Chapter 417: [417] He Laughs Madly

Without the protection of Rider and Archer, Berserker’s footsteps also came to a halt.

Not out of fear or hesitation, but because the space before him was now densely packed with homunculi and golems.

To rebel against the oppressors, one must first clear a path forward.

Realizing this, the famed gladiator moved into action alongside the homunculi and golems.

"Come, I shall destroy the oppressors with my love!"

Laughing madly, Spartacus chose to leap into the tide of ’puppets.’

A homunculus’ axe buried itself in his shoulder, a golem’s fist smashed into his face. Even as he endured blows powerful enough to shatter steel, his smile never faded. If anything, it seemed to grow even brighter.

From the very beginning, Berserker had no intention of dodging any attacks. Rather, he reveled in them.

He endured, endured, and endured without resistance. Wounded, battered—yet that blissful smile never disappeared. Before long, the homunculi and golems hesitated at the gladiator’s actions, halting their assault. That was when Berserker made his move.

"Pitiful puppets of tyranny, at least find rest beneath my sword and fists!"

Berserker’s arm shot out, seizing a golem’s face, effortlessly hurling the three-meter-tall construct far into the distance, crushing the unfortunate homunculi beneath its landing.

"Now, you too."

With a casual swing of his sword, the upper bodies of the surrounding homunculi were sent flying. A single punch reduced the struggling golem’s magically reinforced bronze head to dust.

Berserker’s rampage did not stop. Spreading his arms wide, he charged forward. Grabbing five golems at once, he arched his back and slammed them down with overwhelming force. The stone puppets, weighing several tons in total, were shattered from head to toe by his suplex.

He was like a human typhoon. Every swing of his sword, every punch, left behind a trail of destruction.

The Red Berserker laughed as he swung his sword, laughed as he threw his fists—it was nothing short of a nightmare. Even the homunculi, with their faint emotions, were infected by this madness and chose to flee.

After tearing the last golem to pieces, Berserker surveyed the destruction and slaughter he had wrought, nodding in satisfaction before resuming his march.

...And this entire spectacle was witnessed by the Black faction.

The Red Berserker had treated the homunculi and golems as nothing more than obstacles, an unstoppable force. Yet the Black Servants showed no signs of distress—this was merely the expected combat prowess of a Heroic Spirit, nothing to be surprised about.

"...Still, isn’t this level of slaughter a bit excessive?"

"——It’s a ghastly sight. That Berserker isn’t a warrior relying on technique, but a monster who slaughters with sheer overwhelming power. He needs no principles or logic, as if born solely for battle. Perhaps he wasn’t transformed into that state because of Berserker’s Mad Enhancement—rather, no other class but Berserker could possibly suit him."

As Rider and Archer voiced their thoughts, Darnic nodded calmly while gripping his staff:

"That Berserker was born for battle, and is destined to die in battle."

"Will Archer and I... be killed like that too...?"

"Given that absurd strength, it’s entirely possible. At the very least, avoid direct hits."

"Got—it. I’ll do my—best."

The voice was utterly devoid of fighting spirit, completely dispirited. Noticing this blatant attitude, Archer whispered quietly:

"...You seem rather lax. If you were to die here, you wouldn’t be able to save him, you know?"

"I—I know that!"

Jumping to his feet, Rider slapped his cheeks to reinvigorate himself. As if declaring ’bring it on,’ he raised his lance—a beautifully adorned golden cavalry spear.

"Go forth, Astolfo! Let us witness the might of one of Charlemagne’s Twelve Paladins!" Though his Master, Celenike, cheered him on from behind, Astolfo wasn’t the least bit motivated. Instead, he sighed and shrugged.

"Ugh, how bothersome... I really don’t want to do anything barbaric... But fine, I guess I have no choice. I’ll show you what I can do!"

His voice was bright and cheerful—as if in response, rustling and tremors gradually approached from beyond the thicket. Yet, the figure remained hidden in the depths of the night, impossible to pinpoint.

