Chapter 300

‘Tch, throwing a tantrum at the very end, huh?’

A body hardened through spirit-enhanced training and skills perfected through years of battle.

The Undying Madman was no easy opponent.

Even after part of his skull had been shattered, he still grabbed his spear and lunged.

Blood gushed from his wounds as he stubbornly closed the distance—

Until he was within reach.

"You bastard! Did you really think—I!—would go down that easily?!"

Rem couldn’t help but admire the man.

Yeah, this was how it should have been from the start.

From then on, it was a bloodbath.

A fight where blood sprayed with every exchange.

The spear pierced through heated leather, stabbing into Rem’s thigh.

If he hadn’t twisted his leg in time, he would have ended up as Limping Rem.

In return, his axe claimed two of the man’s fingers.

The bastard had dodged—otherwise, Rem would’ve taken the whole hand.

A shame, but a fight was a fight.

And Rem was enjoying this.

He was thrilled.

It had been a long time since he faced someone worth fighting.

Even with Heart of Might unleashed, his opponent showed strength comparable to a giant.

And not just a burst of power—this was sustained, overwhelming force through spiritual possession.

"How can you fight like this without magic?!"

The Undying Madman was shocked.

The first surprise was Heart of Might.

"You damn grappler! "

He kept muttering to himself.

That much surprise was a sign of genuine alarm.

Rem decided to play along.

"Oi, you don’t get to say that, asshole!"

Grappler?

Sure, Rem was using remnants of enhancement magic, but this bastard?

He was outright melding sorcery into his martial arts!

Grappling? Grappliiiiiiiing?

If this was baiting, then damn, it was well done.

"You motherless bastard—!"

Rem snapped.

"My mother’s been dead for a hundred years!"

"Oh, so you really don’t have a mother!"

The madman roared back.

Both of them bellowed at each other as they fought.

Rem felt himself being pushed.

Not just because of his opponent—

But because he wasn’t the only problem.

Krrrung!

A foul-smelling beast lunged at him.

Circling, waiting for the perfect moment to sink its fangs in.

Eventually, it succeeded—clamping onto his arm.

At that very moment, the Undying Madman thrust both spears down with full force.

Rem swung his axe, dragging the wolf along as he twisted.

He smashed the descending spears, diverting their trajectory.

Even so—

One spear sliced deeply across his ribs.

The pain made tears well up.

Every hair on his body stood on end.

A fractured rib.

The bastard had deliberately put all his force into one strike—

And it landed.

But Rem didn’t stop.

Even as he crushed the wolf’s skull with his fist,

Even as he dodged the next barrage of spear thrusts—

Even as he parried, deflected, kept moving like a madman.

Then—

A sticky sensation wrapped around his foot.

‘Oh, you sneaky fucker.’

Adhesive sorcery.

He really was an old fox.

The Undying Madman had demonstrated that perfectly.

The most troublesome prey was always the oldest, most experienced one.

Rem tensed his thigh.

This kind of magic had to be spread in a set area—

Bang!

He slammed his foot against the ground, flinging himself sideways, swinging his axe midair.

With that, he cut down three more beasts that had been aiming for him.

To be exact—

Two were split from neck to chest.

The third took a direct axe blow to the forehead.

Rem had been expecting another brutal exchange.

Instead—

He was disappointed.

And, at the same time, he realized—

He had won.

Because the Undying Madman ran.

He retreated.

The next attack he launched was weak.

It wasn’t even a direct strike anymore.

Another throwing spear, attached to a silk string.

‘Ah, this bastard.’

Rem’s excitement immediately plummeted.

Thud!

He knocked the spear aside with the flat of his axe, watching the old warrior retreat.

His voice rang out.

"The next time we meet, you will die."

‘Hah! Who do you think is actually gonna die next time, huh?!’

Rem growled, slamming his axe down into an approaching beast.

Boom!

The creature was split vertically, from head to gut.

"Tch. I get it, though."

"You survived until now because you ran when things got bad."

He could chase him down.

Could kill him right now.

But honestly?

It wasn’t worth the effort.

The excitement had vanished.

Rem was just annoyed.

That was all.

But for the Wolf Bishop, the situation was entirely different.

"Oi! Where the hell are you going?!"

The priest was so shocked that he couldn’t even mask his outrage.

His wolf’s eyes reflected pure disbelief.

Even Teresa could see it.

The priest’s jaw dropped open in shock, causing the barely held-together wound on his head to split open again.

