Chapter 101

Chapter 101
## Chapter 101

### Northern Mountains (2)

The chaotic uprising of the undead across the four western realms of the continent was finally beginning to dwindle.

This development, however, was not due to any brilliant strategy or successful subjugation by the mortal kingdoms, but rather a sudden and inexplicable shift in the behavior of the enemy itself.

The moment the Immortal King boldly declared his return and issued a grand summons, the legions of the deceased—who had previously roamed aimlessly, striking villages or nesting in secluded ruins according to their individual instincts—abruptly changed course. They began to act with chilling coordination.

Linked by an unseen network of spiritual responses, the scattered elements of the immortal host immediately ceased unnecessary skirmishes with local garrisons. Adhering strictly to their monarch’s decree, they began to converge with neighboring cohorts to consolidate their numbers.

‘Naturally, this sudden migration led to several bloody encounters and the total annihilation of certain local populations along their path.’

Nevertheless, as these smaller bands successfully merged, they swelled into an overwhelming force far too massive for any individual feudal lord to contest.

Terrified by these ominous movements, the various crowns went into a state of high alert, frantically mobilizing their standing armies and fortifying their borders, anticipating a catastrophic invasion. Yet, just as the tension reached its peak…

The entire host vanished as if they were nothing but smoke.

The Immortal King Hans had personally traversed the lands, gathering every single one of his spectral subjects into his fold before slipping away into obscurity.

Consequently, though the mortal realms found themselves suddenly liberated from the immediate shadow of the walking dead, true peace remained entirely out of reach.

The threat had not been neutralized; the adversary had merely consolidated their fractured strength and chosen to withdraw intact.

No sovereign could breathe easy, fully aware that a massive, disciplined army of the damned was waiting somewhere in the shadows, ready to strike at an unknown time and place.

‘And to make matters worse, the wild beasts are now tearing the continent apart.’

This new upheaval was no minor territorial aggression, but a sweeping, continental crisis of maddened predators.

Among the affected territories, the Tulk Kingdom found itself in the most precarious position, given that its borders directly touched the northern mountains—a treacherous region widely notorious as a breeding ground for the most ferocious beasts.

The crown was forced to stretch its military thin, committing the bulk of its forces to securing the northern frontier while simultaneously keeping a paranoid watch for any sudden ambush by the Immortal King Hans.

This double threat was precisely why the local authorities were desperately trying to enlist the aid of the independent sellswords resting in Tarak, offering unprecedented bounties to secure their blades.

‘Hans has absolutely no intention of launching a treacherous assault on them right now… but the authorities are completely blind to that reality.’

Amidst this geopolitical panic, Harley found himself summoned for a specific, exclusive contract.

He currently stood inside the primary administrative headquarters of Tarak, waiting to be received by the individual who had put forth the bounty.

To be clear, he had not presented himself merely because he felt intimidated by the official seal of the local lord.

It was a matter of convenience.

‘The objective of the contract happened to be located within the northern mountains anyway.’

There was little doubt that this exclusive assignment would prove far more perilous than the standard frontline defense duties assigned to the rank-and-file mercenaries, but the prospect of mortal peril did not deter him in the slightest.

‘The path aligns perfectly with my own plans, the compensation is vastly superior, and there is no practical benefit in alienating the governing power of this province. Accepting it is the logical choice. Besides, I am genuinely curious about the underlying cause of this sudden ecological madness.’

Following a brief period of waiting within the stone corridors of the estate, Harley was finally granted an audience with the representative of the request.

Predictably, the regional lord had not appeared in person.

The administration had merely invoked the governor’s grand title to underscore the critical nature of the mission; a high-ranking noble would never lower himself to personally negotiate terms with a common sellsword.

“…I have heard numerous tales regarding your exploits. You are… remarkably immense.”

The individual waiting for him was a seasoned knight, roughly in his mid-thirties, possessing an unreadable, stoic countenance.

“And beyond that… you are exceptionally distinct.”

The warrior could not restrain himself from addressing Harley’s striking physical traits, looking somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the man before him.

‘An entirely predictable reaction. I’ve seen it a thousand times.’

