Chapter 40: Reckless Berserk Battle! Glory in Valhalla! Seeking Monthly Votes

Duncan rose to prominence on the island of Britain.

Who felt the most bitter resentment in their hearts? Without a doubt, it was the brothers Henges and Hossa right before him.

Henges had died beneath a ballista, his formidable martial prowess given no room to be unleashed, while Hossa was shot dead by Duncan using the Bow of Norden, never even getting the chance to engage in close combat.

The heroic spirits of the two brothers were placed facing Duncan. Naturally, this could only mean one thing: the traditional program of Valhalla was about to begin.

Life in Valhalla was simple.

Eat great chunks of meat, drink deep horns of ale, hack people to death with gusto, get hacked to death and resurrected, and continue hacking people tomorrow.

This place practically reeked of a Green-skinned Orc Waaagh.

Behind Duncan, the Valkyrie in her winged golden helmet hurriedly handed over a set of armor, but Duncan merely waved his hand dismissively and said calmly, "No need!"

What was the point of wearing armor?

When crossing swords with true masters, ordinary armor was completely useless; at the very least, it had to be medieval plate armor. Chainmail could not possibly withstand the full-strength blow of a Tier-2 powerhouse, and it would only hinder one's reaction speed.

Duncan simply took up a shield, a battle-axe, randomly pulled a javelin from a table leg, and tucked a Furlan throwing axe into his waist.

Henges and Hossa exchanged glances.

Hossa, having just been killed in battle moments ago, clearly harbored a much greater grievance. He leaped forward instantly, preparing to fight Duncan to the death.

"No need for such trouble!"

"Come at me together, both of you!"

Duncan's Untiring Potation was already taking effect. He could feel a surging wildness gripping him—doubtless the negative status effect of 'Recklessness' at work.

Utter arrogance!

An uproar swept through the entire hall of Valhalla. On the thrones of the twelve Norse principal deities, the hazy phantoms that had been emerging one after another showed slight shifts in expression. Odin narrowed his single eye slightly, while Thor displayed an expression of keen interest, as this arrogant tone suited his taste perfectly. Thor, too, was a reckless deity.

These were heroic spirits on the level of founding monarchs, not ordinary soldiers who had died bravely on the battlefield.

And Duncan was telling them to come at him together!

This was nothing short of blatant humiliation!

Even after becoming a heroic spirit, Hossa was driven nearly mad with rage. He brandished his battle-axe and charged forward to slaughter, but Henges at his side reached out to stop him. Henges turned directly to the winged, silver-helmeted Valkyrie nearby and said in a deep voice, "Give him a battle bow!"

As everyone knew, Duncan's most formidable combat skill was archery.

For Duncan not to even take a bow and arrow clearly meant he was not taking them seriously. As a founding monarch, Henges had his own pride; for two brothers in close combat to bully a master archer felt somewhat unsportsmanlike.

The winged golden-helmeted Valkyrie hurriedly retrieved a battle bow and handed it to Duncan, but Duncan did not reach out to take it.

He had come to Valhalla to establish his prestige!

If he used a bow and arrow to kite and shoot the two brothers to death, how could he possibly overawe the gathered heroes in Valhalla?

"No need!"

Duncan let out an arrogant laugh, looking at the golden-helmeted Valkyrie as he declared, "Once I cut them down, you shall pour my wine properly!"

In the real world, he had to hold back and develop with caution out of fear of injury, disability, or hampering future battles—and most of all, out of fear of lacking the stamina to fully execute the piercing-lance tactic while galloping with Anya.

Here in Valhalla, Duncan could afford to throw heavy punches without restraint!

Throughout all his battles on his way here, he had never suffered a truly severe or fatal wound. Even when leading the general's bodyguard unit to cut down Hossa, Duncan had never been pushed to a desperate, life-or-death struggle.

If Duncan had activated his 'Grand Frenzy' back then, he would have single-handedly taken on the entire elite chieftain's bodyguard unit!

In his past life playing Total War: Three Kingdoms, only a tiny handful of fierce generals like Lü Bu, Zhao Yun, and Guan Guanchang could charge into an army single-handedly and tear through an enemy's elite unit.

The winged golden-helmeted Valkyrie was utterly shocked!

Valhalla had not seen such a ferocious powerhouse in centuries!

The overlapping, dark masses of heroic phantom silhouettes roared to the heavens. Countless slumbering Germanic barbarian heroes from millennia past were jolted awake, descending en masse upon both sides of Valhalla to watch Duncan single-handedly fight Henges and Hossa.

Duncan was bare-chested, unarmored. His sturdy torso looked as though it had been chiseled from marble, and the muscles across his entire body coiled like dragons. When he limbered up, the rigid, powerful lines of his back evoked the legendary demigod heroes of ancient Greece.

"He reminds me of a Spartan!..." whispered some unnamed heroic spirit.

Gradually, a dead silence fell all around.

High above Valhalla, the phantom凝聚ed by Odin lifted a hand slightly. In the next second, the interior scene of the Valhalla grand hall shifted, transforming into a magnificent arena reminiscent of the ancient Roman era.

