I Am Bandit Borg!

"Evil Dragon! Come duel me!"

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

There was not the slightest trace of civilization on this man, as though he had long since been assimilated by these mountains and forests.

According to the information Romain had learned,

Bandit Borg was the Transcendent who had remained in the mountains the longest—twenty whole years. The hunters had already been replaced by a new generation, yet Borg was still active in the mountains.

Dick had been there the second longest, followed by Garin, while Jet and the Misfortune Witch had arrived last.

These Transcendents had led clearly separate, reclusive lives, until Romain's arrival shattered the peace of this place.

Once Romain realized this man was Borg, his expression turned extremely grim.

His gaze sharpened, and his tone became exceptionally serious. "I sent Green to find you. Where is he?"

Just as Romain had no choice but to prepare for the worst, Green and Dota emerged from the woods as well.

Green looked embarrassed. "My lord, I'm here..."

He had botched things up. He had underestimated this bandit who had become famous twenty years ago—he had caught up with Borg time and again, only for the latter to escape every time.

When Green discovered that Borg was heading toward Romain, he had rushed back in a panic, but he was still one step too late. It left him deeply ashamed.

Romain's expression eased somewhat. He said to Borg, "You want to duel me?"

Borg said fiercely, "That's right! I'll kill you, Evil Dragon, with my battle axe!"

He brandished the weapon in his hand.

But when Romain saw Borg's weapon, he realized it was merely a stone shard tied to a wooden stick with vines.

The sheer absurdity of it made Romain not know whether to laugh or cry.

Yet he noticed that Mol had gone deathly pale at the sight of Borg, and his legs had begun to tremble uncontrollably, as though he had crossed paths with this bandit before.

"Why do you seek a duel with me?"

Borg raised both arms and shouted, "Because I am Bandit Borg! I will seize all the Evil Dragon's treasure!"

"How laughable. Why do you call me an Evil Dragon?"

Borg argued with conviction, "You have no sharp claws, yet you command vast lands; you have no bat's wings, yet you stand high above all others; you cannot breathe fire or thunder, yet everyone on this land fears your might—who resembles an Evil Dragon more than you do?"

That argument nearly convinced Romain, making him think he truly was one of those legendary creatures rumored to have come from islands in the distant sea.

Dick said softly to him, "Borg has Northman blood."

Dick was deeply conflicted at that moment. He did not want his longtime neighbor to come here seeking death, but now that Borg had truly appeared, Dick realized he could not help him in the slightest.

Borg would neither surrender nor admit defeat. He was as stubborn as a rock.

Romain immediately understood. North Ice referred to the northern icy sea—he had heard some of the myths and legends of the Northmen.

The distant North Ice Ocean bred tough and savage Northmen. They worshipped strength and faced death without fear, which was why pirates ran rampant.

One hundred and fifty years ago, the pirates had suffered a devastating blow from The Conqueror.

But Romain knew that the Northmen had returned to their old ways. Over the past few decades, they had resurged and constantly harassed the coastlines of every nation.

Legends of dragons on land had existed for a long time. The most recent was the true tale from one hundred and fifty years ago, when the first Grand Duke Armor-Splitting shot through a red dragon's scales.

After that, dragons seemed to have vanished from this land.

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

But only the strongest and largest ships could reach the islands where dragons lived.

Romain did not think the nations on land possessed such capabilities.

Yet the Northmen had a chance to witness dragons.

Borg had clearly been steeped in Northman legends, so it was only natural that he compared Romain to an Evil Dragon.

Wanting to seize all the wealth of an Evil Dragon also suited the style of a bandit.

Romain asked in confusion, "Do you intend to reenact the past?"

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

But Romain shook his head. "You cannot save them. Borg, standing on the shore, you cannot save those trapped deep in the swamp. You do not know that the harder you pull, the deeper they sink, and the swamp's dark pull will drag you in with them. That is the curse of human nature."

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

Borg swung his enormous, sharp battle axe at the sky!

He felt exactly like the bravest and most fearless Northman warrior from the myths.

Dark clouds filled the sky, and raging waves surged!

He stood tall and proud on the broad deck of a ship, roaring at the Evil Dragon upon the sea.

No wind or wave could shake his powerful body. His feet stood firm, as though rooted to the deck, swaying only with the rise and fall of the massive ship.

Countless people stood behind him, and a frail yet resilient figure watched him with a gentle, gratified gaze.

Borg felt his blood begin to boil again, filled with an intense sense of pride and honor.

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

His hair was long and disheveled, and his body had wasted away considerably, but one could still vaguely see the tall, valiant figure he had been in his prime. Only his words and behavior had become utterly crazed.

