COTBC 35

Chapter 35

To Follow the Words of the Demon (1)

“Ra, Tu, Balaka!”

Shouting his longing for the afterlife, the muscular giant charged toward the Wolf King.

From a distance of nearly ten steps, Bessemer slammed the ground and used the rebound to launch himself high into the air.

Gripping his axe with both hands midair, he descended toward the Wolf King’s head.

BOOM!

The Wolf King easily evaded the strike.

“So you’re going to keep running away again?”

Bessemer pulled his axe out of the ground where it had embedded itself and rested the handle on his shoulder.

Clumps of dirt fell from it.

Thud… thud…

The Wolf King circled around Bessemer at a distance.

Bessemer mirrored him, slowly turning in place.

“Do you remember? We used to circle like this and fight hand-to-hand with our brothers. I always lost to them. Even though I wasn’t that much smaller… and now—”

CRUNCH!

Before he could finish, a hellhound leapt from behind and sank its jaws into Bessemer’s shoulder.

It was a deep bite, but not a fatal wound.

RIP—CRACK!

Before the hellhound could clamp down fully, Bessemer thrust his axe into its mouth and split its jaw apart.

“Hey now, father. I just want a nice father-son conversation.”

Grrrrr…

Whether it was the Wolf King’s command or instinctive pack behavior, the hellhounds that had been focused on the soldiers now turned their attention entirely to Bessemer.

He felt the air grow heavier.

“So this is it again.”

The killing intent-filled air felt like seawater—no matter how much he breathed, he couldn’t get enough air.

His body tensed.

His heartbeat pounded like war drums.

His blood boiled.

His muscles twitched with the urge to swing his axe immediately.

He had always been the gatekeeper of the camp, slaughtering incoming hellhounds like routine.

Back then, he was the hunter.

But now, there was no one behind him.

Only beasts that wanted to tear him apart from all sides.

CRACK!

Yelp!

SNAP!

Two hellhounds had already been killed by his hand.

One had its neck half-severed by his axe, whimpering like a dying pup.

Another had rushed into his arms and had its neck snapped.

“Huff… huff… see that? Even without your damn beast transformation, your son is strong, isn’t he? Then why… why did you do it?”

Three more hellhounds rushed him.

One bit his leg, shaking his balance.

As he staggered, another lunged.

Bessemer fell and swung his axe mid-fall.

One beast was critically wounded and thrown back—but he lost his grip on the axe.

Now it became pure hand-to-hand combat.

He rolled to avoid their jaws and wrapped his arm around one hellhound’s neck.

He gouged out its eye and struck its forehead repeatedly.

Whimper… whimper…

It struggled desperately, but he did not let go.

The other two hesitated, disturbed by the dying screams.

Instead, Bessemer attacked first.

Without a weapon, he crushed them with brute force.

One’s upper and lower jaws were torn apart.

Another had its skull smashed in.

“Huff… huff…”

He shoved aside the dead beasts and stood again.

Only then did the pain hit him.

His left thigh was torn open so badly bone was visible.

He staggered toward his axe, blood dripping constantly with every step.

“Grrr…”

He noticed his ring finger and pinky on his right hand were missing.

He didn’t care.

He grabbed the axe with the remaining three fingers.

His shoulders and ribs were full of holes from wolf bites.

He didn’t care.

Then suddenly—

Hahahahahaha—

He burst into laughter.

It was a loud, unrestrained laugh without madness.

His entire body was drenched in blood, yet his face looked strangely refreshed.

“Now I understand… why I kept losing to my brothers.”

He rested the axe on his shoulder again.

Laughing through blood, he looked like a madman.

“Because I wanted to live too much. But now I see… father, you were the same, weren’t you? You wanted to live so badly… even if it meant becoming a beast?”

Grrrr…

“Or did you forget how to speak after living as a beast for 13 years?”

Grrrr…

“Ah, right. Virpier must’ve trained you like a dog.”