Dark red blood dripped down his cheek, splattering onto the ground.

But there was no answer.

The Undying Madman was already gone.

Not even a single word of apology.

Not that it would have helped.

Had he apologized, the priest’s blood pressure would’ve spiked so high that his skull would have exploded.

"Brother Bishop, it’s time to go."

The voice behind him was calm.

The priest grimaced at the title.

There stood a limping half-giant.

His shield was broken in half.

His sword was cracked down the middle.

"Bastard apostate. Even in death, I will curse you."

The Wolf Bishop spat his final words.

This should have been an easy victory.

He had come with the Undying Madman,

A Bishop of the cult, himself.

And even his soul-bound direwolf.

And yet—

What the hell was this outcome?

Even that bitch Teresa should have been an easy kill.

And yet.

Everything had gone wrong.

The priest didn’t sigh.

He didn’t look to the heavens.

He simply muttered his final curse.

"Fucking bastards."

He had felt the death of his soul-bound direwolf.

There was no hope left.

"I will curse you all forever. Your flesh will rot, decay, but you will not die. The God of the Abyss shall never forgive you! And Undying Madman! You—!"

His last words were directed at the ally who had abandoned him.

That traitorous bastard.

The one who should have fought by his side.

"You can rot in the river of hell, Bishop."

"Good!"

Teresa finally caved his skull in.

The pommel of her broken sword was the killing blow.

She adjusted her blood-soaked mask, then turned—

Just in time to see Rem limping toward her.

"You made it?"

"Of course. You think I’d leave?"

No dramatic gestures.

No comforting words.

They just walked.

Neither was in good shape, but neither was dying, either.

So, fuck helping each other.

Beside them, a wild horse trotted up.

"You fought too?"

Hieeeng!

The one-eyed horse neighed.

Rem curled his lips.

"Even the damn horse fought, and yet that bastard ran."

He was still annoyed.

His blood was boiling, but his excitement had vanished.

This was rare—especially against an opponent from the same people, someone who had the advantage, and yet—

‘I’ll see you again, old man.’

Rem swore.

And—

There were witnesses to their battle.

The heavy infantry and the cavalry.

And the mercenary leading them?

He realized something.

‘Do not pick a fight with them.’

‘Damn, let’s never complain about hard fights again.’

Attacking meant dying. That much was clear.

Watching them fight made that obvious.

And that big, quiet woman?

She wasn’t to be underestimated either.

Not that they had ever underestimated her—but now, their entire perspective had changed.

In the past, if people had seen Rem and Teresa fighting like this, they would have recoiled in horror and retreated.

It had happened before.

They had displayed such overwhelming power that it felt… inhuman.

Their allies took comfort in the fact that they were on the same side—

But even then, a certain distance remained.

They instilled fear even among their own.

But this time—

This time, it was different.

They were limping.

The horse walking beside them looked like the only one completely fine.

Had it not been for them, everyone here might have been slaughtered.

Relief, joy, elation, the euphoria of victory—

All those emotions surged and mixed together.

"Mad Platoon!"

"Rem! The Axe-Wielding Rem!"

"Crazy Axe Rem!"

"You’re still alive!"

"He’s still alive!"

"Immortal Rem?!"

What started as murmurs quickly solidified into a name.

Rem dug a finger into his ear.

What the hell were they saying?

And then—

All at once, the soldiers shouted:

"IMMORTAL REM!"

They had thought him dead.

And yet, he had returned—driving the enemy back.

An upgrade from Rem the Short-Tempered Bastard.

"IMMORTAL REM! UNDYING REM!"

"THE UNDYING MADMAN!"

"UAAAAAHHH!"

Most of the beasts had already been slain.

This battlefield had been the most favorable to them.

And the remaining ones?

With the death of the Direwolf and the Bishop, they scattered.

Without a focal point, monsters never stuck together.

The soldiers cheered as they advanced toward the center of the battlefield.

"So damn noisy."

Rem kept digging at his ears.

"Drifting Teresa!"

Now, they were chanting her name.

They called her what she always called herself.

One hand steadied her mask—

The other, she raised.

She wanted to.

It was an instinctive action.

Back when she had been among the cult, she had been so cold that she could go an entire week without saying a word.

But now—

Now, things were different.

Now, she knew joy.

Now, she knew happiness.

Everything looked different.

"I am Drifting Teresa."

And they—

They repeated it back, as one.

It sounded nice.

"What the hell are you doing? IMMORTAL REM!"

