From God of Lies to Lord of All Worlds

Chapter 149: This Is the Path of the Berserker!

This man, of course, was Percival. Never once since gaining his power had he felt such absolute fury!

Because he never could have imagined that these foreigners, outsiders from a distant land, would commit such atrocities in a country that had given them food, shelter, safety, and even the dignity of life!

Just moments ago, within this so-called "True Believer Gang," he had witnessed crimes too numerous to record!

Right next to a bustling downtown district, these Arab refugees had occupied almost the entirety of this street and thoroughly transformed it.

The Islamic-style architecture and clothing were not the main issue. The true horror lay in the fact that, hidden right here within the country's refugee camp, was a concentration camp built to imprison the local people!

How utterly absurd was this? On the ancestral lands of Northern Europe, foreign invaders had established a local prison for the natives!

Yet right now, right before Percival's very eyes, this nightmare was a reality.

When he first infiltrated the area, his actions had been restrained by the conscience and caution instilled in him by higher education. He had merely confiscated the guards' guns and knocked them unconscious.

But as he ventured deeper into this place—ostensibly a "military camp" but actually a concentration camp—Percival could no longer hold back!

Along the way, he saw cramped prison cells no larger than coffins. Inside were filthy, squalid conditions and face after face filled with cowering terror.There were people of all origins inside—from the Middle East, Asia, the Americas, and Africa. And, of course, there were locals!

Appallingly, outside each cell hung carefully written labels detailing the captives' origins, ethnicities, and prices.

The prices were divided into three categories: a short-term rental fee, a long-term lease rate, and a full buyout price.

The buyout prices were further broken down into horrifying specifics—such as purchasing a whole person, selling them in pieces, or buying just half...

These monsters had turned human trafficking into a streamlined assembly line business. Percival dared not imagine just how many innocent souls had fallen victim to their cruelty over the years!

What truly pushed his emotions to the breaking point was the moment he crossed from the concentration camp into the "military camp" section!

He watched as two local girls were led out, treated like dogs on a leash. Without even making a move to resist, they were brutally strangled to death right in front of him!

Yes, there was no conflict, no conversation. Just pure, unadulterated slaughter. It was a sadistic murder carried out in the blink of an eye.

Percival did not even have the time to intervene. All he could do was clench his fists in agonizing despair. He stood there, silently staring at the two "soldiers" who seemed to have just finished venting their frustrations, and at the lifeless body of a girl who looked to be about the same age as his own daughter...

"You completely deserve death!" he snarled, unhooking his battle axe as a true Viking berserker for the first time and striding toward the pair. "Tell me, why did you kill them?"

Hearing Percival's voice and his fury-filled question, the two armed soldiers merely found the situation amusing.

"Why? Because they were useless, obviously!" one soldier replied.

The other soldier added, "They had caught too many diseases. We couldn't harvest their organs, and they couldn't work anymore. So disposing of them was the simple choice!"

They raised the muzzles of their guns. "Do you know why we bothered explaining this to you? Because you'll be joining them. Very soon!"

To a Viking, those words were nothing short of a blatant provocation!

Normally, Percival never spoke to outsiders of his identity as a coastal Viking. But now, he ripped his suit apart, exposing his robust, muscular physique and his distinctive Viking tattoos—the ancestral marks of his tribe.

Now, they were a glaring declaration of his unwavering resolve!

"By Odin above, these enemies are desecrating our homeland and slaughtering our people. I demand their heads be mounted on the prows of our longships!"

Then, before the two soldiers could even casually rack the bolts of their rifles, his battle axe cleaved through the air and smashed into their faces, severing both of their heads in a single, brutal sweep!

Such a violent clash naturally drew the attention of everyone nearby. The two severed heads flying through the air and the geysers of arterial blood vividly painted a horrific yet awe-inspiring scene!

This blood-drenched man, with his wild, unrestrained hair and ferocious visage, made many onlookers feel as though they were hallucinating—as if they were witnessing the phantom of that terrifying warrior race that had pillaged across Europe a thousand years ago!

Back then, they had set out from Iceland, from Sweden, from Norway, and from every freezing, bitter island in the north. They ravaged the entirety of Western Europe and even battered Rome until it fractured!