The silver wolf lowered its body.

Its posture changed.

Front legs bent.

Tail straightened.

Ears sharpened.

Rear muscles coiled.

Bessemer didn’t miss the signal.

“Look around. Is this really the Baitur tribe? The land of Binfelt tribes? To me, it just looks like a wolf den…”

In an instant, a black shadow shot toward him.

It leapt over the hellhounds’ encirclement and revealed gleaming fangs.

Even Bessemer, who had accepted wolf bites before, would never allow this one.

A bite from that would mean either death or fatal injury.

He gripped his axe tightly with both hands again.

Ra
Tu
Balaka
Sanctum

A distant voice echoed in his mind.

It was not the monster before him, yet it also was.

It was the voice of his father standing like a ghost among burning corpses.

“May you find peace in Balaka.”

That was what it meant in the common tongue.

But to young Bessemer, it felt like something unspoken.

I will follow soon.

The memory burned.

The battlefield.

Blood, ash, and silence.

Then—

WHOOSH!

The axe cut through the air.

“…!”

It missed.

The silver wolf twisted midair and barely evaded.

Awoooo—

The wolf retreated, howling.

Grrrr…

The hellhounds regained their aggression, emboldened again.

Now the Wolf King intended to kill Bessemer together with his pack.

There was no longer father or son.

No chief or warrior.

Only predator and prey.

“Hahahaha… fuck.”

Bessemer laughed weakly.

That strike had been everything.

He had already lost too much blood.

His body felt numb, like after drinking heavily.

Through his fading vision, hellhounds charged.

Instinct screamed at him from behind.

Death was closing in from all sides.

Re… Tu… Balaka…

The words echoed again.

If “Ra” meant “I,” then “Re” meant “him.”

I go to Balaka.

For a moment, he saw it.

A younger version of himself.

A timid boy among tribe children.

Virpier was right.

He had always been a coward.

Maybe that was why he hated Isaac from the start—Isaac was everything he could not be.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

The coward could rest.

“Bessemer!”

A sharp voice cut through.

Annoying.

But it pulled him back.

Hellhounds were collapsing like broken puppets.

“…?!”

The Wolf King was suddenly thrown back.

Carlson stood where it had been.

Dead hellhounds surrounded him.

One ear of the silver wolf was torn off.

Black blood mixed with silver fur.

“Die! Die!”

“Kill them!”

Soldiers’ screams echoed.

The battle was still overwhelming.

Dozens of hellhounds remained.

But somehow…

Bessemer no longer felt like giving up.

Because standing beside him was a small boy with pale skin, exhausted body, and a sword in hand.

No.

The Frost Demon.

“You came to die too?”

Bessemer laughed.

“Of course not.”

“Do you only know that sword stance?”

Isaac once again assumed the same upward strike posture as their duel.

“Were you trying to die?”

“….”

Isaac answered with silence.

“Carlson killed Virpier.”

“He turned into a human or a wolf?”

“A wolf.”

“Good. That bastard ended up like one anyway.”

Bessemer dropped to one knee.

He leaned on his axe and gasped for air.

He was exhausted.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted to rest.

He was done.

“Now it’s your turn.”

“Look at me before talking. I’m about to go to Balaka.”

“That is an order, Bessemer of Baitur.”

Isaac ignored everything.

His voice was firm.

Bessemer was speechless.

This boy—standing here like this—should have died long ago.

Yet he still spoke like a commander.

And somehow, it pierced through him.

Because this moment…

was the one Bessemer had longed for.

Not trapped in the past.

Not buried with his tribe.

But living in the present.

Isaac was the demon who brought that dream.

“Kill the Wolf King.”

“….”

“Give your father peace.”

The demon said.

“……”

Bessemer looked up at the night sky.

Thirteen years ago, the same moon had been there.

“…I will… follow the order.”

Slowly, the giant stood.

To follow the words of the demon.