Harley stood as a towering, heavily muscled colossus well over two meters tall. He went about bare-chested, his flesh adorned with intricate tribal markings, his head concealed beneath a helmet fashioned from a beast’s skull, and his mismatched eyes gleaming—one of them radiating an eerie, luminescent green hue.

The knight remained temporarily speechless, staring at this unforgettable figure, before clearing his throat to regain his composure.

“Ahem. So, you are indeed Harley. One of the most renowned independent blades in the region, if the rumors are to be believed?”

“Bwahaha! You flatter me, Sir! Though, I suppose it would be a lie to deny my own fame!”

As a man tasked with securing talent in a settlement overflowing with rough-mannered sellswords, the knight paid no mind to Harley’s lack of formal etiquette.

“Let us speak of the task at hand. The primary reason your name was selected for this exclusive contract is our requirement for an individual intimately acquainted with the rugged terrain of the northern mountains.”

“Hmph… I wouldn’t call myself a traditional pathfinder. I can navigate if the situation demands it, but if your objective requires a meticulous scout, you would be far better off employing a professional tracker.”

Harley never bothered to map out sophisticated trails when entering the wilderness; his method consisted entirely of using his overwhelming physical might to butcher whatever apex predator stood in his path, hunting freely wherever his feet took him.

He possessed enough survival instinct to avoid becoming permanently lost in the deep woods, but his navigational skills were hardly extraordinary enough to warrant a high-paying, exclusive contract.

“Ah, do not misinterpret our intent. We have already extended contracts to alternative specialists. The finest wilderness guide operating within Tarak has already been retained for this expedition.”

“Oh? If that is the case… then what purpose do I serve? Surely a capable guide and a standard escort would suffice for your needs?”

“We require someone who regards the perilous northern peaks as their personal hunting ground. Someone who consistently undertakes and survives high-rank contracts deep within the uncharted sectors, and who possesses the raw martial capability to slaughter high-tier monsters that would easily wipe out an entire standard party.”

The knight maintained a steady gaze, meeting Harley’s probing inquiry with an unchanging, deliberate tone.

“Is there a single blade within the gates of Tarak who fits that description better than yourself?”

“Ha! Splendidly spoken! There truly is no one else capable of such feats! Bwahaha—!”

Harley roared with boisterous amusement, but the stoic knight simply pressed forward with the briefing, entirely unfazed by the giant’s loud demeanor.

“We have exhausted the pleasantries. Here are the core specifications. Location: deep within the interior of the northern mountains. Timeline: immediate deployment. Classification: search and rescue. Subject: Zaonic Steelstone.”

“Zaonic Steelstone?”

‘Never heard of him.’

Accurately reading the mercenary’s blank expression, the knight paused momentarily before offering clarification.

“A crucial detail: he is a master smith formally contracted to this lordship. Furthermore, he belongs to the race of the Dwarves.”

—

Because this endeavor was backed by the full authority and resources of the regional government, the mobilization process moved with incredible speed.

The essential provisions and survival gear for the trek were instantly provided, and the designated members of the vanguard began to assemble at the staging area.

The individual awaiting rescue was clearly of immense value to the crown; upon realizing that the local fauna had succumbed to an unnatural frenzy, he had immediately dug a fortified subterranean shelter and utilized a localized communication artifact to transmit his coordinates.

His immediate survival was not in imminent jeopardy, given that his redoubt was stocked with ample survival rations, yet the volatile nature of the northern peaks meant that disaster could strike at any moment.

Thus, with preparations finalized, Harley and a handpicked unit of six combat specialists crossed the threshold into the northern mountains.

A full day of trekking elapsed.

“Ugh— spit! Curse it all, what possessed that stubborn old fool to venture up these slopes when the entire region is losing its mind?”

“To be fair to the craftsman, the madness hadn’t reached this peak when he departed. It is hardly unprecedented for a Dwarf to risk his neck when rumors of an undiscovered mineral vein surface.”

As the echoes of another sudden skirmish faded into the trees, a female mercenary carrying a heavy crossbow, Mikel, spat into the brush and voiced her frustration. The seasoned veteran leading their formation along the steep path offered a calm reply to soothe her nerves.

“Even so, we are dealing with an unprecedented crisis. I have navigated these ridges for over a decade, and I have never witnessed the wildlife acting with such utter depravity. Every piece of intelligence regarding territorial boundaries and nesting habits I spent years recording has become entirely worthless.”

