Chapter 36 - 34: The Price of the Berserker
Silence settled over the ruined hall, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the sharp, ragged sound of breathing.
The air reeked of ozone, scorched stone, and copper. Minutes ago, Garrick had swallowed that forbidden crimson pill, forcing his Tier 6 aura to violently burst beyond its natural limits into the raw, destructive force of a Tier 7 before bringing down his fury on this chamber. The catastrophic aftermath was etched into every surface. The ceiling was spider-webbed with massive fissures; heavy dust rained down in steady, gray curtains, filtering the dim, flickering blue glow of the damaged mana crystals above.
Victor leaned heavily against the shattered remnant of a stone pillar. His chest heaved. Every breath felt like dragging broken glass through his lungs. His coat was shredded at the shoulder, soaked through with dark blood, and his limbs trembled with a cold, hollow fatigue.
He raised his hands slightly, staring at his skin. The black, tendril-like stains of his dark mana were still fading from his knuckles. He had coated his bare fists in dense, dark magic to parry Garrick’s brutal onslaught, converting pure, lethal force into raw impact through sheer point-blank pressure. But using Fate-Shattering Perception at such an intense output, combined with physically surviving a high-tier hunter’s pill-boosted rampage with nothing but his dark-mana-wrapped fists, had pushed his body past its absolute limit. His wrapped hands were bruised purple beneath the black residue, the bone beneath aching down to the marrow.
He didn’t move for a long moment, simply staring down the dark, cavernous tunnel into which Garrick had retreated.
He’s gone. For now.
Victor forced his aching fingers to uncurl from tight fists, his knuckles white, stiff, and trembling. He turned his head slowly, scanning the wrecked chamber.
It was a complete disaster zone.
Kael lay sprawled against the far wall, motionless, surrounded by a spiderweb of cracked stone where Garrick had slammed him like a ragdoll. A few paces away, Elena was slumped on her side, her face deathly pale, her breathing so shallow Victor had to watch her chest closely just to confirm she was still breathing. Her thin sleeves were stained with her own blood from the earlier assault.
Only Lyra remained standing.
She was kneeling next to Elena, her hands trembling slightly as she checked the girl’s pulse before scrambling over to Kael. The long, lethal length of her Rapier lay resting beside her, its silver handguard gleaming dully in the low light. Her frost-infused magic flickered weakly around her fingers, coating her arms in a thin layer of crystalline ice ,she, too, was operating on sheer adrenaline and raw willpower.
"They’re breathing, Victor," Lyra called out, her voice tight, echoing off the jagged ruins. "Both of them. But... barely."
Victor stumbled forward, his boots crunching loudly on pulverized stone. He reached Lyra’s side and crouched down, wincing violently as a sharp, agonizing pain shot straight up his ribs.
"We can’t stay here," he muttered, his voice raspy and choked with dust. "Look at the ceiling. The structural integrity of this level is failing. Worse, Garrick isn’t dead."
Lyra’s eyes snapped to his, wide with a mix of exhaustion and lingering terror. Her slender fingers reflexively reached for the hilt of her Rapier, the cold steel humming faintly with residual frost magic. "He was a monster... That pill pushed his mana into Tier 7..."
"He was a Tier 6 veteran wielding borrowed Tier 7 strength," Victor corrected flatly, his dark eyes unwavering. "And he knows we’re here. The backlash of that pill will slow him down, but once he recovers, he’ll hunt us. We move, or we die."
Victor reached into his inner coat pocket with stiff, heavy fingers and pulled out two glass vials glowing with a concentrated, crimson liquid mid-grade health potions he’d saved specifically for life-or-death emergencies. He handed them directly to Lyra.
"Administer these to Elena first," Victor instructed, his dark magic flaring just enough to warm his freezing, battered hands. "We need her mana."
Lyra unstoppered the first vial with her teeth and carefully tilted Elena’s head back, pouring the thick crimson liquid down her throat. For an agonizing, silent minute, nothing happened. Then, Elena gasped.a harsh, ragged intake of air and her eyes fluttered open.
"K... Kael?" she whimpered, her gaze unfocused, dark circles painted heavily under her bloodless eyes. She tried to push herself up, her hands sliding weakly on the slick, dust-covered floor. "Where is... Kael?"
"He’s right here, Elena," Victor said, his tone commanding and grounded enough to instantly anchor her spiraling panic. "He’s alive. But he’s unconscious."
Elena’s eyes locked onto her brother’s limp form. Panic momentarily granted her the strength to sit up. Ignoring the sheer agony radiating through her own battered body, she dragged herself across the rubble to Kael’s side. The moment her fingers touched his forearm, a soft, golden light flared at her fingertips. It was faint, far weaker than her usual support magic, but she didn’t hesitate for a single second. She poured every remaining drop of her mana into the restorative spell, channeling the warm glow directly into Kael’s shattered chest.
