Chapter 157

Every inch of the Frost Citadel was soaked in blood.

Marcus Atlante sat atop a pile of corpses, his fingers tracing the grotesque contours of a severed head in his grasp.

"Commander Marcus, the General summons you."

He tossed the head aside without a second glance.

The command tent reeked of blood and rusted steel.

"How's your recovery?" General Adrian Grandelle wiped his bloodstained sword.

"Never been clearer." Marcus's lips curled into a frigid smile. "What's next?"

Adrian pointed to the sand table. "We've discovered a massive cavern beneath the citadel. Likely the enemy's nest."

"I'll lead the vanguard." A crimson glint flashed in Marcus's eyes.

"Denied." Adrian's voice was steel. "Your company is down to you and Chester."

Spencer Roscente clapped his shoulder. "Patience, soldier. Revenge takes time."

Marcus clenched his fists in silence.

"Your new armor has arrived." Adrian handed him a token. "Collect it from the quartermaster."

Back in his tent, Marcus stared at his trembling hands.

The hunger for slaughter echoed relentlessly in his mind.

"This isn't me..." He clutched his head in agony.

At dawn, he sought out the mage Warren Klein.

"Chaos Toxin has corroded your psyche." Warren frowned. "It amplifies your bloodlust."

"Is there a cure?"

Warren unrolled a parchment. "The Calming Spell can suppress it temporarily. But you'll need monastic healing."

"I want to learn magic."

Warren scoffed and tossed him a crystal. "Try this."

A faint glow flickered in Marcus's palm.

"Limited aptitude." Warren shook his head. Still, he threw a heavy tome at him. "Learn to read first."

The runes twisted grotesquely before Marcus's eyes.

In the frozen woods, Chester found their company's tattered banner.

The bloodstains on the fabric burned Marcus's vision.

"My brothers... I'll make them pay in blood."

During the strategy meeting, Adrian outlined a decapitation strike.

Marcus remained eerily quiet.

No one noticed the forbidden ritual he'd performed in the laboratory.

In his mindscape, Marcus stood atop a mountain of gore.

"Come at me, cowards!" He laughed maniacally, slaughtering phantoms.

When the flesh-core dragged him under, he awoke with a gasp.

"Daydreaming?" Spencer nudged him.

The citadel's interior was oppressively humid.

The Fearless blocked their path.

"Cover the General!" Marcus charged first.

His Obsidian Claymore gleamed with unnatural light.

"Die! All of you!"

He tore through enemies like a rabid hound, ripping a Fearless warrior's head off barehanded.

"You... killed Bentley?"

Seeing a familiar insignia on one foe's chest, Marcus snapped completely.

When reason returned, dismembered allies littered the ground.

Kneeling in gore, Marcus arranged corpses into a profane sigil.

Runes writhed across his skin as demonic whispers filled his ears.

"This... is power."

He rose laughing, striding deeper into the citadel.

The sounds of battle faded behind him.

Marcus Bloodeye was no longer the Empire's soldier.