Suddenly, the noise ceased, leaving only the whistling wind to dominate the surroundings. But the Berserker, incapable of concealing his presence, had already made his existence unmistakably clear before even appearing.

He was here. With this certainty in mind, Rider cautiously took a step forward.

"—Come, O tyrant! The hour has come for arrogance to crumble and the dignity of the strong to be trampled!"

With trees sent flying, the Red Berserker emerged.

"...Whoa."

The moment they locked eyes, Rider immediately wanted to flee the scene.

Giants weren’t frightening. Back in the day, Astolfo had fought a many-armed giant named Caligorante and even dragged him through the streets in triumph.

Aggressive men weren’t frightening either. Even if his opponent was a raging monster, he’d face them with ease. But if this aggressive giant was smiling—that was... unsettling.

Yes, a smile was terrifying. To enter enemy territory while grinning either meant overwhelming confidence or madness that disregarded all logic of gain and loss.

"—But I was summoned to defeat my enemies. If it’s all or nothing, then fine—I’ll take you down!"

Evaporating both fear and reason, Astolfo flashed a radiant smile and brandished the golden cavalry spear in his hand.

"Those afar, hear my voice! Those nearby, come forth! I am Astolfo, one of Charlemagne’s Twelve Paladins! Let us settle this—fair and square!!"

Rider, who had long yearned to proclaim this long-awaited opening line, boldly revealed his True Name without hesitation. Fortunately, Red Berserker lacked the cognitive faculties to strategize based on an opponent’s True Name.

...No, the worst had already come to pass.

"Black Rider, Astolfo? One of Charlemagne’s Twelve Paladins—to think such a feeble spirit would be counted among them."

The moment the black-robed figure appeared, the atmosphere froze like never before.

Vlad III clenched his fists, Darnic’s face twisted in fury, and Celenike held her breath. Far away, Chiron and Fiore furrowed their brows simultaneously, as if facing a dire threat.

This was the nightmare etched into the hearts of the Black Faction—their most despised and feared enemy.

Under the Black Faction’s hostile gazes, the young man strolled past Black Rider as casually as a walk in the garden. Under Astolfo’s tense watch, he tilted his head up to meet Red Berserker’s eyes.

—Undoubtedly a dangerous act, akin to staring down a grizzly or wild boar in the wilderness.

Spartacus, too, noticed the figure blocking his path. With a chilling grin, he leaned forward, locking eyes with Sakatsuki as if preparing for a deadly clash.

Yet the black-robed youth merely pulled back his hood, unbothered by letting the gladiator see the cold smirk on his face:

"O rebel, have you resolved to turn your fists and blade against the oppressors beyond?"

Spartacus studied this insignificant figure for a long moment before straightening up, as if seeing through his guise.

"Rebellion is my life! You are no oppressor now—step aside! Or sing songs of triumph and march with me!"

No oppressor now? Then what of the past? Could this mysterious assassin have once stood among them?

Spartacus’ words hinted at some aspect of the black-robed youth’s nature. Even with battle imminent, the Black Faction’s Masters and Servants couldn’t help but ponder, searching for clues about Sakatsuki.

Facing Red Berserker’s invitation, Sakatsuki shook his head without hesitation:

"Though I admire rebellion, I’m bound by too many ties to the ’tyrants.’"

As if recalling something, his expression softened into a faint smile as he stepped past the lone gladiator.

"Still, even if I cannot stand with you, I shall guard your rear in the battles to come, ’Red’ Berserker."

Pausing briefly to leave this final ’blessing,’ the black-robed youth vanished into the forest.

"Rage freely against all tyranny."

With the dangerous Servant gone, not only did the Black Faction exhale in relief—even Spartacus, famed for his fearless nature, bared his teeth anew, directing his bloodlust toward Astolfo.

"Rebellion is my life! O oppressive ones afar! My blade shall reduce you to dust!"