Chapter 119 – Return of the Winter (1)  

Marco approached Nora as soon as she came out of the camp where Velkre was resting. There was a long scar on his eyebrows—it was the wound he got when he fought Juan in the wasteland. It could have easily been treated with the help of a healing Grace, but Marco decided to purposely leave it untreated, saying that he didn’t wish to forget the price of his own arrogance. Since then, Marco had gotten a lot more calm and rational compared to before, and his skills were also growing noticeably.

“I heard brother Velkre’s voice. Has he come to his senses?” Marco asked.

“Yes. But he seems to be slightly out of his mind,” Nora answered.

“Hah, no doubt. Not even the captain of a knight order could be in his right mind after having been skinned alive. Him still being alive after what he went through can already be considered a tremendous blessing from His Majesty,” Marco scoffed.

Nora nodded silently; she hadn’t held any hope for Velkre’s survival either. When they had found him in the snow, his injuries had been so severe that the Templars were split in their opinion on the matter of using a healing Grace on him. It was only natural for them to be hesitant; there had never been a case of someone who was transformed into the Evil Snake surviving the ordeal.

Nora changed the subject of the conversation to shake off her thoughts regarding Velkre.

“What did the Templars who saw the attacker say?”

“Everyone’s testimony was consistent. Brother Velkre’s camp suddenly started blazing with flames, and then the black-haired young man appeared along with Brother Velkre who had transformed into the Evil Snake. They said that they didn’t intervene to help brother Velkre because it was a principle to be cautious and not get involved whenever the power of Evil Snake is being used,” Marco scratched the scar on his eyebrows with an unpleasant expression.

“That black-haired bastard… I knew that he was good, but I didn’t think he would be able to beat Captain Velkre even when he used the power of the Evil Snake…”

“What should we do, brother? We no longer have the Evil Snake with us anymore, and we confirmed that the opponent’s skill exceeds even that of a captain of a knight order. He even managed to take away the holy equipment, even when he fought by himself. Wouldn’t it be better to let His Holiness know that the opponent is just as dangerous as one of the Six Apostates?”

“You want me to treat him as being on the same level as Ras Raud and Gerard Gain? Hah. I usually hate to think highly of those evil apostates, but the opponent is not as strong as them. There’s a reason why the Six Apostates are treated as the empire’s official enemies, you know? You shouldn’t say such words easily,” Marco said as he looked back.

Heavy sounds that shook the earth were coming from across the horizon. Marco twisted his lips and smiled.

“Besides, the heretics of Arbalde are coming. We can gain all the benefits while simply watching the apostates fight against each other. Then we can go ahead and behead whoever wins. It’s better that way. It has now become clear that the Fourth Division is protecting the wanted criminals of the Church, so we have the excuse to attack them.”

***

Urkel decided not to ride a horse. Instead, he walked through the snow on his feet and carried weapons on his back just like the other warriors of Arbalder and the villagers. The snow pouring on them grew harsher and the food they had brought with them began to run out, but there wasn’t a single person who gave up or returned. Everyone was still singing with full strength.

Most of the food supplies they had received from Suvole was left to the children and the elderly, as well as those who would be taking care of them, since none of the armed warriors of Arbalde intended to return to the village—they knew all too well that they would never get an opportunity like this ever again. Even if they had to die, they planned to do so under the walls of Beldeve.

The same was true of Urkel. He had devoted himself to the Crack, but he had no intention of falling under their rule completely. There was a pretty good chance that Urkel would be able to grow strong enough to be able to destroy the empire if he fully devoted himself and allowed himself to be fully encroached upon by the Crack; however, to Urkel, whether it was the Crack or the empire, there was hardly any difference.

Urkel wanted to at least leave a small dent in the system everyone believed to be completely solid. Urkel would be quite content if such a dent could be made by the Crack and the Crack became the opportunity that allowed him to destroy the empire in the future. Even if he wouldn’t be able to see such a future, he believed that his grandchildren, whom he left behind in the village, would surely be able to do so.

