I am Bandit Borg!

"Evil Dragon! Duel me!"

Romain stared in bewilderment at the wild man who had leaped out of the forest.

He couldn't see the slightest trace of civilization on this fellow, as if the man had long since assimilated into the forest.

According to the information Romain had gathered.

The bandit Borg was the transcendent who had stayed in the mountains the longest, a full twenty years. The hunters had changed generation after generation, yet Borg remained active in the mountains.

The second longest was Dick, followed by Garin, and finally Jet and the Witch of Misfortune.

These transcendent beings lived their reclusive lives in clear separation until his arrival shattered the tranquility here.

When Romain realized this person was Borg, his expression turned extremely grim.

His eyes narrowed, and his tone was exceptionally serious: "I sent Green to find you. Where is he?"

Just as Romain was forced to prepare for the worst, Green and Dota emerged from the woods.

Green's face was awkward: "Master, I'm here..."

He had messed up, underestimating the bandit who had been famous twenty years ago. He had pursued Borg multiple times, but each time, Borg had escaped.

Upon discovering Borg's trajectory heading towards Romain, Green had rushed back in a panic, but he was still too late, which filled him with shame.

Romain's expression softened slightly, and he said to Borg, "You want to duel me?"

Borg said fiercely, "Yes! I will kill you, you evil dragon, with my battle axe!"

He brandished the weapon in his hand.

Upon seeing Borg's weapon, Romain realized it was just a stone shard wrapped around a wooden stick with vines.

A profound sense of absurdity made Romain chuckle helplessly.

However, he noticed that Mol's face turned unusually pale upon seeing Borg, and his legs began to tremble involuntarily, as if he had encountered the bandit before.

"Why do you seek a duel with me?"

Borg raised his arms and shouted, "Because I am the bandit Borg! I will steal all the treasure of the Evil Dragon!"

"Ridiculous, why do you call me an Evil Dragon!"

Borg argued righteously: "You have no sharp claws, yet you control vast tracts of land; you have no bat's wings, yet you can stand on high; you have no power to breathe fire and lightning, yet you make everyone on this land fear your might—who else is more like an Evil Dragon than you!"

This argument almost convinced Romain, making him mistakenly believe he was truly one of those legendary creatures rumored to hail from distant islands.

Dick whispered to him, "Borg has Northman blood."

Dick was conflicted at that moment. He didn't want his long-time neighbor to come here to his doom, but when Borg actually appeared, Dick found he couldn't help Borg at all.

The latter would not surrender, nor would he admit defeat. He was as stubborn as a rock, persistent.

Romain suddenly understood. Northman referred to the northern icy seas—he had heard the myths and legends of the Northmen.

The distant northern icy oceans bred tough and savage Northmen. They revered strength and faced death fearlessly, hence their rampant piracy.

One hundred and fifty years ago, the pirates suffered a heavy blow from the conquerors.

But Romain knew that the Northmen had returned to their old ways. They had made a comeback in the past few decades, constantly raiding the coastlines of various countries.

Legends of dragons on land had existed for a long time. The most recent was the true deed of the first Grand Duke Armor-Splitting splitting the scales of a crimson dragon 150 years ago.

Since then, dragons seemed to have vanished from this land.

Romain also knew that dragons were still active in the distant seas.

However, only the sturdiest and largest ships could reach the islands where dragons resided.

Romain didn't believe any of the land-based countries possessed this capability.

But the Northmen had the opportunity to witness the appearance of dragons.

Borg had clearly been influenced by Northman legends, so likening Romain to an Evil Dragon was only natural.

His desire to steal an Evil Dragon's wealth also fit the bandit's modus operandi.

Romain asked with confusion, "Do you want to repeat the past?"

Borg shouted, "The past will not repeat itself!"

Romain, however, shook his head: "You cannot save them. Borg, you stand on the shore, you cannot save those who are sinking in the swamp. You don't know that the harder you try, the deeper they sink, and the dark gravity of the swamp will pull you in as well. This is the curse of humanity."

"Then use your corpse to break the curse, and let everyone step on you to reach the shore!"

Borg raised his huge, sharp battle axe towards the sky!

He felt as if he were the most valiant and fearless Northman warrior from myths and legends.

The sky was overcast with dark clouds, and towering waves surged!

And he stood with his head held high on the spacious deck of a grand ship, roaring towards the Evil Dragon in the sea.

No storm or wave could shake his strong body. His feet were planted firmly, as if rooted to the deck, only swaying with the rise and fall of the massive ship.

Behind him stood countless people, and a frail yet resilient figure watched him with comforting and gentle eyes.

Borg felt his body surge with renewed fervor, a strong sense of pride and honor washing over him.

Romain, Dick, Jet, Shasta, Aaron, Green, and the others watched Borg in silence.