Yet now, their nation was overrun by outsiders, and their own laws and politicians were busy protecting the interests of these violent thugs. Was this just? No, it was profoundly unjust!

Since striving upward through peaceful means was pointless, he would use relentless slaughter to carve out a sanctuary of peace for his people!

Now, the Norse pantheon radiated power behind him, and a new world was opening up before them. This was the time to fight with everything they had. This was the moment for the true rise of Āsathrú!

These thoughts flashed like lightning through Percival's mind as a hail of bullets tore into his flesh, drawing fresh blood! Any ordinary person suffering such wounds would have retreated, cowered, or hesitated.

But not Percival. The blood that coursed through his veins was the blood of a Viking—and a Viking who now knew, with absolute certainty, that the gods were real!

In ancient times, Viking pirates would lay boarding planks between two longships, sending their strongest men to duel to the death to determine the true victor!

To them, spilling blood was never an injury. It was a badge of honor that fueled their ferocity and strength. They would unleash terrifying roars, tap into their most primal, savage instincts, and become infinitely more powerful and warlike!

And now, through Percival, those ancient legends manifested into visceral reality.

Weathering the onslaught of bullets without a single step backward, he bellowed an ancient war chant at the top of his lungs:

"Where Odin's single eye gazes!

The enemy marked by Tyr's severed wrist!

May the wings of the Valkyrie raise my shield,

And the scars of my ancestors' axes etch into my blade!

If this battle is destined to dye the whale-road in blood—

Then guide my broken body through the golden gates of Valhalla!"

His roar echoed thunderously throughout the "military camp." His song seemed to abruptly plunge the warm summer air into a biting, unnatural chill.

The daylight flickered as dark clouds rapidly gathered overhead. The very moment his chant ended and his axe bit into the flesh of the next enemy, snowflakes began to drift down from the sky.

Guided by the freezing snow and dyed in the color of fresh blood, Percival's battle axe carved a stark path of black and white through the mob of Arab and African gang members.

The enemy's attacks did not instill fear in him; instead, they only amplified his strength!

As he felt the gazes of the onlookers from the upper floors, the blade of his axe gleamed with a blinding crimson light, as if it were eagerly drinking the spilled blood!

...

"Crown, why does it feel like the shadows of this world are entirely filled with this kind of business?" Alvin asked, observing the human trafficking hub and organ-harvesting base before them.

What was going on? It was one thing for America to be rife with this filth, but to switch to an entirely different continent and still see it everywhere... was it really this ubiquitous?

"It is simple. Because this yields the highest profit for the lowest cost!" Bai Yang nodded calmly at the scene before them. "This is standard operating procedure. From ancient times to the present, selling people has always been the most lucrative trade!"

"Does the Dylan Continent not have this kind of business?"

Alvin shook his head. "No, Crown. On the Dylan Continent, people belong to the God they worship. Everyone has the right to pray to their deity. Although the gods almost never reply, no one would dare traffic humans and gamble on the possibility that a God might not be watching!"

"If anyone were truly in the business of trafficking people, it would have to be the devils and demons from Hell or the Abyss, wouldn't it?"

Bai Yang gave a faint nod. "True. After all, those who stand in opposition to the gods generally do so for souls, or even for humanity itself. Aren't those two factions the biggest human traffickers of all?"

In a sense, it wasn't that the Dylan Continent lacked human traffickers; it was just that the industry had been thoroughly monopolized by the gods and demons.

They dropped the subject and looked up at the man before them. The surging, blood-red energy radiating from him did not originate from their divine powers. Instead, it was an entirely new manifestation—crystallized from this era, this culture, and this man himself, forged through the intense emotions and Wish Force saturating the air!

"Since this crimson energy was channeled through the identity of a berserker, let it become your true power!" Bai Yang declared casually, establishing a new rule of reality. "Let's call it Berserker Rage! Its effects will be damage mitigation, pain reduction, enhanced strength and speed, and the reinforcement of the wielded weapon..."

"The power that belongs to the original inhabitants shall be returned to you. Let the Path of the Berserker walk the mortal realm once more!"