Victor watched her quietly, his dark eyes narrowing as he analyzed the scene.
Impressive, he thought, making a cold, calculated mental note. Her body is completely depleted, yet her immediate instinct is self-sacrifice. Without her support spells during that clash with Garrick, Kael’s chest would have been caved in completely, and my dark mana punches wouldn’t have been enough to offset Garrick’s physical advantage.
In the original novel, the siblings were tragic side characters who perished early collateral damage in a world that devoured the weak without remorse. But seeing her now, Victor reinforced his stance. Keeping the siblings alive wasn’t just a matter of utility; Elena was a force multiplier. Losing her meant losing the vital buffer that kept their front line from completely disintegrating under high-tier pressure.
As the golden light faded, Elena collapsed forward, catching herself on Kael’s chest while panting heavily. The color had returned, if only slightly, to Kael’s pale face.
Then, Kael stirred. A low, guttural groan escaped his throat, but as his eyes snapped open, a shockwave of lingering, crimson aura flickered violently across his irises.
Elena flinched back instantly, a violent shiver running straight down her spine. The reaction was subtle, but Victor caught it immediately. It wasn’t the reaction of a loving sister worried for her injured brother it was absolute, instinctual terror.
"Elena?" Victor asked quietly, taking a deliberate step closer, his fists resting loosely at his sides. "What was that?"
Elena gripped her own arms tightly, hugging herself as if trying to stay warm against the ambient frost leaking from Lyra’s nearby Rapier. She looked up at Victor, her lower lip trembling. "When... when Garrick attacked me, Kael... he lost it. Entirely."
"I saw," Victor said smoothly. "His physical output spiked way beyond his natural threshold. It looked like a standard Berserker trait."
"No," Elena whispered, her voice shaking violently. "It isn’t just increased strength, Victor. You don’t understand.... I have seen records. Old, hidden texts."
Victor raised an eyebrow, signaling her to continue without interruption.
"The Berserker Trait... it isn’t an ability you simply activate," she said, looking down at Kael, who was now breathing deeply, fast asleep in a far healthier, stable state. "It’s a consumption. The longer he stays in that state, the more his human mind is burned away as fuel for the power. The ancient records didn’t call it a blessing. They called it a Killing Trait."
She swallowed hard, heavy tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. "In the ancient wars, those who carried the trait eventually couldn’t turn it off. They didn’t just slaughter their enemies on the battlefield. They turned into mindless, raging beasts... monsters that eventually butchered their own comrades, their own families, because they could no longer distinguish friend from foe."
Victor’s gaze drifted down to Kael’s resting face.
A Killing Trait... Victor thought, a sharp, cold spark of interest igniting deep within his mind. The original story barely touched upon the true origin of Kael’s power because he died long before it could fully blossom. If his trait is an ancient, unrefined descent into madness... then it isn’t just a temporary stat buff. It’s an evolving state.
If Kael could somehow be trained to retain his sanity while accessing that terrifying power... he wouldn’t just be a solid vanguard to absorb hits. Paired with Victor’s lethal dark mana close-quarters combat and Lyra’s precision frost strikes, Kael would become an absolute calamity on the battlefield.
Victor turned his back on the siblings and walked toward the far edge of the ruined chamber, staring straight down into the darkness of the lower tunnels.
His mind was racing, running through variables with cold, ruthless precision.
Garrick survived, Victor reasoned internally, flexing his bruised, dark-mana-stained fingers. He was forced to retreat because of the sudden structural collapse and the unpredictable nature of my dark magic counter-attacks, but he’s a seasoned Tier 6 warrior who briefly touched Tier 7 through that crimson pill. He knows I’m far stronger than a standard cadet. He knows academy students are inside this dungeon. And most importantly... he knows my face.
If Garrick made it back to the surface, endured the pill’s severe backlash, or regrouped with his remaining mercenaries, he would bring down a devastating hammer of high-tier reinforcements forces that Victor could not hope to fight with bare hands and dark mana in his current shattered state. Logically, the safest option was to retreat to the upper levels immediately and report the mercenary infiltration to the Academy instructors.
No. Victor’s eyes hardened into dark stone.
Retreating meant leaving empty-handed. They had bled for this. He had pushed his body to the absolute brink, burned through his mana reserves, and exposed his dark magic combat capabilities all for the main objective hidden within this abyssal structure: the Tears of Ancient Dragons.
Without that relic, his future growth would hit a massive bottleneck he simply couldn’t afford if he wanted to survive the coming events.
Garrick won’t expect us to press deeper, Victor thought, a cold, sharp smile touching his lips. He’ll assume we’re bleeding out or fleeing for the main entrance. The deepest part of the dungeon is currently our safest refuge and our only prize.
Victor turned back toward the group, his dark gaze locking onto Lyra as she adjusted her posture, her hand resting firmly on the hilt of her frost-covered Rapier. His choice was made.