Dick looked away and said, "He's gone mad."

Borg roared himself hoarse, as though shouting amid a raging storm. "I am Bandit Borg! Follow in my footsteps! Board my warship! We will slay dragons together! Kill every Evil Dragon together! From this day forth, we shall all be bandits of this world!"

Romain had initially found it somewhat absurd, but after hearing those words, he changed his mind. His eyes and expression gradually calmed.

He said, "I accept your duel!"

He raised a hand to stop Aaron from stepping forward, then took a round shield from him and a greatsword from Green.

"Dragon slayer, come!"

Upon hearing those words, Borg seemed to hear the charge horn aboard the North Ice Warship.

His fighting spirit soared, and his desire to slay the dragon had never been stronger. He could not wait to kill the Evil Dragon before him!

Borg swung his battle axe and roared as though issuing an order, "I am Bandit Borg! My followers! Charge with me!!"

Before everyone's eyes, the two collided.

He was a seasoned warrior. His body had deteriorated due to harsh living conditions and insufficient nutrition. He could not maintain regular training, and he had not experienced a proper battle in twenty years.

Yet he was still the most skilled, most valiant warrior!

Upon this storm-tossed sea, Borg led from the front.

He wielded his battle axe with agility, weaving and leaping as he fought this Evil Dragon with an invulnerable body and razor-sharp claws!

This fierce, exhilarating battle actually lasted more than ten minutes.

The bandit who had shouted about killing every Evil Dragon in the world increasingly felt his strength failing.

After all, the battle had lasted too long. He felt as though the fight had turned heaven and earth upside down, with seawater churning around them, perhaps for three days and three nights.

Otherwise, why would he feel so exhausted?

Under the worried gaze of that frail figure, he escaped the Evil Dragon's claws countless times and launched countless counterattacks, just like a scene from legend.

It is time to settle this! he thought.

Bandit Borg's eyes turned fierce. He felt that he had finally found the Evil Dragon's opening, and he leaped from the deck one last time.

He sprang into the air, swung his massive battle axe, and brought it down upon the Evil Dragon's hard dragon neck like a bolt of lightning!

Clang!

The vines had long since come loose, and the tied stone shard had long since fallen away.

Only a bare wooden stick struck Romain's shield.

Bandit Borg finally let go of the battle axe in his hand. Amid countless cries of alarm, he fell straight into the icy seawater.

He could not breathe, and his vision began to blur. He felt colder than ever before.

I am Bandit Borg! he thought.

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

He tried to swim upward, but the cold kept invading his limbs. Starting from his fingers, they grew stiff, while the heat within his body steadily drained away.

Borg continued to sink, falling into an increasingly dark and freezing seabed.

In his daze, he saw a frail figure leap into the sea and swim desperately to his side.

Borg... Borg...

He heard someone calling his name. That voice was full of gentleness and kindness, as though it had come from distant memories.

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

He did not know where he found the strength, but he grabbed the hand reaching toward him. In the seawater, he asked, "Did I... kill that Evil Dragon...?"

Within the icy seawater, Borg felt a damp warmth flow into his increasingly stiff palm. He seemed to see that frail figure sobbing uncontrollably.

"Yes, yes... Uncle Borg, you did it." Gevra answered as Romain had instructed.

She felt overwhelming grief for the fate about to befall this elder who had once helped her.

"I am... Bandit Borg..." Borg felt himself sinking into the deep sea, descending to a point where he could barely control his body.

Borg seemed to understand something.

He had killed many people in his youth because he believed in Northman legends. He believed in Valhalla—that every warrior who died in battle would be guided by a Valkyrie into the mythical hall.

But at this moment, Borg regretted it.

An unprecedented remorse gnawed at his heart like a venomous dragon, injecting the fiercest poison in the world.

He no longer wanted to go to Valhalla!

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

What truly pained him was—

"Mother, I'm sorry. I caused your death..."

"Please forgive my sinful bloodline. Please forgive the sins I have committed..."

"You must have suffered so much, didn't you? You must have suffered so much..."

"Mother, I beg you to forgive me. My hands are stained with blood..."

Borg wept bitterly like a child who had done wrong.

He kept asking, kept pleading, kept repenting, begging his mother to grant him mercy and forgiveness.

He no longer wanted to go to Valhalla. He no longer wanted to go to that legendary hall. There was no warmth there at all.

At the very end, as his consciousness sank away, he seemed to be held tightly, like a newborn child in a mother's arms. Those arms were slender and frail, yet they still held him firmly.

Everything returned to the beginning.