Chapter 51: Berserk Mode On
Far away, across the vast distance where eyes alone should never reach, the Warchief of the Bersuka Tribe stood before the projection. His towering figure remained unmoving, his expression calm and grave as he watched his own son sent flying by a single punch. His gaze stayed fixed on the young man named Clay, as if trying to carve his image into memory.
There was no outburst.
No roar of anger.
No display of rage.
Only silence—the kind of silence that came when something beyond expectation had occurred, something that could not be explained away with pride or excuses.
His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles tensed, veins faintly visible beneath his skin, yet his face remained composed. His eyes were sharp and focused, analyzing every detail of what had just happened.
That punch...
No mana...
Pure physical strength...
His gaze narrowed slightly.
And yet... it broke my son’s bone armor...
Behind him, the other Warchiefs were also quiet. Their earlier amusement had vanished, replaced with seriousness that matched the situation. Their eyes fixed on the same scene, each of them understanding what it meant.
Meanwhile, back at the battlefield, the silence that followed Bufolk being sent flying did not last long.
Because the next moment—
Cheers erupted.
"LORD CLAY!"
"YOUNG MASTER VALMONT!"
"HE DID IT AGAIN!"
The Captain raised his fist into the air, his voice booming with excitement that shook the tension out of the soldiers.
"Did you see that?!"
"He sent his new challenger flying with one punch!"
The knights behind him followed, their voices rising one after another. Their earlier fear had been completely replaced by exhilaration.
"This is unbelievable!"
"That monster... got sent flying like that?!"
The archers on the wall stomped their feet. Some even hit the wooden railings as they shouted.
"Young Master Clay is invincible!"
"No one can stand against him!"
"He’s saving us!"
The cheers continued to grow louder, echoing across the battlefield like a wave that refused to die down—each voice feeding into the next until it became a roaring tide of admiration and relief.
Some of the soldiers even laughed, their bodies shaking as the fear they had been holding finally found an outlet.
"We thought we were going to die here!"
"And now look at this!"
"This is... this is a miracle!"
The Captain turned to his men, his face flushed with emotion.
"Remember this moment!"
"This is the day we witnessed true power!"
Meanwhile, standing not far from Clay, Borzoi remained silent.
His remaining hand clenched tightly at his side, his eyes locked on the spot where Bufolk had been sent flying.
Bufolk...
That was Bufolk...
The son of the Warchief...
The strongest among our generation...
Memories flooded his mind—scenes of battles, scenes of domination. Scenes where Bufolk stood alone against groups of warriors and crushed them as if they were nothing more than insects beneath his feet.
He remembered one particular moment.
Bufolk standing in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by warriors from another tribe. Their numbers were overwhelming, their attacks relentless—and yet...
Bufolk had laughed.
He had laughed as their attacks landed on his body.
He had laughed as their strongest techniques failed to even scratch him.
Then, with a single roar, he had charged forward and shattered them—one by one—until the battlefield was silent and only he remained standing.
Borzoi’s jaw tightened.
That Bufolk...
The one who has never lost...
The one who we all looked up to...
His eyes trembled slightly.
He got sent flying... like that...
His eyes and mind became full of awe.
My master, the one who I believed tricked me... was this strong?
Beside Clay, Cerys stood quietly. Her gaze was fixed on the direction where Bufolk had been thrown, her expression calm yet thoughtful.
Young master...
He is truly strong...
She had always known it. From the moment she saw him. From the moment he revealed glimpses of his abilities. She always knew this...
But this...
This was beyond what she had imagined.
She thought when she mastered the inheritance, she could become close... but...
Even I...
Her fingers tightened slightly.
I, who mastered the inheritance already, am not sure if I can do that so easily...
Her eyes moved toward Clay.
He stood there with his usual calm demeanor, as if what he had just done was nothing extraordinary.
Could it be...
What he said earlier...
"That he feels empty because he is too strong..."
Her gaze softened slightly.