Urkel recalled his son who died a long time ago. Hela and Urkel had been fighting a long and hard battle that killed the other’s families. But Hela died, leaving nothing behind, and Urkel left behind his grandchildren.

‘I won, Hela.’

Urkel would have spat in Hela’s face if she were to appear in front of him, but she had already disappeared deep into the sea.

‘Your funeral will be held when I burn the fortress of Beldeve.’

Urkel stopped marching. The sight of the fortress of Beldeve filled his eyes. All the rebels slowed down upon seeing Urkel stop, and then Urkel looked around at them.

The rebels were the farthest thing from an army—they were just a small group of villagers who lacked weapons and had small figures due to being malnourished. They didn’t even have cavalry. They looked like they were scared, but there was no sign of anyone backing down.

These villagers were different from the warriors of Arbalde who fully dedicated themselves to revenge. Most of them just wanted to leave the harsh northeast and live a new life in the south, where it was more fertile—all in order to allow their children to lead a better life.

Urkel felt apologetic toward them; he knew that achieving their goal would be almost impossible. Once Beldeve fell, the Imperial Army belonging to the capital would move. They were completely different from the Fourth Division in terms of quality as well as numbers. Despite being aware of the fate awaiting them, Urkel had no chance but to deceive them for the sake of his own revenge.

“Our enemy is standing right there.”

Urkel slowly pulled out his axe from behind his back. The fortress that had been built to fight against the dragons looked so majestic that it was doubtful whether or not human power could allow them to capture it. But there was no reason to hesitate.

“Go! Go and take whatever you want!”

‘Whether it be food, a handful of sunshine, or revenge.’

Urkel’s loud roar rang throughout the fortress of Beldeve.

***

With Urkel’s roar, a battle began immediately, without any declaration of war or summons to surrender.

Slowly, the villagers helplessly collapsed to the ground under the rain of arrows.

Medina rolled on the ground at the same speed that she had been running as soon as an arrow pierced through her shoulder. But that didn’t stop her. Medina squirmed as she picked herself back up and continued to run. The sensation of her bare feet touching the cold snow and the arrows brushing against her ears felt rather jolly.

She constantly muttered ‘■■■■.’ It was the name granted to her by the Crack, and it was constantly giving her strength to push on. She used to be hesitant to mutter the name she was granted; she had nightmares about losing her mind—however, now was the perfect time to use the strength granted to her by the name. Medina felt as if she could smash the entire world.

Medina was the first one to arrive in front of the gates of Beldeve. However, she was forced to stop there. The gate that looked like it would be easy to break through from afar turned out to be so huge that it was almost comparable to a small hill in terms of size—it was only natural, since it was the gate which was used by the Order of Lindwurm and their dragons.

Medina felt tiny as soon as she stabbed at the gate using her spear with all her might. She immediately realized that the gate of Beldeve was thick enough to be called a wall rather than a gate. It wasn’t something Medina could break through no matter what she did.

At that moment, boiling oil poured down upon her head. Medina’s limbs were immediately fried and shrank in the blink of an eye, as she was cooked alive.

Toel, one of the warriors of Arbalde, took advantage of the time the enemy used to boil the oil once again and leaped forward. When he shoved his short sword into the gate of Beldeve and hung on to it, a small gap was created—a gap that they could use to climb the thick wall.

Toel stabbed his short sword into the wall and crept up the gate. Constantly humming ‘■■■■ ■■,’ the name that was granted to him by the Crack, gave him a terrible headache. But it also gave him the power to just lose his mind and fight fiercely on the battlefield.

Toel climbed onto the wall in an instant and quickly grabbed onto one of the soldiers of the Fourth Division and threw him under the wall.

That was the first victim from the Fourth Division. The soldiers of the Fourth Division gathered at the sound of a scream. Countless spears flew toward Toel, even when he hadn’t yet made it onto the wall. But those spears looked nothing more than toys to Toel, someone who was a warrior of Arbalde who was granted the power of the Crack.

