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Chapter – 38
Bionssen was the chieftain of the Slaughter Tribe, a figure who would later become one of the most persistent tormentors of the Dekaron faction.
He was infamous for raiding border villages, pillaging, and massacring without hesitation — the kind of enemy that could make any player’s blood boil.
For players who played as Frey von Sigmund, one of the key objectives in the early game was to swiftly hunt down Bionssen and the Slaughter Tribe.
Why?
Because if left alone, Bionssen’s personal strength — and his tribe’s influence — would grow exponentially, becoming a massive thorn in the player’s side in the later stages of the game.
But to think he’d run into that Bionssen here, on this blood-soaked land…
Of course, this was around nine years before the timeline of the game’s main story. It wasn’t strange that Bionssen was active in this region now.
“Kill! Kiiiiiill—!!!”
Russell charged at Bionssen with a deranged roar.
“Ah, a berserker. Mad dogs are best dealt with using a club.”
Bionssen swung his iron mace.
Thud!
“Gah!”
Russell let out a short cry and was thrown backward — he’d taken a direct hit to the chest.
“Ugh…!”
He struggled to get up.
If he hadn’t been a [Berserker], that blow would’ve killed him instantly.
Bergman and Wilson fared little better.
Both attacked together, yet Bionssen parried their combined strikes with ease.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
A mocking grin spread across his face.
“Is trickery all you’re good for? Are there no real warriors among you?”
With that, Bionssen swung his mace wildly, turning the tide and forcing Bergman and Wilson onto the defensive.
“Urgh!”
Bergman was kicked in the chest and sent flying.
“Gah!”
Wilson was struck by the mace and crumpled to the ground.
Whizz—Thunk!
Even the arrows fired by Marder from the watchtower were easily deflected by Bionssen’s shield.
He then raised his mace to crush the fallen Wilson.
“—!”
Despair filled Wilson’s eyes.
Then—
Shraaang!
Kudo’s blade flashed silver.
“Huh!”
Bionssen halted his swing and jumped back in alarm — had he not, his neck would’ve been severed.
“You said there were no warriors in the continent, didn’t you?”
“Y-You—!”
Bionssen flinched when he saw Kudo’s face, as if recognizing him.
“That’s impossible… You’re supposed to be dea—”
“Shh.”
Kudo raised a finger to his lips.
“Save your breath — you should be worrying about your own life instead.”
“—!”
Kudo lunged forward.
Clang! Clang!
Their weapons collided in a flurry of sparks.
At first glance, it looked like an even match — but only for a moment.
“Tch!”
Kudo was driven back.
“Hm?”
Bionssen looked puzzled — as if surprised by how weak Kudo actually was compared to his expectation.
Then—
Thud!
Bionssen slammed his forehead into Kudo’s face.
“Gah!”
Blood gushed from Kudo’s nose as his head snapped back.
Whump!
Bionssen followed up with a massive horizontal swing of his mace toward Kudo’s temple—
CLANG!
The blow was blocked — by none other than Carlyle, wielding Grimungand.
“Didn’t expect that kind of strength from someone who looks like a girl,” Bionssen sneered.
“So what, does that mean you’re strong because you’re ugly?”
“What… what did you just say?”
“Who are you calling ugly?”
Carlyle deflected Bionssen’s mace and replied coolly.
“You dare say I’m ugly?”
Bionssen jabbed a finger at himself, incredulous.
“You barbarians don’t use mirrors, do you? Figures.”
Carlyle waved his hand dismissively in front of his face.
Truth be told, Bionssen wasn’t ugly — his face was simply rugged and intimidating, typical of barbarian warriors.
“Kuahahaha!”
Bionssen burst into laughter.
“So you’ve got no taste, continental dog! Among my people, I’m considered quite the handsome man! Women beg to bear my seed wherever I go! What nonsense are you babbling?”
“Ah.”
Carlyle blinked — he’d forgotten.
Among barbarians, being huge and fierce-looking was the standard of beauty.
“For spouting such filth, I’ll rip those rotten salmon eyes right out of your skull!”
“What an expression…”
Carlyle grimaced, tightening his stance.
‘One wrong move and I’m dead.’
He tensed up.
Right now, Bionssen was a 4-star barbarian warrior — one with four sacred tattoos.
At that level, a barbarian could kill an ordinary knight in the blink of an eye.
Even Russell the Berserker and Kudo, who was clearly no ordinary fighter, had been overpowered easily.
‘Killing him won’t be easy.’
Carlyle’s gaze fell on the tattoo over Bionssen’s heart — a sigil glowing faintly with power.