Marcus, the middle-aged scout leading the file, offered a grim sigh as he resumed his forward march.

The sheer scale of the ecological corruption was becoming undeniable, despite the party having spent a mere twenty-four hours within the mountain range.

The natural order and predatory hierarchy that once governed these forests had completely dissolved, replaced by unbridled chaos.

To mitigate the risk, the team had coated their gear and skin in an pungent, specialized herbal extract designed to mask human pheromones, attempting to bypass threats entirely or execute silent, instantaneous executions when a confrontation was forced upon them. However, this strategy was rapidly reaching its breaking point.

“Halt. Another pack is closing in.”

At Harley’s low, rumbling warning, the entire squad instantly froze, holding their breath.

“What are we looking at?”

“…A substantial gathering. I count no fewer than thirty distinct signatures… Correction, they have altered their course and are heading straight for our position. The scent of blood from our last encounter must have drawn them in.”

Dark scowls mirrored across the faces of the vanguard.

Despite their meticulous efforts to clean the previous battlefield, the altered beasts possessed senses that were heavily amplified by the strange malady, allowing them to pierce through standard camouflage.

“Can you identify the species?”

“Hrm. Their physical displacement and weight match those of standard Orcs.”

Any initial skepticism the party might have harbored regarding Harley’s sensory capabilities had entirely evaporated over the course of the journey.

His instincts had proven flawless.

On multiple occasions throughout the day, his premature warnings had allowed them to avoid total ambush, his perceptions never missing their mark.

*Shring—*

“Speculation is pointless. We must execute a swift elimination and vacate the immediate grid before reinforcements arrive.”

The commanding knight, Robin, who had exchanged his heavy plate armor for a set of supple leather traveling gear, unsheathed his blade with the exact same unreadable, business-like expression he had worn during the initial briefing.

‘The noble officer has some backbone, I’ll give him that. I assumed he would remain behind the safety of the city walls after handing over the contract, yet here he is, marching in the mud alongside common sellswords.’

While the team included a highly capable ranger from the renowned Iron Fortress, Harley had genuinely not anticipated a high-born knight putting his own life on the line in the vanguard.

Especially in a theater of war this unpredictable.

The creatures infected by this strange insanity fought with an absolute disregard for self-preservation, shrugging off mortal wounds, and they held the absolute geographical advantage within the northern mountains.

The party’s established tactic of quick termination and rapid relocation was bound to fail as they pushed toward the deeper valleys where the density of the wildlife multiplied.

“I am establishing a localized distortion veil. Do not engage until the vanguard of the pack has fully crossed into the kill zone.”

The expedition’s combat magus, Fabiella, grimaced as he began his incantations, the constant drainage of his internal mana reservoir starting to take a visible toll on his stamina.

He maintained a stellar reputation within Tarak because, unlike traditional academic sorcerers, he had conditioned his physical frame to endure grueling martial marches, a reputation he was thoroughly validating on these steep inclines.

“…Brace yourselves, they are upon us!”

Harley’s final alert rang out.

This time, however, his verbal warning was entirely redundant.

*Thud, thud, thud—!*

“Kuwooooh—!”

“Kraaaagh!”

The literal earth groaned beneath a stampede of heavy footsteps, and the maddened shrieks of the approaching corrupted humanoids shattered the silence of the forest, the beasts making absolutely no attempt to mask their approach.

The bloody clash ignited the absolute instant the crazed Orcs breached the perimeter of Fabiella’s distortion barrier.

*Whoosh— Thud!*

The opening salvo consisted of heavy crossbow bolts and feathered arrows slicing through the canopy from the rear ranks.

Simultaneously, Harley, maintaining his position at the absolute front alongside the stoic knight Robin and the exceptionally quiet swordswoman Flora, took action.

“Bwahaha—! Time to break some bones!”

*Boom!*

With a thunderous laugh, he shattered the earth beneath his heel, launching his massive frame forward to meet the charging horde completely bare-handed.

The raw, kinetic violence generated by his glowing tribal brands and surging musculature propelled him into the vanguard of the frenzied Orcs in the blink of an eye.

*Crack!*

*Snap!*

His terrifying physical might allowed him to shatter their cervical vertebrae with casual, rhythmic twists of his hands.

