Disaster-Level Player Is Too Good at Broadcasting

[Bonus Chapter for the Magic Castle by "Maurve" ~ refer to the Author's Reward system.]

Gunnar moved like a thunderclap.

The yellow-black lightning trailing from his body scorched the blue roots of the floor, leaving a blackened trail of carbon and ozone in his wake.

The first warrior, the one who had previously grazed his ribs with her spear, barely had time to raise her runic buckler.

Gunnar's axe, The Storm-Biter, descended in a blur of chaotic energy.

CRACK-BOOM!

The axe cut the shiled and detonated against it.

The metal shattered into a thousand jagged shards that acted like shrapnel, shredding the warrior's fur armor.

The blade continued its path, cleaving through her collarbone and deep into her lungs.

As she fell, her eyes wide with the shock of sudden mortality, Gunnar leaned in close, his voice a low, vibrating rumble beneath the roar of the storm.

"Go to the halls of your fathers, daughter of the Spear."

He whispered in Old Norse.

"May the Valkyries find your spirit worthy of the high benches."

He ripped the axe out sideways, spraying a fan of crimson across the blue leaves above.

"One."

Gunnar grunted.

The remaining eleven warriors let out a synchronized, guttural cry of mourning and rage.

They surged forward, their coordination tightening into a lethal web.

Two hammer-wielders leaped from the left, their weapons glowing with a cold, sapphire light, while three swordswomen slid low through the roots, aiming for Gunnar's hamstrings.

Gunnar laughed, a sound that was more growl than mirth.

"AHAHAHAA!~"

He slammed the butt of his axe into the ground, and a dome of yellow-black lightning expanded outward.

『[SKILL ACTIVATION]: 「THOR'S CALAMITY: GROUNDED WRATH」』

The three swordswomen were caught in the electrical discharge.

Their bodies stiffened, muscles seizing as the dark current cooked them from the inside out.

Gunnar didn't waste the opening.

He spun in a full circle, the weight of the axe carrying him through the air.

He decapitated the first swordswoman before she could hit the ground.

The second he bisected at the waist.

The third he crushed with a downward swing that turned her torso into a pulp of bone and metal.

"To the Earth you return, silent sisters of the blade!"

Gunnar intoned, his eyes glowing like dying stars.

"May your steel be forged anew in the fires of Muspelheim."

Behind the front lines, the Russian and Korean rankers stood paralyzed.

Sasha Kim had her hand on the grip of a materialized Deagle, but she didn't draw.

Her emerald eyes were wide, reflecting the flickering, violent strobe light of Gunnar's lightning.

"Is this... is this really a Ranker?"

A White Stars porter stammered, his knees buckling.

"He's not fighting... he's harvesting."

"He's a Calamity."

Boris whispered, his own Russian blood running cold at the sight of the Germanic berserker.

"The Viking isn't using skills like we do."

Gunnar was already onto the next three.

The hammer-wielders tried to crush him under a combined overhead strike.

Gunnar didn't block and stepped into the strike, catching the first woman's throat in his massive hand.

He lifted her off the ground, using her body as a human shield against her companion's hammer.

The hammer struck the woman's back with a sickening crunch.

Gunnar proceeded to drive his axe through the woman he was holding, the blade passing through her chest and burying itself in the second hammer-wielder's skull.

He let both bodies slump into the dirt.

"Mighty in arm, steadfast in heart."

Gunnar prayed, his voice steady despite the blood dripping from his own split lip.

"Find your peace in the shadow of the Great Ash."

The copper-skinned leader, the woman with the obsidian braids, was all that remained of the vanguard.

She stood alone now, her ten sisters lying in ruins around her.

Her claymore was chipped, her breathing ragged, but her eyes remained fierce.

She let out a final, defiant roar and lunged.

To Gunnar this was a beautiful strike.

It was a desperate, perfect thrust aimed directly at Gunnar's throat.

Gunnar didn't move until the tip of the blade was an inch from his skin.

Then, with a speed that shouldn't be possible for a man of his size, he caught the blade between the two heads of his axe.

He twisted, the sound of snapping steel echoing through the grove, and the claymore shattered.

He stepped forward, his massive chest colliding with hers.

He gripped her head with both hands and gave a sharp, violent twist.

SNAP.

The leader's body went limp.

Gunnar lowered her gently to the roots, his expression turning strangely solemn.

"The hearth fire is out, the battle is won."

"Rest now, Shield-Maiden.

Your saga is written in the blood of the Abyss."

He stood up, his bare chest slick with gore and sweat.

He didn't look back at the horrified spectators.

He turned his gaze toward the massive World Tree and the woman trapped within its trunk.

The blue-haired woman's eyes were open now, staring at him with a void-like emptiness.

She didn't scream nor plead.

Gunnar approached the tree with a slow, deliberate stride.

The yellow-black lightning subsided, leaving only a faint, humming glow on his axe.

He stopped a foot away from the trapped woman, his shadow falling over her moonlight skin.

He raised his axe high above his head.

The energy in the room gathered at the edge of the white-and-gold blade.

SWISH.

With one clean, horizontal chop, Gunnar severed the woman's head from her neck.

The head fell with a soft thump onto the glowing roots.

Instead of red, a fountain of thick, luminous white blood sprayed from the stump, coating the bark of the tree and Gunnar's face.

The white liquid glowed with a faint, divine light, smelling of honey and bitter almonds.

Gunnar dropped his axe and reached down, grabbing the severed head by its long, sapphire hair.

He lifted it high, the white blood dripping from the neck like molten silver.

He opened his mouth and held the head above him, letting the white blood pour directly into his throat.

"Gunnar! What are you doing?!"

Gunnar ignored.

He drank deeply, his throat working as he swallowed the essence of the floor boss.

As the white blood entered his system, a miraculous change took place.

The deep furrows in his ribs closed in seconds.

The bruising on his face vanished.

The snapped bone in his shoulder knitted together with a sound like cracking ice.

Within moments, his body was pristine, the scars of the battle erased as if they had never existed.