The Mark of Ancient Vitality.
That mark granted the barbarian miraculous regenerative abilities.
No wonder players called those marked warriors Zombie Barbarians — monsters that refused to die.
‘I’ll have to go for the heart or the head.’
Carlyle gripped Grimungand tightly.
Whoosh!
Bionssen swung his mace at Carlyle.
Clang!
The two weapons met with a thunderous sound.
“Oh?”
Bionssen’s eyes widened slightly.
Carlyle hadn’t budged — not even an inch.
He might have frowned, but he hadn’t been pushed back at all.
That alone said enough about his raw strength.
“To think a girly-looking brat like you’s the strongest one here.”
“You keep saying girly, but… will you still call me that when you die to one?”
Shraaa!
Carlyle swung Grimungand.
The Soul Blade – Dawnbreaker.
A supreme slash aimed right at Bionssen’s neck.
“Ugh!”
Bionssen jumped back just in time.
A thin red line appeared across his throat — blood trickling down.
“Khahaha!”
He laughed, touching the wound.
Thanks to the Mark of Ancient Vitality, it healed almost instantly — but the memory of pain lingered.
“So you’re stronger than you look, huh? Fine then! I, Bionssen, son of Draktar, will fight you seriously!”
The tattoo on his right arm flared crimson.
Crack! Pop!
His arm muscles bulged grotesquely, veins standing out like ropes.
The Mark of Brutal Strength — temporarily doubling the power of his arms.
“VALHALLAAAAAAA!!!”
Bionssen roared and unleashed a storm of blows.
Clang! Clang! BOOM!
Even with the enhanced power, Carlyle blocked each strike and occasionally countered.
The longer the fight went, the more the balance began to shift — against Bionssen.
Carlyle’s blade kept finding its mark — small cuts and stabs at Bionssen’s neck and chest.
Yet that was his limit.
‘So this is what it means to be outclassed in sheer size.’
He could feel the gap in strength and speed.
And Bionssen’s skin was absurdly tough — Grimungand’s edge barely cut through it.
If they’d been of equal build, Carlyle might’ve already killed him.
“You fight well, but you’re weak! You’ll never defeat me, Bionssen, son of Draktar!”
Wham! Wham! WHOOOM!
His mace became a whirlwind, driving Carlyle back.
“Kh…!”
Just as Carlyle began to lose ground—
“Kill… kill… killllll!!!”
Russell, who’d somehow recovered, charged in from behind.
“Stop playing with the rookie — fight us instead!”
“You bastard!”
Bergman and Wilson rejoined the fray.
“Trying to piss me off, huh?”
Kudo wiped the blood from his nose and came back as well.
It was now five against one.
But no one — not even Bionssen — called it unfair.
Why?
This was war.
There was no honor or pride here — only killing your enemy by any means necessary.
‘Now we’ve got a chance.’
With the others joining in, Carlyle finally caught his breath and gripped his weapon tighter.
One-on-one, there was no chance.
But with his comrades — his unit — the situation was different.
They could make up for what he lacked in raw power.
All Carlyle needed to do now was strike decisively — target Bionssen’s heart or head.
The 5-on-1 battle clearly favored the scouts.
They were even beginning to overwhelm the 4-star barbarian.
“GRAAAAH!”
Bionssen screamed in pain.
“Die! DIE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
Bergman’s hand axe hacked mercilessly at his massive back.
“You damned gnats!!!”
Bionssen bellowed, trying to retaliate — but couldn’t.
“Whoa there. Stay still.”
Kudo’s blade slashed his abdomen open.
Splurt!
Blood and entrails spilled out.
He’d regenerate soon, thanks to his mark — but the wound was severe.
“DIEEEE!”
Russell’s greatsword severed Bionssen’s left arm.
“Gaaah!”
As he howled in pain—
‘Now!’
Carlyle lunged forward.
The Soul Blade – Heartpiercer.
A perfect thrust.
Thwack!
Grimungand pierced Bionssen’s left chest, exiting through his back.
But somehow, Bionssen twisted his body just in time — sparing his heart.
Then—
BOOM!
He stomped the ground hard.
“—!”
The shockwave sent Carlyle and the others flying into the air, then crashing down.
The Thunder Stomp — a crowd-control skill that launched nearby enemies off their feet.
“Honorable warriors! Fall back, fall back!”
Bionssen shouted, issuing a retreat order, then bent his knees.
Whoosh!
He shot into the air, leaping over the palisade using Thunder Leap.
But the scouts weren’t about to let him go so easily.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Marder’s eyes gleamed as he drew his bowstring taut.