His movements—weaving through the frantic, chaotic swings of the infected humanoids, entering their guard, and methodically snapping their necks one after another—carried an bizarre aura of calculated, rhythmic precision, almost resembling a dark form of sacred labor…

“Hahaha!”

Yet, the primal, bloodthirsty laughter echoing from beneath his beast-skull helmet transformed the display into nothing less than a showcase of unadulterated, primal slaughter.

“…I am genuinely starting to question whether the wild beasts are the real monsters here. How does a mortal even possess that level of brute force?”

“I have witnessed him deploy that strength on multiple contracts, yet the sight never fails to turn my stomach.”

Even the hardened veterans fighting alongside him found themselves momentarily paralyzed by the sheer violence of his performance.

Harley was demonstrating, with undeniable clarity, exactly why he was regarded as an absolute, untouchable anomaly within the mercenary hierarchy of Tarak.

Originally, he had adopted this bare-handed bludgeoning style as a practical measure to minimize the spraying of arterial blood, which would otherwise attract more predators. However, when executed by a man of Harley’s titanic proportions, the methodology proved every bit as lethal as a forged broadsword.

The Orcs who crossed his path had their skeletal structures violently inverted, collapsing into the dirt as their natural physical limits were forcefully exceeded.

Yet, amidst the adrenaline of the slaughter, his mind remained perfectly lucid.

‘Something is off. Over the past few encounters with these crazed beasts, I’ve felt a strange, phantom irritation prickling at the edges of my consciousness.’

It was an incredibly elusive sensation—a faint, scratching itch that eluded his standard perceptions, refusing to be identified even when he flooded his nervous system with bio-aura or channeled the mystical energies of his tattoos. It even bypassed the highly honed survival instincts woven into his primal nature.

*Thump—!*

“Kraaagh!”

Harley continued his brutal cycle, crushing a green-skinned skull into the earth, driving a knee into a thick torso, and shattering a jaw with a fluid elbow strike, all while pondering the mystery.

Then, in a fleeting moment of intense focus,

Perhaps his concentration had grown too sharp.

*Stab—!*

His fingers, which had sharpened into lethal points in a microsecond of instinctive reflex, plunged directly through the thick hide and ribs of a charging Orc, piercing its heart.

“Ah.”

He had consciously abstained from using edged weapons to avoid creating an absolute bloodbath, but his internal “Wildness” must have triggered subconsciously, driving his hand to deliver the most efficient, lethal puncture possible.

Fortunately, his cognitive control remained intact; only the tips of his fingers had undergone the minor anatomical shift, ensuring he did not openly display his “Physical Transformation” capability to the watching party members. However, his entire forearm was now drenched in dark crimson fluid, rendering his prior discretion entirely pointless.

“Tsk—”

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Harley violently extracted his hand from the chest cavity.

Clutched tightly within his blood-stained fingers was a glistening magic stone, freshly harvested from the core of the Orc’s life force.

‘What’s done is done. No sense dwelling on it. I can simply cleanse the stains later.’

More pressingly, his internal reserves of vital energy were beginning to experience a minor deficit from the prolonged exertion.

Since the resource was already sitting in his palm, there was no reason to let it go to waste.

With complete nonchalance, Harley tossed the raw magic stone into his mouth and bit down.

*Crunch!*

In that exact microsecond,

*Thump—!*

His heart detonated with a violent, agonizing pulse.

The blood tearing through his cardiovascular system began to circulate at a frantic, unnatural velocity.

The elusive, scratching sensation that had been teasing his senses suddenly crystallized into absolute, terrifying clarity the moment the essence of the Orc’s core dissolved into his system.

‘What is this sudden awakening?’

As his cognitive field expanded exponentially outward, he found himself suddenly capable of perceiving a fundamental truth that had previously eluded him.

‘…It cannot be. This primordial weight… ’

It was the very force that was currently saturating the atmosphere of the continent and blotting out the sky. It was the invisible miasma woven into the mountain air, wrapping around their every step, and burning within the bloodshot eyes of the frenzied humanoids throwing themselves onto their blades.

And now… it was an energy that had found fertile soil, beginning to take root and blossom within the depths of Harley’s own soul.

It was, unmistakably…

‘Madness’.