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Chapter 112: The Great Northern War (8)

‘The bond between siblings is stronger than that between parents and children. You have to rely on each other until death. She’s your closest kin, so you have to protect her.

‘I trust you.’

His father’s voice which he couldn’t hear anymore, skirted past his ear. Since that moment, his sister Yi-Yoo had remained in his mind as the small child grabbing a hold of his sleeve and standing behind him. When he heard the name Jung Yi-Yoo, he always thought of the little girl from that time, who always had tears in her eyes.

‘I leave it to you.’

‘You will be an adult soon.’

Who had said those things? Was it a relative he didn’t see anymore? The uncle who shook his head as he said he couldn’t take care of Yi-Yoo, or a different uncle who demanded money for raising Yi-Yoo while Yi-An was overseas?

‘It’s your duty.’

‘Protect.’

‘With your life.’

Yi-An’s first assignment after joining the special forces unit was to protect important figures and civilians on a battlefield raining down with bullets. Among them, there was someone who was burned into his memory—Yi-An didn’t know who the man was or what he was doing, but he obviously looked like someone who wasn’t suited for the battlefield. He wore glasses and looked at Yi-An with eyes that betrayed his struggle to remain calm even though he was stricken with fear. Yi-An remembered the fragile tremor of the man’s body as he leaned into him. He later hugged Yi-An in tears and expressed his gratitude.

‘I beg you. Please, Yi-An.’

‘Protect them, Raven.’

‘Crockta!’

It was always like that. He used to be Yi-An, then Raven, and now he was Crockta. Everyone was always looking at him. He remembered all of those eyes staring at him.

What a relief that no one was here during his downfall.

‘Crockta.’

Someone called out to him.

‘Crockta.’

He raised his head and saw a pair of eyes looking at him from the empty darkness.

‘You are...’

It was someone he knew. Someone who was no longer alive.

‘Blackmore.’

Blackmore grinned and pointed behind him. Suddenly, the darkness lifted, and the scenery of Chesswood spread out in front of him. Crockta saw the citizens of Chesswood hard at work, rebuilding their villages. He saw Ingram and the villagers who had fought with him. He saw players and NPCs—no, he saw the residents of Elder Lord and the players of Earth, rebuilding the villages together.

Blackmore raised his thumb in approval. Then, he disappeared, and it was darkness all over again. But a rock appeared out of nowhere, and he saw familiar words inscribed on the rock.

[A warrior does not attack the unarmed.]

The scene turned to Arnin; he saw Enyanis, the Plains Administrator, who had granted him citizenship. She was the mayor now.

Enyanis was reading a letter from Derek. After reading it, she ripped it apart, crumpled it, tossed it into the trash can, and lastly, spat on it. Then, she got up from her seat and looked outside the window. She smiled as she looked at Arnin’s beautiful scenery. Then, she looked at something hanging from the wall of her office. It was the uniform of the Arnin Plains\' Rescue Unit. Crockta’s name was written on the uniform. Enyanis nodded approvingly as she read the name.

The scenery grew blurry. Then, all of the places he had visited during his adventures came alive and disappeared once more. At the end of it all, Crockta saw an unforgettable face. There was Lenox with the warriors of Orcrox standing behind him.

“Lenox, where do they go when they die? Does death really erase everything? If not...”

Lenox then raised his axe without a sound. Crockta’s eyes grew wide in shock as Lenox swung his axe and struck him.

“Ahh!”

***

“Ahh!” Crockta opened his eyes with a shout and saw Calmahart’s sinister face in front of him.

Calmahart’s expression turned to surprise as he applied more pressure to Crockta’s throat. Crockta’s greatsword was still stuck in his abdomen.

‘What was the dream I had just now? What were all the things I saw?’ wondered Crockta as he mustered all of the strength in his body and kicked the hilt of the Ogre Slayer. The greatsword stirred, and blood spilled from Calmahart’s mouth.

“Ack!” he screamed. The strength of his grip weakened, and Crockta was finally able to escape the chokehold and rolled away. His circulation returned, and his face became flushed from the rush of blood. He coughed on the floor for a while.