Duncan versus Henges and Hossa!

Amidst cheers that resounded throughout Valhalla and echoed across other realms of Asgard, this sacred arena duel of heroic spirits finally commenced.

Duncan's figure retreated swiftly, and he unclipped the Furlan throwing axe from his waist.

Roar!

Hossa let out a furious battle cry first, holding a shield in one hand and an axe in the other as he charged toward Duncan.

Henges hailed from the elite bodyguard warband of the Jutes, a master of sword and shield. He flanked from the other side, the two brothers closing in from left and right. Their grievances and lingering resentment from life made them appear like ravenous beasts of prey.

Duncan's figure began to accelerate.

He lunged forward in a flash. Just as his body leveled parallel to the ground, he violently hurled the Furlan throwing axe in his hand, followed immediately by a nimble roll to his feet. Gripping his shield and heavy javelin, he met Henges head-on.

A true man never looks back at his defeated foes!

The scene closely mirrored moments from classic martial arts films, where a gang leader's henchman throws an axe that instantly shears through the lower leg of a rival gang boss.

By the time Duncan turned to face Henges, a muffled grunt of pain had already sounded from Hossa behind him.

The Furlan throwing axe had struck Hossa's right calf, biting deep into the gap between the bones.

Hossa was wearing armor; had he been unarmored, that blow would have severed his lower leg entirely.

Weapon Master (Axe).

Though Duncan's throwing skill had not been elevated to the master tier, the Furlan throwing axe itself had been further enhanced. His Domain of Death possessed three tiers: the first was the range of archery; the second was the range of the Furlan throwing axe and javelin; and the third was the frenzied state when he went to hack people with his blade!

Now, he had skipped straight past the first tier.

Swish!

Valhalla now felt transformed into an ancient Roman amphitheater, where tens of thousands of heroic spirit phantoms materialized, bursting into gasps of astonishment.

Everyone seated here was a veteran expert of battlefield slaughter, fully aware of the sheer mastery behind that seemingly ordinary strike.

This was a foundational combat skill honed through thousands of repetitions—it had nearly evolved into a physical instinct!

With a single blow, Henges' brother had a large portion of his combat capability disabled.

Not far away, Henges' pupils constricted as he was instantly struck by an immense sense of pressure. Back when he was killed by a ballista, his heart had been filled with resentment, but seeing the astonishing combat technique Duncan now displayed, he realized that in a direct, head-on duel, this enemy could very well have slain him fair and square.

Hum!

Duncan burst into an accelerated charge, hurling the javelin in his hand in an instant.

Henges raised his shield instantly. The heavy javelin struck the shield with a force that sent a numbing shock up his arm—the strength behind it was truly terrifying. Looking down, he saw the javelin had actually pierced through the shield, leaving a bleeding wound at his elbow.

Was this even human?!

When they met last time, had he possessed such overwhelming power?!

Bang!

Grand Frenzy!

Duncan let out a furious roar, his battle cry echoing through the entire hall of Valhalla.

Amidst the shocked gazes of countless heroic spirits, he smashed his shield directly into Henges. The horrific impact caused cracks to spiderweb across both of their shields, and Duncan instantly swung the battle-axe in his hand.

——Combat Style: Decapitation!

In a single instant.

Henges was knocked off balance. Relying on his exceptional combat skills, he instinctively thrust his sword toward Duncan's kidney. Amidst a spray of blood, the sharp blade nearly passed clean through his body.

Yet the blood Henges spewed was far more profuse!

Though the blade pierced his kidney, it failed to impede Duncan's assault in the slightest. Bringing down his battle-axe in a vicious arc, Duncan sent a horrified face and head tumbling to the floor. Endless blood gushed like a fountain, staining Duncan's bare chest a brilliant crimson.

Roar!

Duncan lifted Henges' head by the hair with one hand and roared toward the spectator stands of Valhalla. The instantaneous wave of fanatical cheering nearly blew off the timber roof of Valhalla, transporting everyone back to the bloody spectacles of the ancient Roman arena.

I wasn't losing because I couldn't fight! I was just holding back to avoid injuries that would ruin future battles!

Killed in a single strike.

Decapitated.

Even in the golden age of ancient Rome, during the height of champion gladiators, such a heart-pounding scene was a rare sight indeed!

The heroic spirits of the Norse pantheon were naturally a bellicose lot.

Seeing Duncan's savage display of martial prowess, they grew so exhilarated they felt reborn. Even some ancient graybeards bearing the bloodline of gods and men climbed to their feet, condensing into phantoms to gaze upon the bloody arena below.

Too powerful!

Too brutal!

Duncan pulled the blade out from his right kidney, tossed it casually to the ground, and gripped Henges' head in one hand while picking up a javelin with the other. Pausing for a second, he snapped the javelin in half, threw it away, and once again hoisted his heavy decapitation axe.

Today was an exhibition match.

He didn't need to fear injury; he didn't need to fear death. The rule of Valhalla was resurrection after death, which meant he could fight with absolute abandon, throw the heaviest punches, and play as ruthlessly and viciously as he pleased!