Toel threw himself onto the wall even with spears stabbing into his mouth. Killing another soldier of the Fourth Division was a piece of cake for Toel. Then the device to open and close the gates came into his eyes. Toel tried to run straight toward the device, but a black-haired man with a beard appeared out of nowhere and blocked his way.

Toel looked confused when he saw the man, who was not dressed as a member of the Imperial Army, but was restrained with handcuffs on his wrists. But his face became distorted even before he got a chance to take a closer look at his opponent’s face. The moment he shouted something in an angry voice and his weapon met with the opponent’s, Toel felt a sharp pain in his sides.

Only then did Toel realize that a wolf demi-human had struck him on his side to push him off the wall. A resentful cry of a curse could be heard even as he fell off the wall to his death.

Meanwhile, Urkel was constantly repeating the name of ‘■■■■ ■■■’ as he heard the screams of dying villagers; he still lacked strength. Urkel constantly repeated the name granted to him by the Crack while smashing his axe right at the gate of Beldeve. An arrow pierced through his thigh, but he could still walk without a problem. A spear pierced through his throat, but he could still talk. Boiling oil was poured over his head, but his consciousness was clearer than ever.

Urkel continued to mutter the name he was given. Finally, the strength he had been waiting for filled his body. Urkel lifted the huge two-handed axe over his head and his fingers coiled around the handle as if a giant tree was taking root.

Urkel’s muscles swelled up to the extent that they looked like they would burst at any moment. Urkel bit his lips as he thought this was enough strength for him to break through the gate. He called out the name granted to him one last time and swung his axe while blaming himself for borrowing power from the cursed being residing in the Crack.

The dent left behind by someone else was a good target for Urkel to aim for. Urkel’s axe struck the gate, and caused the entire fortress of Beldeve to shake. The gates opened about one-third of the way as Urkel’s axe destroyed a part of the gate—it was only a narrow gap, but it was enough for the warriors of Arbalde and the villagers to pass through.

Urkel’s face was filled with joy. All that was left for Urkel to do now was to slaughter.

“All the warriors, enter the…”

Urkel couldn’t finish his sentence. The first thing he encountered after entering through the open gate wasn’t the frightened soldiers of the Fourth Division—it was a black-haired young man with a smile on his face. Urkel recognized the young man at a glance.

It was the black-haired beast.

“It’s your first time seeing my face. Am I right?”

“You bastard!”

Urkel tried to grab Juan, but Juan simply reached out his hand and grabbed Urkel’s hand in a calm manner. Juan’s hands were fitted with black gloves that gave off a strange energy, causing Urkel to snort; he thought Juan was trying to show off his strength.

“Do you even know who I am? I am the Revenge King Urkel, the leader of the warriors of Arbalde!”

“Add ‘armless’ to your title from now on.”

Crack! Crack!

Urkel turned his head toward the gruesome sound coming from his hand which was held by Juan. Urkel’s hand was in the process of regenerating due to the power of the Crack, but it was once again twisted like a broken twig by Juan using his gloved hands.

Urkel screamed in pain and tried to step back. However, Juan didn’t even budge. Urkel felt like his arm was being pulled out.

“■■■■ ■■■!”

Urkel called out the name granted to him by the Crack. In an instant, Urkel’s broken hand began to cling to and wrap around Juan’s hand. Juan had remained motionless until now, but let go of Urkel’s hand and pushed Urkel away, almost as if he felt uncomfortable holding onto Urkel’s hand.

Urkel gritted his teeth and tried to charge toward Juan again.

At that moment, something with a huge figure stuck out its head from behind Juan.

It was a dragon.

“Fuck.”

The dragon’s mouth opened wide and blazing red flames soon poured out of its throat. Urkel hurriedly tried to cover his face, but he couldn’t avoid being burnt. The dragon’s flames engulfed Urkel and threw him tens of meters away in an instant.