When he recovered, Crockta raised his head and saw Calmahart trying to pull the Ogre Slayer out of his stomach. Crockta charged and threw himself at Calmahart before the latter could regain his composure.

The two became entangled, and they tumbled and rolled across the floor. Crockta climbed on top of Calmahart and wrenched out his greatsword. He was about to thrust it downward when Calmahart’s fist struck his chin. Crockta almost lost consciousness, but he collected himself and tightened his grip on his greatsword.

The slugfest continued. Crockta was trying to pin his opponent down with the Ogre Slayer, but Calmahart’s ceaseless punches hindered him. The huge greatsword was difficult to use in close combat.

“Dammit!” shouted Crockta as he let go of his Ogre Slayer and swung his fist instead, breaking one of Calmahart’s teeth. Holding down Calmahart with his weight, Crockta continued to rain down punches on the former.

Calmahart thrashed around as he tried to block Crockta’s attacks. He was able to hold off some of Crockta’s attacks with his long arms, but Crockta still managed to land a few punches in between. Both of their faces were soon drenched in blood.

Crockta was about to raise his fist again when something flashed once more on Calmahart’s forehead. With a sudden burst of strength, Calmahart pushed away Crockta, sending him rolling across the ground.

“Hahaha...you are quite something,” cackled Calmahart as he stood up. His huge body cast a shadow over Crockta. He looked at Crockta with blood-red eyes. “Playtime’s over.”

Waves of red energy circled around Calmahart’s body, and his body began to swell up. He was no longer an orc but a monster. Each time he stepped forward, the ground shook.

Crockta realized something was different about him. He raised his Ogre Slayer to defend himself, but Calmahart didn’t even pick up his weapon and swung his fist instead. Crockta swung his greatsword in retaliation, but as his steel sword collided with Calmahart’s bare fist, it was Crockta who was flung back.

A powerful shockwave swept over the scene, blasting Crockta out of the tent. Blood welled up from within him.

“Ugh!” Crockta coughed blood on the ground as Calmahart walked toward him. His red eyes blazed fiercely in the darkness of the night.

“That was enough fun. I will kill you now,” declared Calmahart. Then, he grinned and muttered, “Crockta.”

He raised his fist toward the sky and clasped his hands together. Then, he swung his clasped hands downward like a hammer at Crockta.

Crockta knew that he would die if he let things continue. ‘I will die whether I get hit or block it. I have to do something.’

His instincts screamed at him. Crockta mustered all of the strength in his body and flung himself at Calmahart.

Calmahart’s fists slammed into the ground with immense power. The ground shook from the impact. Red energy radiated from his body like heat waves. Crockta realized that some power had taken hold of Calmahart. He no longer seemed like himself. Crockta had been unable to see clearly before because the situation was too pressing, but Calmahart definitely had a mark of the apostle on his forehead like Zelkyan.

Their fears had been correct. Calmahart was borrowing powers from a god.

Calmahart suddenly went berserk and charged at Crockta, who turned around and began running. Calmahart chased after him, leaving the area where Crockta’s scroll muted all sound.

Their chase woke up the orcs. They began to come out one after the other to see what all the commotion was about, and saw Calmahart chasing after Crockta.

“What?!”

“The chieftain!”

“It’s an enemy!”

The orcs raised their weapons as they approached Crockta, who ferociously swung his Ogre Slayer at them and chopped them into pieces. The screams of soldiers rang throughout the campsite.

Calmahart was indifferent to the safety of his soldiers and pushed past them to chase after Crockta. He punched any orcs standing in his way and sent them flying. Some orcs’ heads exploded, sending them to their deaths.

“Where are you running to? You weakling! Come here!” shouted Calmahart in a demonic voice. Everywhere he went, orc corpses littered the scene. He was a crazed monster.

Crockta looked up at the moon. It wasn’t midnight yet. Crockta bought time by racing through the crowd of orcs.

“You can’t run anymore!” shouted one of the Great Warriors who blocked his path.

