on with an expression of pure confusion. Kadim let out a tired breath and clarified.

“I am aware that you have spent your time protecting your marginalized people.”

“…”

“The role of the Great Warrior is one of conflict, not of mercy. Perhaps a man who is not the Great Warrior is better suited for the work of salvation?”

“…!”

A surge of emotion filled Goltaran’s eyes, but he quickly looked down at his feet.

“How could I… ever claim such a right? After so much blood has been spilled by my hand… how can I be so bold as to try and save anyone ever again?”

“Fate requires it. Those who find joy in the suffering of others while keeping their own hands clean are the true monsters. Do not lose yourself in the deaths of the wicked—dedicate yourself to preserving the lives of those who matter.”

“…”

Goltaran’s dark eyes flickered like a storm before settling into a hard resolve. He spoke with a voice thick with gravity.

“Then… may I accept this mission of mercy as a command given by the representative of the Battle God?”

Kadim, perhaps regretting his attempt at inspiration, simply waved a hand dismissively.

“…Believe whatever helps you sleep.”

As he walked away for the final time, he heard a fist strike a chest in salute from behind, followed by a shouted oath. There were apologies and promises of glory for the Great Warrior, but they were soon drowned out by the sounds of sobbing.

Regardless, the intended trial was concluding.

The ‘Hall of Fallen Glory that Mocks Struggle’ was now nothing more than a memory in the dirt. The ‘Wilderness Shaman’ had been unmade, finding her end in the dust. ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’ had ceased to exist. Only a man named Goltaran remained.

There was only one piece of business left.

Tapping the edge of his crimson sword against the stone, he moved forward. Blood Ghost absorbed the essence from the surrounding dead, sealing the gashes on its master’s body. As he cleared the rubble and exited the arena grounds, a small figure came running toward him.

It was Duncan, whom he had sent away earlier. The man skidded to a stop.

“M-Master! Are you unharmed? That sandstorm was terrifying; is your health… your condition acting up…?”

“I’m alright now, don’t fuss. Come on, we’re going to the merchant prince’s estate.”

“What? Why there so suddenly…?”

“I won the match, didn’t I? It’s time to collect the payment I was promised.”

Duncan blinked, caught between relief and total confusion.

—

A piece of the broken horn hit the table with a dull thud next to several empty bottles of spirits.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. What was the meaning of this? The Arena King, Yubik Agrámendus, watched his own double chin quiver as he stared at the hulking warrior.

“What… is this supposed to be?”

“A fragment of the helmet worn by Agon’s Furious Horn. I also have the axe he pilfered.”

“No, that’s not what I’m getting at… Why the hell are you showing this to me?”

“It is the evidence that the champion has fallen and I am the victor. I kept my end of the bargain and played my role. Now, you will provide the gold you promised.”

Yubik was trying to stay composed. After escaping the destruction of his stadium, he had attempted to steady his heart with three consecutive bottles of high-proof liquor.

But Kadim’s demand broke his tenuous grip on his temper. His skin turned a violent shade of red, and he exploded in a fit of rage.

“You absolute lunatic, you brain-damaged, gutter-born savage!! Are you seriously asking for money right now?! Use your eyes! The stadium is gone! Do you hear me?? My life’s work is in ruins, you nameless piece of trash!!!”

“…”

“You disregard my orders, you sabotage my plans at every turn, and now you have the gall to ask for gold?? Because you beat the champion?? Damn it, did you actually kill Goltaran or just rob his corpse—I don’t even know!!! I still don’t understand why the ground swallowed the arena and my head is pounding, but what is in your thick, barbarian skulls—is it just rocks and mud?!”

Kadim didn’t react to the merchant’s outburst. He waited patiently for the stream of insults to end, then signaled for Duncan to bring forward a specific item.

Yubik’s brow furrowed into deep lines of suspicion.

“What the hell is that? Why do you have a tray?”

“It’s a platter.”

“I know what it is, I’m asking why you’re holding it…”

“You told me that if you went back on your word, I could bring a platter and take your flesh instead. I’m here to collect enough to fill it.”

“…What!?”

As Kadim stood up and drew a blade, Yubik’s alcohol-fogged brain suddenly snapped into sharp, terrified clarity.

But he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He had long ago invested in defenses for exactly this kind of threat.

“O-Outside! Guards!! Where are you?! Get in here and get rid of this man…!”

“The men outside have been dealt with. Their equipment was impressive—they were more of a nuisance than the last group.”

Yubik’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

It wasn’t just ‘good equipment’—he had outfitted them with rare artifacts akin to northern relic soldiers. And this man had brushed them aside?

The tycoon’s face went pale. His last resort was the enchanted ring he’d bought from the Magic Tower at an astronomical price. It could generate a field no barbarian could pierce…

Rippppp!

The shimmering shield was shredded as easily as wet parchment.

“…Huh?”

Before he could even process the failure, the knife lunged forward and sank into his soft stomach.

Squelch! Slice, slice…

“Wha-wha, urgh…”

A strange, numbing sensation washed over him.

Pale yellow fat leaked from the wound in his clothes, and blood began to flow, only to be instantly drawn into the red steel of the blade. He had seen slaughter many times, but being the one on the edge of the knife felt completely surreal.

Is that my body? That’s me? Is that my blood?

Scrape—

With a few more rough movements, a piece of meat was carved away. At that moment, the agony finally registered.

“Aaaah, kyaAAAAHHH!!! KYAAAAAHHH!!!”

The piece of flesh that had fallen was far too small to cover the tray. Kadim looked at it with a frown and tossed it aside.

“Tch, too much fat. I’ll need to go deeper to find the actual muscle.”

“KYAAAAHHH!!! N-No!! Stop!! I’ll pay! I’ll give you the gold! Please, anything but that, stop, please, kyaaahhh…”

In Yubik’s vision, Kadim had transformed into a literal personification of death. No amount of money or influence could stop him. Heaving for air, he chugged more liquor to dull the sensation, jammed some salve into his bleeding gut, and hobbled toward his hidden vault.

They passed through multiple sets of reinforced bars and heavy iron doors. They navigated a labyrinthine corridor until they reached the heart of the estate. Even Kadim raised an eyebrow at the sight, while Duncan’s eyes looked ready to fall out of his head.

“Good gods, good gods… Remillion preserve us… oh my god…”

“…”

Stacks of gold, silver, bars of precious metal, and piles of gems—diamonds, rubies, and emeralds—filled the room.

The treasures shimmered like a captured galaxy. It was a fortune that, by any modest estimate, was worth hundreds of millions of luden—the accumulated profit of years of blood sports.

Yubik collapsed, exhausted and drained. His face was the color of ash, but his spite remained. He hissed through his teeth.

“Urgh… you aren’t… taking it all… You said you gave your word in Atala’s name to stick to the agreement, remember?”

“I remember.”

The warrior agreed without hesitation. Still terrified, Yubik tried to lock in the terms.

“As we discussed… just fill that one small satchel to the brim—no more than that… If you take one extra coin, I will spend every last bit of this fortune to put a price… on your heads…”

“O-Of course, sir. We wouldn’t dream of it…”

Duncan replied with a nervous, twitching grin.

Then, he began to shovel the gold into the ‘Inventory,’ packing the space until it could hold no more.