Not far away.

Hossa watched as his brother was slain and decapitated in the blink of an eye. A flicker of terror finally crossed his face. Gritting his teeth, he climbed to his feet, gripped his battle-axe and shield, and stumbled toward the advancing Duncan like a cornered, desperate beast.

Duncan was in no rush.

Blood continued to flow freely from his wounds, but it mattered little; at least for the duration of the Grand Frenzy, it would not hinder his combat effectiveness.

What made a champion gladiator?

Naturally, it was someone who could drive the audience into a fanatical frenzy, make them roar until their voices grew hoarse, shiver with excitement, and cause even the female spectators in the amphitheater to quiver uncontrollably—only such a man was qualified to be a champion gladiator!

Fierce combat was one thing, but the performance itself had to be breathtaking!

It was time to give these Germanic barbarians a taste of the raw shock delivered by the pinnacle arenas of the ancient Roman era.

The Empire might have fallen on hard times now.

Yet no one could deny that back in the day, the Empire was the true warrior race!

A gladiatorial slaughter bathed in blood.

Enough to easily ignite the fanatical fire of an entire Roman city!

Duncan circled the arena once.

He hurled Henges' severed head directly toward the Valkyries, offering it to them as a tribute forged in slaughter!

Amidst the gaze of the multitude.

The winged golden-helmeted Valkyrie trembled slightly, reaching out to catch Henges' ferocious head. She would pour wine for Duncan—this was the trophy he offered!

"Come! Fight!"

With a battle-axe in one hand and a sword in the other, Duncan roared to the heavens, slicing a gash across his own chest. Blood welled from the wound, only adding to his fierce and indomitable aura. He looked like a mortal hero of antiquity defying the gods, transforming humanity's unyielding fighting spirit into a blazing inferno of wrath.

Hossa was filled with dread.

Though he had died with lingering resentment, looking at things now, had he chosen to fight to the death back then, the one who died still would have been him—at best, he might have inflicted heavy wounds on Duncan.

Duncan broke into an accelerated charge.

Like a rampaging ancient beast, he left deep footprints in the arena dirt as he lunged forward, bringing down his sword and axe in a ferocious dual strike. Clang! Sparks flew in all directions, and Hossa, forced to parry, was knocked flat to the ground by sheer brutal force.

His shield shattered, and a deep notch appeared in the edge of his battle-axe.

Hossa lost his balance, his bulky frame crashing heavily to the ground. Before he could even push himself up, a heavy boot planted itself squarely on his back, pinning him down so firmly that his spine felt as though it were about to snap.

Duncan hoisted his decapitation axe high and swept his gaze across the entire arena.

This scene!

It was the recreation of an ancient Roman spectacle.

In the stands of Valhalla, countless awakened heroic spirits cheered and shouted at the top of their lungs, and even a few of the Valkyries could not suppress their shrill cries, screaming, "Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Kill!

Kill!

Kill!

Upon the thrones of the twelve Norse principal deities, Odin's expression turned exceedingly subtle. The form of His phantom shifted between solid and ethereal, His title identifier transforming from 'Lord of Asgard' to 'King of the Wild Hunt'!

He slowly rose to His feet, towering like a giant, and raised His right hand with His thumb pointing downward.

Duncan roared to the heavens and brought his decapitation axe down without hesitation. Blood fountained as Hossa's fierce head was struck clean from his shoulders.

"Again!"

The laws of Valhalla began to take effect. Henges and Hossa, who had just been executed, reconstituted and resurrected, while the wounds on Duncan's body healed at a visible pace.

Duncan accepted a horn of mead from the winged golden-helmeted Valkyrie, drinking deep and long!

He raised his battle-axe and sword, roaring toward the densely packed stands of heroic spirits, "Again!"

"Let us fight to our heart's content today!"

One by one, heroic spirits shifted from illusory to corporeal. Eager for battle, Germanic warriors swarmed into the arena, and in the blink of an eye, dozens joined the fray, erupting into a massive, bloody, and brutal melee.

Duncan laughed uproariously, pulling the winged golden-helmeted Valkyrie close to his side. He lifted her golden helmet, using it as a drinking vessel to gulp down more mead.

His Untiring Potation was nearly stacked to its maximum.

He handed the winged helmet back to the stunning Valkyrie, laughing with wild abandon, "Watch how I use their heads to win glory for you!"

The Furlan throwing axe whistled through the air.

In a flash, a warrior spirit who had just descended into the arena had his head blown apart.

A heavy javelin pierced straight through a man's chest, nailing him dead center to the arena floor.

Duncan didn't even bother holding a shield anymore. With a roar, shieldless and weapon-swinging, he cut down another warrior spirit, followed immediately by a flying hack that severed a giant's head. The next second, a sword pierced his back; without even looking, Duncan backhanded an axe blow that cleaved the backstabber cleanly in half at the waist.

Today in Valhalla, Duncan was here to establish his supreme prestige!

In the mists of Avalon, he would stomp his way to the top, and here in the Valhalla of Asgard, he would carve a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood!

………………

Begging for some monthly votes.