His hair was messy and long, and his body had shrunk considerably, but one could still vaguely make out his tall and mighty peak physique. However, his words and actions were erratic and nonsensical.

Dick averted his gaze and said, "He's gone mad."

Borg roared at the top of his lungs, as if shouting into a storm: "I am Borg the Bandit! Follow my lead! Board my warship! We shall slay dragons together! We shall kill all the Evil Dragons! From this day forth! We are all Bandits in this world!"

Romain had initially found it somewhat absurd, but upon hearing this, he changed his mind, his eyes and expression gradually calming down.

He said, "I accept your duel!"

He raised his hand to stop Aaron from intervening, took the round shield from him, and the greatsword from Green.

"Dragon Slayer, come forth!"

When Borg heard this, it was as if he heard the charge horn from a Northman warship.

His fighting spirit soared, his desire to slay dragons stronger than ever. He couldn't wait to kill the Evil Dragon before him!

Borg swung his battle axe and roared like he was giving orders, "I am Borg the Bandit! My followers! Charge with me!!"

Under everyone's gaze, the two collided.

He was a seasoned warrior, but his body had deteriorated due to the poor environment and lack of nutrition. He couldn't maintain daily training, and he hadn't experienced a proper battle in twenty years.

But he was still the most skilled and bravest warrior!

On this turbulent sea, Borg led the charge.

He skillfully wielded his battle axe, maneuvering and dodging, fighting the Evil Dragon with its impenetrable hide and sharp claws!

This exhilarating battle lasted for more than ten minutes.

The Bandit, who had been shouting about killing all the Evil Dragons in the world, felt his stamina waning.

After all, the battle had gone on for too long. He felt as if the battle had raged for days and nights, with the sea churning. Perhaps three days and three nights had passed.

Otherwise, why would he feel so exhausted?

And under the worried gaze of that frail figure, he had escaped the Evil Dragon's claws countless times and counterattacked just as many, resembling a scene from legend.

It's time to end this! he thought.

Bandit Borg's eyes were fierce. He felt he had finally found the Evil Dragon's weakness and leaped from the deck one last time.

He sprang up, swinging the massive battle axe in his hand, and like thunder, he fiercely chopped at the Evil Dragon's hard neck!

Clang!

The vines had long since loosened, and the tied stone tablets had long since fallen off.

Only a bare wooden stick struck Romain's shield.

Bandit Borg finally let go of his battle axe and, to the gasps of countless people, plunged into the cold sea.

He couldn't breathe, his vision began to blur, and he felt an unprecedented chill.

I am Borg the Bandit! he thought.

I cannot die like this. I still need to lead more people to kill more dragons.

He wanted to swim up, but the cold continued to erode his limbs, starting with his fingers, which grew stiff as the heat within him continuously drained away.

Borg continued to descend, falling into the increasingly dark and cold depths of the sea.

In a daze, he saw a frail figure leap into the sea as well and swim desperately towards him.

Borg... Borg...

He heard someone calling his name, and the voice was filled with gentleness and kindness, as if echoing from a distant memory.

"Uncle Borg... Uncle Borg..."

With strength he didn't know he had, he grabbed the hand reaching out to him and asked in the water, "Did I kill... the Evil Dragon...?"

In the cold seawater, Borg felt a moist warmth flow into his increasingly stiff palm. He seemed to see that frail figure weeping uncontrollably.

"Yes, yes... Uncle Borg, you did it," Gevra replied, following Romain's instructions.

She was overcome with grief at the impending end of this elder who had once helped her.

"I am... Borg the Bandit..." Borg felt himself falling into the deep sea, reaching a certain depth where he could barely control his body.

Borg seemed to understand something.

In his youth, he had killed many, simply because he believed in the legends of the Northmen and the existence of Valhalla – that all fallen warriors would be guided by Valkyries and enter the mythical hall with them.

But at this moment, Borg regretted it.

An unprecedented regret gnawed at his soul like a venomous dragon, injecting the world's most potent poison.

He no longer wished to go to Valhalla!

He had betrayed his faith, but he felt no pain!

What truly caused him pain was—

"Mom, I'm so sorry, I killed you..."

"Please forgive me for this sinful bloodline, I beg you to forgive the sins I have committed..."

"You must be in so much pain, you must be in so much pain..."

"Mom, I beg you to forgive me, my hands are stained with blood..."

Borg wept uncontrollably, like a child who had done something wrong.

He pleaded, he begged, he repented, imploring his mother to grant him mercy and forgiveness.

He no longer wished to go to Valhalla, he no longer wanted to go to the legendary halls, for there was no warmth to be found there.

As his consciousness faded, he felt as though he was being held tightly, like a newborn child embraced by its mother. The arms were slender and delicate, yet they held him firmly.

Everything returned to the beginning.