Chapter Eleven: Berserk

When Liah arrived at the place they had just left, bringing the golden-haired youth with her, she was confronted by a scene that defied belief. The clothes that had once covered Lancer’s body had fallen away entirely, save for where they were held by his belt, now hanging around his waist like a tattered skirt. Lancer himself looked utterly disheveled, his body crisscrossed with countless claw marks, fresh blood oozing from the wounds.

When Lancer saw the newcomer standing beside Liah, his expression darkened. “Why are you here? Didn’t you say you hated the night the most? Could it be you’re missing your good friends? Go find them—they’re just ahead.” Perhaps it was the arrival of another person that made the vampires pause their attack, but as Liah looked more closely, she realized that the once-formidable force of vampires had been reduced to only twenty.

“Heh, isn’t it because I missed you so much? You’ve been on my mind all this time,” the once-dashing youth, Gawain, replied, affecting a bashful demeanor in response to Lancer’s words.

“Damn you! Gawain, did they send you to weaken me? For God’s sake, don’t disgust me!” Lancer was incredulous at how the formerly stiff Gawain had changed so much in half a year.

“Heh, I’m just learning from you. Don’t be mad. So, need a hand? Even though it’s night, I can still handle these guys,” Gawain offered, proudly raising the longsword in his right hand.

“No need. Just protect the one beside you,” Lancer replied. The brief respite had allowed him to recover some stamina, but the faces of their enemies only darkened further. They hadn’t expected Lancer to be such a formidable foe; even as a duke, he could only guarantee his survival, nothing more. Now, another had joined them, one who seemed nearly his equal—and the sword he wielded seemed to exude a faint, suppressive force.

“Carter, Paulen.” At that moment, someone on the other side called out two names. The two named vampires turned pale with terror, but in their world, rank was absolute. Without hesitation, the pair began chanting a strange incantation. To the astonishment of Lancer and Gawain, their bodies suddenly exploded, transforming into two blood-red arrows—one shooting toward Lancer, the other at Liah. Lancer immediately raised his sword, Shadow’s Reflection, in defense, but the blood arrow passed through the blade without pause, striking him directly.

With a spray of blood, Lancer vomited a mouthful, the attack more severe than all the wounds he had suffered thus far combined. Even so, he turned his head; in that instant, he saw Gawain gripping his sword in shock, and Liah collapsing to the ground.

“No!” An overwhelming, violent aura erupted from Lancer. Though his body was covered in wounds, the bandages on his right arm until now had only been stained by blood, never broken. Now, the bandages snapped apart, and black energy surged from his right hand. Blood-red markings began to wind their way across his body, and in mere moments, his entire form was entwined with crimson patterns. As they covered him, Lancer’s body was transformed, taking on an eerie, faintly violet hue.

When he opened his eyes again, the once-deep black pupils had been replaced—now even the whites of his eyes blazed with a mad, bloody red. Shadow’s Reflection somehow reappeared at his waist, and Lancer did something no one could have imagined: with his left hand together, he stabbed himself in the right shoulder. Blood gushed forth, but instead of spilling to the ground, it slowly flowed onto his right hand, where it twisted and morphed until it formed the shape of a sword. When the blade was complete, the bleeding from his shoulder ceased, and the blood that had soaked the ground from the vampires began to gather, forming blood-red beads that now circled around Lancer.

Most uncanny of all, Lancer’s clothes, which had appeared to be mere cloth, transformed under the embrace of blood into a suit of black armor, concealing his entire face save for a blood-red crystal at the eyes. His once-black hair turned a ghastly white, swept up beneath the helm, crowned at the top by a deep blue plume.

“Here you shall be buried!” Lancer’s terrifying appearance and emotionless voice were like that of an emissary from Hell, his words a simple declaration of fate. From his eyes, a crimson light shone.

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“What kind of joke is this?!” Of the three counts who survived the earlier battle, the youngest seemed to have been most unsettled by Lancer’s monstrous appearance. With a shout, he bared his blood-red hands and charged at Lancer.

But Lancer, watching his assailant approach, made no move at all, as if turned to stone. Just as the count’s hands were about to touch him—

“Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!” The sound of objects being pierced echoed in Gawain’s ears, and his eyes widened in shock. With the sword bestowed by the Lady of the Lake, he believed he could have dispatched the count in moments, but Lancer’s method was too bizarre. The blood beads pierced the count’s body as if it were nothing, and others joined in the assault. In an instant, the young count was utterly destroyed, and the blood in the air grew thicker, filling it with a heavy, cloying scent.

Having slaughtered his foe, Lancer simply stared at Case, as if nothing had happened.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” At last, one of the vampires could no longer bear the oppressive atmosphere and tried to flee, but he met the same fate as the last—his blood feeding the thickening miasma, though Gawain noticed that fewer beads resulted from this kill.

“I told you, here you shall be buried. None of you will escape!” This was the first thing Lancer had said since his transformation, but his words were nothing short of a death sentence for the vampires.

“My lord.” The two remaining counts turned pleading eyes to the only duke present—Case—hoping he could defeat the “demon” before them and save their lives.

———Time Passes———

When Liah awoke, she saw the man who had stood beside her earlier.

“Where is Lancer?” Her first words upon waking were to inquire after him.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine.” Even Gawain, whose hands had long been stained with the blood of evil creatures, felt his stomach turn at the memory of the massacre.

“Thank goodness Lancer’s unharmed. I was the one who asked him to accompany me tonight—if something had happened, I don’t know if I could have forgiven myself.” Though her reasoning was sound, Gawain couldn’t shake the feeling she was just making excuses.

“So where is Lancer now?” As Gawain was lost in thought, Liah suddenly asked.

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“Well…” Gawain hesitated, unsure how to explain. He had no idea how Liah would react to Lancer’s current appearance. Just as he was about to make up an excuse—

“Are you looking for me?” A voice called from the woods.

“Brother Lancer—” Liah’s words caught in her throat the moment she saw him, for Lancer’s appearance was now utterly uncanny.

He still wore his customary white robe, but on his head sat a strange helmet. Most unsettling of all, though the helmet had no visor, Liah found herself unable to see Lancer’s face at all.

“What happened?” Liah’s tone betrayed no surprise, only a question.

“It’s nothing. You know the condition of my right arm—a relapse of the illness, that’s all.” Lancer seemed to have regained his usual composure, though his face was invisible; his voice was as relaxed as ever. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all—the “Demon Hand” was sometimes called the Kazan Syndrome.

“All right, let’s go back and have the teacher take a look.” The recent trauma had left Liah’s spirit taut, despite the protection of Merlin’s amulet. All she wanted now was to return to her teacher—the one who had taught her the eight virtues of knighthood, and who had influenced her life more than anyone. Over the past year, Lancer had shown her how to live as a true knight on her own terms, though he himself was often forced to act by duty rather than choice. Apart from her teacher, her adoptive elder brother Kay was once the most important person in her life, but now Lancer had become just as vital. Although she didn’t know exactly what had happened, she had seen the frenzy in Lancer’s eyes when she was wounded. She now realized that, besides her teacher and foster brother, there was someone else who cared for her. Despite Lancer’s assurances, she knew things weren’t as simple as he claimed, and believed her teacher would be able to help him.

I never shared a visual of the protagonist before—perhaps some readers found it hard to picture him, or perhaps my descriptions fell short. But now, I hope you can truly imagine him. Those who remember earlier drafts may recall the class Lancer joined the Holy Grail War under—doesn’t it feel even more fitting now? As always, I humbly ask for your support and collection.

Thank you for reading, and may you find the latest, fastest, and most thrilling serialized works here!

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