Berserker? Avenger?

㈡⑨⑧316354

P.S.: It's so quiet. I feel like I've been completely forgotten. ＞﹏＜

Everyone, if you won't give me tickets, at least leave some comments!

More comments can give the author the illusion that this book hasn't flopped yet. ╥﹏╥...

There will still be two updates today. The other one will be tonight.

Berserker? Avenger?

On the rooftop of a high-rise not far from the Holy Church. A slender youth sat cross-legged on the unadorned concrete floor, gazing into the distance. Perhaps because the temperature had dropped at night, the ground was too cold; before long, he got to his feet.

"Berserker, what is your wish?" the youth muttered to himself, a serious expression—the kind one should only wear while speaking to someone—appearing on his fair face.

No one answered his question. That was only to be expected. The top floor was completely empty. If the youth did not speak, all that could be heard was the howling wind, followed by utter silence. It would have been truly unsettling if someone had answered him on this lifeless rooftop.

"Hey, say something, at least." The youth turned toward the empty space and complained, "I don't plan to use that cup to fulfill a wish. Or rather, I plan to dismantle the thing. If you have a wish, you'd better say it early. I'll do my best to help you achieve it." He shrugged. "Don't let my appearance fool you. I actually know a lot of secrets. I can do certain things that some people who never leave their laboratories could never accomplish in their entire lives."

Then something chilling happened. "My wish has already been fulfilled," a hoarse voice came from the void. "The moment I regained my memories."

The real Team B.jpg

Without warning, a towering giant appeared behind the youth. He stood over two and a half meters tall, with short black hair. Muscles bulged from his body like marble, while swollen veins twisted across them like enraged serpents clinging to rock. He was practically a tower of flesh and steel. Any sculptor who saw this man would surely weep; he was the embodiment of the beauty of strength, a divine miracle that should not exist in the human world.

It was neither scientific nor magecraft. The beauty of strength was a concept, not a tangible thing. How could a normal individual possibly embody a concept?

But there were always exceptional existences. For example, the man standing before Li Zihan, who had accomplished great deeds worthy of godhood and earned the title of Hercules.

"Could you share your plans from here on out?" The youth scratched his cheek. "Honestly, I knew your sanity hadn't been consumed by Madness Enhancement, but I didn't expect one Command Spell stroke to be enough to wake you up. Restoring your memories, on the other hand, took two."

The giant lowered his head to look at his current Master. Though his beastlike eyes were crimson, they gleamed with reason. After a long time, the hero who had once completed the Twelve Labors slowly spoke. "You were willing to spend two Command Spell strokes to let me obtain memories of the future. Naturally, you have your own purpose. You did not use Command Spells merely to invite me to watch a biographical film. I will lend my strength to your plan."

Heracles did not need much thought to understand that the person who had summoned him had already prepared a complete plan. That plan included helping him obtain memories from a future where he survived, stirring up his anger toward a certain king. Heracles hated such methods, but he had to admit that they worked.

Because he truly despised that king, a fellow demigod, more deeply than Eurystheus, who had stolen his throne and forced him into exile, or Nessus, the centaur who had coveted his wife's beauty and driven him to burn himself to death.

To defeat that enemy, who stood among the strongest of all Servants, Heracles needed help—even if that person was as untrustworthy as Hermes.

Heracles did not doubt the ability of the magus who had summoned him. Anyone capable of gathering information from the future was clearly no ordinary person.

"Thank you for understanding, Berserker." The youth smiled lightly. "To kill that king, we'll need to work together. It may take some time, but victory is guaranteed."

Berserker. That was a deeply familiar form of address. Heracles felt slightly dazed. In his memories, there had been an awkward girl who called him that. She had trusted him unconditionally. Even when he had been utterly helpless before Archer, she had still cried that Berserker was the strongest. She had seen him as her greatest support, and even at death's door, she had called out his name. She had regarded him as a father or elder brother. Even when she was barely alive and had lost her sight, she had crawled through the darkness; even mistaking a stone for his foot had reassured her, as though having him meant she possessed the whole world.

But she had died. Her eyes had been gouged out, her heart ripped away. She had died in agony, and even her corpse had been used as material for a magecraft ritual.

Yet he could only return to the Throne of Heroes with anger and regret. When he was summoned again, he could not even remember anything about her—not even the smallest moments of their life together. If his Master had not used Command Spells to restore his memories this time, he would probably still have remained in a haze.

The next time he was summoned, no Master would use Command Spells to restore his memories. Nor would he necessarily meet that person again. His chance for revenge existed only during these seven days!

"Master, don't call me Heracles anymore." The demigod hero spoke softly. His red eyes held none of a Berserker's madness or bloodlust, only the calm of the sea. This great hero from Greece neither grieved nor wailed, neither shouted nor roared, yet Li Zihan could easily sense his sorrow and fury. For a moment, even the wind across the rooftop seemed to fall silent, as though unable to bear the resolve that would follow. "What I am about to do is unworthy of that name. Just call me Alcaeus."

There was no earth-shaking roar, no freely spilling killing intent, no deadly oath of If I don't kill that glittering bastard, I swear I'm not human. There was only an emotionless statement. A statement that, in what came next, he would abandon his pride and glory as a hero, as a Son of God, as Hercules, and fight.

"Please wait and see." The youth gave Heracles—no, Alcaeus—a slight bow. Anyone willing to abandon glory, trample their own bottom line, and stake their life for one person deserved his respect. Slowly, he laid out his plan: a plan that was not righteous and could even be called exceptionally vile. "Is there anything you'd like to add?"

"No." Alcaeus's face was hard and cold, like a Giant God forged from black iron. "If I have to make one request, it's that you leave Gilgamesh to me at the end. Any objections?"