Is that really how he feels...?
Meanwhile, deep within Clay’s mind, his thoughts were far less composed.
Another one punch...?
He stared at the empty space ahead.
Seriously...?
His lips twitched slightly.
Why does this keep happening...
He exhaled slowly.
I thought this one would be different...
He looked strong... He talked strong... He even had that aura...
He paused.
And then... boom...
His shoulders dropped slightly.
What the hell...
A faint sense of disappointment crept into him.
Why does this feel so... empty...
He blinked. Then immediately shook his head.
Bullshit.
Why am I even thinking like this...
I’m strong. That’s it. Why should I complain...
His expression returned to normal.
This is better. This is safer.
No struggle. No danger.
Just finish everything and go back to a peaceful life.
And yet...
A small part of him remained quiet. Unconvinced.
Suddenly—
A loud laugh echoed across the battlefield. It came from the distance—deep, powerful, filled with excitement.
Bufolk.
The sound alone caused the soldiers’ cheers to falter slightly as their heads snapped toward the source.
And then—
A figure shot through the air. Fast. Straight toward Clay.
Boom.
The ground cracked as Bufolk landed in front of him, dust rising around his body. His posture remained steady despite the impact.
When the dust cleared—
He was smiling.
Not angrily.
Not mockingly.
But with genuine excitement.
"Impressive."
His voice was filled with admiration.
"Very impressive."
He rolled his shoulders slightly, as if loosening them after a long rest.
"Your physical strength..."
His eyes gleamed.
"It is strong."
"Strong enough to surprise me."
He looked down at his body, then back at Clay.
"You are not a Berserker."
"You do not use our methods."
"And yet..."
He paused.
"You managed to break my bone armor."
His smile widened.
"Do you know what that means?"
He took a step forward.
"That armor..."
"It is not something ordinary warriors can even scratch."
He raised a hand, pointing at his chest.
"Many have tried."
"Warriors of my tribe."
"Warriors who trained their bodies for years."
"Warriors who believed they had reached their peak."
His voice grew heavier.
"And yet..."
"They could not even crack it."
His eyes locked onto Clay.
"But you..."
"You destroyed it in one punch."
He laughed—a deep, booming laugh that carried across the battlefield.
"Hahaha!"
"This is exciting!"
Clay tilted his head slightly.
"Is that so?"
Bufolk nodded.
"Yes."
Then—
He stopped moving.
He stood there. Completely still.
For a moment... nothing happened.
Then—
A faint cracking sound echoed.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Small fragments began to fall from his body—the remnants of his bone armor—piece by piece, breaking away until nothing remained, revealing the skin beneath.
Bufolk glanced down at the fragments.
"Unfortunately..."
He exhaled slowly.
"Even if you broke it..."
His eyes lifted.
"That alone is not enough."
His voice became serious.
"With your current strength that I felt..."
"You will not last against me."
Then—
His body changed.
His skin began to turn red—not slowly, but rapidly, as if something inside him had awakened.
A violent aura burst out.
Boom.
The air around him exploded outward, a shockwave spreading across the battlefield. It forced the soldiers to step back, their faces filled with shock as they felt the pressure pressing down on them.
Dust rose into the air.
The ground cracked beneath his feet.
His muscles expanded, veins bulging, his presence growing heavier with each passing second.
The violent mana surrounding him churned like a storm—wild and untamed—radiating an overwhelming sense of destruction that made even the bravest soldiers feel their hearts tremble.
The Captain gritted his teeth.
"This... this pressure...!"
One of the knights stumbled slightly.
"I... I can barely breathe...!"
Even Borzoi’s eyes widened.
This...
This is Bufolk...
He’s serious now...
Cerys narrowed her eyes.
So this is his real strength...
Her body tensed slightly.
Meanwhile, Clay stood there, still unmoved, confident in his strength.
His gaze fixed on Bufolk.
Bufolk took a deep breath, then smiled.
"I’ll show you what I mean."