Rem, clearly in a mood, called her out.

And, of course—

The soldiers echoed him.

"IMMORTAL REM!"

God, this was childish.

Eventually, they reached where Enkrid, Ragna, and Audin stood.

Ragna looked mostly fine.

Audin… did not.

His entire body was covered in minor wounds.

His left arm hung limp.

Broken?

"Just a scratch. Can’t be wasting my full strength on a damn dog. So you took quite the beating, Brother."

"Ah, just a few grazes. I was showing respect to my elders."

Teresa stayed silent.

Ragna, after staring blankly at them, spoke up.

"They’re all too weak. Dragging them around is just a hassle, Captain."

"...Why the hell did I keep that bastard alive?"

Rem muttered.

Audin simply smiled and clenched his fist.

"Brother, it seems you long for the embrace of God."

Enkrid swept back his hair.

Nothing but nonsense.

Then, he turned to Rem.

"Stop running off."

"What, why? Were you getting your ass kicked without me?"

"You’re the one who got beaten."

"I let him off easy since he’s an old man."

"I see."

"...Wait, so why does the fight end right when I come back? I was just about to have some fun!"

With that body?

Enkrid’s expressionless face conveyed all the disbelief he needed.

Rem yelled.

"You know who I am?! This is only the beginning! Don’t you know who I am?!"

With that, he raised his hand behind him.

The sharpest officers caught on immediately.

"IMMORTAL REM!"

And, once again, the soldiers roared.

"IMMORTAL REM!"

Jesus Christ.

Enkrid smirked, shaking his head.

"The enemy’s movements are strange."

Graham’s adjutant spoke up.

Enkrid didn’t even turn.

"It’s his work."

"...Who?"

No need for further explanation.

Jaxon.

Jaxon could have easily killed Viscount Tarnin earlier.

But he had waited.

For the most effective moment.

Would killing the enemy commander immediately end the battle?

No.

There were still plenty of elite mercenaries left.

Compared to Enkrid and the Mad Platoon, they were nothing—

But by normal standards, they were far beyond regular soldiers.

And they had been thinking:

"We have justification on our side."

As long as they retreated with Viscount Tarnin alive, they could maintain leverage.

Some of them even knew about Azpen’s existence.

All they had to do was fall back, let the Border Guard fight Azpen, then launch another territorial war later.

It was a smart move.

So, they set out to find the Viscount.

But—

His head was already mounted on a pike.

"...When the hell did that fat bastard die?"

One of the smart mercenaries was stunned.

And, unlucky.

Jaxon hadn’t even needed magical relics to erase his presence.

He had simply disguised himself in enemy armor—

And observed.

Looking for anyone who could rally the enemy.

Then, he had gifted them all a red necklace.

That smart mercenary?

He was no exception.

A unique dagger—blunt on the outside, razor-sharp on the inside.

Dragged across the throat—

And it was over.

The mercenary barely had time to react.

His hand shot up to grab Jaxon’s wrist—

But the blade had already drawn a red line across his throat.

By now, Jaxon had already killed seven of them.

That was enough.

So, he withdrew.

Surely, his captain hadn’t died in the short time he was away.

And as he returned—

He saw Enkrid.

And beside him—

A ghost.

"A ghost? Quick, someone fetch a few daggers. An exorcism should do."

"...Why the hell does it feel like that stray cat bastard is talking about me?"

The barbarian ghost grumbled.

Jaxon, still serious, insisted on an exorcism.

But it was ignored.

Instead, all he got was a blessing from a madman with an axe.

"How about you drop dead?"

Jaxon ignored it.

His job was done, and his captain was still alive.

"I really thought I was gonna die this time."

Kraiss admitted.

Enkrid, utterly unfazed, stared at the wide-eyed soldier.

Kraiss, who hadn’t properly slept in days, smiled.

"Lucky, aren’t we? Feels like the Goddess of Fortune gave us a kiss."

And as he spoke—

White snow poured down over his head.

It had started just as the battle ended—

The sleet had turned into full snowfall.

"You like this?"

Rem grumbled.

Demon dust was falling relentlessly.

Jaxon and Audin both looked equally annoyed.

But Enkrid—

Enkrid understood.

"The captain’s a smart one, as expected."

Kraiss commented.

Rem, clearly irritated, muttered something about gouging his eyes out.

But it was just small talk.

The snowfall thickened.

And with it—

They had bought time.

Azpen’s movements would be stalled.

And they had time to recover and regroup.