Chapter 17: Battle Shout

The icy water sent a shiver through Sven’s body. He hadn’t expected to plunge headfirst into the water. 

As a Viking, he knew how to swim. He had grown up near the sea, and while he disliked entering the water, it wasn’t difficult for him. 

The problem was the overwhelming darkness. 

One moment there had been fire all around, the next, complete pitch-black darkness where he couldn’t see his own hand before his face. 

His eyes couldn’t adjust to such sudden change. Human eyes typically need at least fifteen minutes to adapt from sunlight to moonlight. Though professional warriors could adapt faster due to their enhanced physique, there was no way Sven could instantly see in this darkness. 

He needed to find footing first. 

Sven began swimming toward the edge, arms churning through the water. 

This should be a water reservoir – not too large. If he could just reach a place where he could stand and exert force, even without fire, he’d remain unbeatable. 

This instinctive choice, however, was itself an unconscious admission of weakness. 

As he swam, Wade silently raised his sword beneath the water’s surface. 

Professional warriors weren’t made of iron. The scars on this man’s body proved he was flesh and blood, still vulnerable to blades. 

With his remaining right arm, Wade aimed his sword at the man’s ankle. 

A single slash sent threads of blood swirling through the water. 

Wade didn’t get greedy – one cut, then he retreated. 

He could only whittle away at the Viking’s endurance bit by bit. The man’s physique was too formidable – a direct stab to the heart might just get the sword stuck in his muscles. 

Instead, Wade chose to sever the tendons in the man’s feet. He attacked from all directions in the darkness, watching as the man flailed wildly with sword and fists like a child throwing a tantrum. 

No matter how the man roared in anger, he couldn’t land a hit on Wade. He’d even lost his sense of direction in this small reservoir, his fiery confidence wavering as panic set in. 

With both Achilles tendons severed, a man couldn’t swim properly – at best he could keep his head above water to breathe. 

Wade denied him even that. He followed the guerrilla tactic – every successful strike was a bonus, every miss acceptable. 

Finally, in this reservoir where he held overwhelming advantage – like an archer safely picking off targets from a high tower – Wade struck over thirty times until the massive man collapsed. 

That enormous body sank toward the reservoir bottom. Despite thirty wounds, he wasn’t dead yet, but without oxygen underwater, death was inevitable. 

For insurance, Wade kept his distance, silently watching as the man’s life force extinguished. 

The Viking’s vitality was terrifying – even with countless wounds and lungs filled with icy water, he clung to life. Wade counted to six hundred twenty-three before all signs of life finally ceased, the man drowning in the depths. 

He was dead at last. 

Wade exhaled in relief. His only real losses were a few broken ribs. He could still feel his left arm – just needed to reattach it later. His skull was intact, and ribs could be replaced somehow. 

With the pirate leader dead, the remaining Vikings posed little threat. 

The prolonged silence from their chief had already sown unease among the pirates. 

The slightest disturbance would shatter their courage now – no further action needed. 

As Wade contemplated how to frighten the remaining pirates, he called Mia into the water. 

Though a villain, the pirate leader had been undeniably powerful – his soul should carry significant weight. 

Mia floated jellyfish-like above the corpse, extracting the soul. 

This time, instead of pale soulfire, the soul glowed red like actual burning flames. 

Wade stood guard as Mia absorbed the soul. She seemed unable to swallow it whole, requiring more time for complete absorption. 

While waiting, Wade listened to the commotion above ground. 

There were dense footsteps and shouts. 

“Vikings, get out of Tania!” 

The villagers had rallied, launching a counterattack against the pirates. 

Perhaps grief over lost loved ones, or rage at their burning homes drove them. 

They shouted war cries, took up arms, and charged bravely at the pirates. 

Someone led the charge, firing arrows that harmlessly bounced off Viking helmets, yet served as a battle horn as men and women advanced together. 

Women threw stones from their aprons while men raised pitchforks like knights charging. 

Their equipment paled against the pirates’. Every Viking wore protective helmets with matching swords and shields, some even in chainmail – better equipped than many minor lords’ soldiers. 

In contrast, the villagers lacked even proper weapons – nearly half armed only with farming tools. 

Had the pirates calmly formed battle formations, they might have countered. 

But their pillar of strength – the undefeated Sven – had vanished before their eyes. 

Their leader had disappeared without a sound, as if swallowed by eternal darkness. 

With twenty-three already dead and their mysterious killer still unseen, uncertainty about their leader’s fate grew. 

Perhaps their chief had already been slain. 

When the villagers’ war cries reached their ears, fear took root in every pirate’s heart. 

Why were these villagers so courageous? 

Were they not afraid to die? 

As this doubt arose, the wounded Tania warrior – pierced by multiple arrows – unleashed his battle shout. 

Basic combat technique: Imbalance Shout. 

With his final strength, the man intimidated the pirates. 

Far less effective than when he’d charged their leader, it couldn’t even paralyze them now – but it shattered the pirates’ morale completely. 

The first pirate dropped his sword and fled into the snowstorm. 

Then a second, third, fourth followed. 

Their morale collapsed. On any battlefield, once morale breaks, even superior numbers can’t prevent total rout. 

The villagers drove out the invaders. They helped their gravely wounded warrior up, some calling for the “hero hunter,” others mercilessly bringing hoes down on fallen pirates’ heads. 

Listening from below, Wade knew his work was done. 

No need to appear – a skeleton had no business showing itself. 

Everything had concluded. Now he could quietly investigate his own mysteries. 

Just as well. 

He dove to the reservoir bottom, retrieving the Viking’s sword. 

For such a large man, the sword seemed dainty, though it fit Wade perfectly. 

He noticed the runic engravings – this was no ordinary weapon. No wonder the man had wielded a blade mismatched to his size. 

Glancing between Mia struggling to consume the soul and his new sword, Wade thought: At least this wasn’t a complete waste. There were some rewards after all.