Chapter 33: Berserkers
Contrary to General Crassus’s belief, the rebels did not break. They continued to fight on. They fought harder, and the battlefield soon turned bloody. Limbs and body parts flew across the air, and the lines were turning disorganized.
Former gladiators, hulking men wielding heavy axes, swung their wicked blades, severing shields and limbs in sweeping arcs. Their fury was terrifying, but their desperation made them reckless and more dangerous as they cut lines into the ranks of the Roman army.
But even amongst all of that, Riven moved differently. He had since dumped his shield—it was getting in the way—and his sword as well. Instead, he used his Shape technique.
It was called Boneforge Blade, a jagged spectral sword that siphoned life from enemies with every cut, making them weaker while it made him heal faster.
With that in his hand, Riven began to carve his own path through the battlefield as he stepped out of line to head toward his target. Both rebels and the army fell by his hand as he threw away all and any disguise.
Where the others struggled, he flowed, flickering as he evaded wild axe swings and thrusting spears. All attacks seemed too slow in his eyes.
It was the first time he faced the difference between human and practitioner. He knew about it, but it was different when one could cut the other in two with just a single swing.
It made Riven excited, and his slashes fell faster, each death sending healing power through his body via the sword. He smiled, covered in red and bits of flesh. "They are all humans!"
But he was proven wrong the next instant. A rebel berserker broke through, smashing away bodies with a flick of his war hammer.
The brute turned to Riven, the whites of his eyes showing as he roared and ran at him.