Crockta swung his greatsword, but the Great Warrior parried Crockta’s attack with his axe. Crockta grew desperate because Calmahart was still chasing after him. He continued attacking the Great Warrior with a sense of urgency, but the warrior calmly fended off his attacks. The warrior was stalling for time.

Crockta’s eyebrows twitched.

“Bul’taaaaar!”

With a shout, he swung the sword vertically. The warrior raised his axe, but Crockta’s greatsword split him and his axe in half, and then Crockta ran past the corpse. Calmahart had almost caught up to him.

Suddenly, something flew at him from behind.

“Ugh!”

The blow sent Crockta rolling. When he came to his senses, he realized that what had hit him was the corpse of the orc he had just killed. The orc’s torn body with all of its hot intestines, blood, and internal organs spilling out smothered Crockta with its awful stench. Crockta got up to continue running as Calmahart’s fist came flying at him. Crockta dodged by rolling forward, but Calmahart’s shadow grew larger as he drew closer.

“Dammit,” groaned Crockta. ‘Calmahart is a monster.’

But rather than trembling in fear, he was grinning.

Apart from Calmahart, other orcs were also closing in on him. He was completely surrounded, with nowhere to escape, and he stood face-to-face with Calmahart.

He raised his Ogre Slayer. He didn’t think he could win, but if it was an inevitable battle, he would gladly partake in it rather than avoid it.

Calmahart looked down at Crockta with his face contorting in anger. Then, he swung his fist, as fast as lightning. Crockta blocked it by raising his greatsword, but he was flung up in the air by the force of Calmahart’s fist. Calmahart’s strength and physical prowess were unbelievable.

Calmahart threw another fist at Crockta\'s head.

From Crockta’s perspective, a huge fist was flying toward him on a circular trajectory. He knew his head would explode if it hit him, but he was still up in the air. His Ogre Slayer was on the opposite side of Calmahart’s fist. He was unable to dodge it or block it.

During that brief moment, he felt the fist’s presence with every pore of his skin. His body knew death was imminent; all of his senses heightened and the world grew slower and slower.

The fist was moving toward him as the orcs surrounding him eagerly awaited his death. With his heightened senses, he could feel the moon in the sky, its light, and the direction of the wind blowing. Everything around him was pointing at his death.

Calmahart swung his fist high up in the air before throwing a punch. There was no way Crockta could prevent the fist from bursting his head open. But he rejected the inevitable and reversed the balance of the world.

“...!” Calmahart’s eyes suddenly grew wide in shock. Before he knew it, the Ogre Slayer was blocking his path. His fist and the Ogre Slayer’s edge met, leading to an explosion of blood.

“Arggghhhh!” Calmahart clutched his fist in pain.

Crockta couldn’t believe what he had just done. There was no way he could have defended himself. Furthermore, his Ogre Slayer had managed to cut into Calmahart’s skin, which was as tough as armor. It was a miracle that broke the laws of causality.

‘But there is a state beyond that, where you can wield the world according to your will. ... The world calls those who achieve that state “heroes.”’

Was that what it was? For a second, Crockta’s movements had exceeded the realm of the Pinnacle.

Calmahart was still clutching his hand, and his eyes were filled with rage. Crockta turned around and leaped into the crowd of orcs surrounding him.

“Stop!”

“Stop him!” shouted the orcs, but each time Crockta stepped forward with his Ogre Slayer, the orcs in his way spurted blood as they were split into pieces.

Crockta stomped the ground and leaped over them. The moon was above him. It was midnight.

At that moment, a pumpkin coach appeared above his head. Crockta kicked the ground again and jumped inside the pumpkin coach, which swiftly faded into the distance.

Then, he disappeared. There was only the empty night sky.

Calmahart gritted his teeth. Then, he roared with rage at the spot where Crockta had been, his voice sounding like metal being torn to shreds.

“Crocktaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

“We will march forward immediately!” he yelled. “I will kill everyone!”

He stomped his feet, and the earth shook. His eyes and the symbol on his forehead were blood-red. The only thing that could soothe his anger was a massacre filled with bloodshed.

The real war was about to begin.