This will be a scene that Cornell will remember for the rest of his life. Ivar is like the monster in the nightmare. He crawls out of the darkness little by little, dragging blood, shattering the restrictions between dimensions, so personally
The earth fell in front of Cornel's eyes.
He had never imagined that this guy in a wheelchair was so scary. Ivar had been hiding himself for many years and it was just for today.
A heroic death.
Die standing like a Viking warrior.
Pain and death can no longer threaten him, because that is what he wants.
Nothing can stop him at this moment, not even the guards carrying the secret blood are his opponents. To be precise, Cornell should not have placed his hope on them.
After all, the choir guards are implanted with secret blood that tends to be stable. Its power is not as powerful as that of the demon hunters, but it is at least stable enough that even a cowardly mortal heart can easily control it.
What you ask for, you have to give.
Therefore, such mediocre secret blood can only bring power slightly beyond ordinary people. Its power lies in its ability to create countless warriors who are beyond ordinary people.
Guys like this are no match for Ivar from the beginning. They possess the secret blood, but they don't have the heart to control it, the heart of a lion, or the fear of death.
"You madman! Do you know what you are doing? How many people will die from this!"
Connell himself felt ridiculous when he said this. He was also one of the promoters of the war, but when it really came, unlike the crazy Curley, he only had panic and fear.
The so-called honor and merit are just words to decorate war, distorting the cruel and bloody truth into something that people can accept.
He felt sick and nauseous at his naive thoughts.
But this also just proves that Cornell is an ordinary person, not a monster like Currie, Ivar or Lawrence. They are all monsters, driven by an iron will, and they will do whatever it takes to achieve that lofty goal.
"Such words are too childish. Cornel Garrel, you are going to be the king. How can you say such words?"
A calm voice sounded under the dark face. Ivar was not laughing at Cornel, but simply stating the facts calmly.
"Damn...how can there be people like you in the world?"
Cornell retreated in panic, holding on to the handle of the gun with his only sanity and not shooting randomly. The remaining bullets were his only hope. Once the shot was empty, he didn't think he could defeat Ivar.
The guy in front of him is not an ordinary person at all. There is a crazy heart of a lion in his broken body. He has the blood of Rod Brok in his body. The ghost of the ancestor's mad war is leaning over him at this moment, taking him to the sacred heroic spirit.
temple.
The hot turbid air was swallowed, and Ivar moved forward slowly, dragging his bloody knees, his movements were like crawling, but such ridiculous movements brought an unstoppable sense of oppression, as if there was a steel barrier blocking the way.
Moving forward little by little, it will run over anything that stands in its way.
"You lunatics are so abominable, why!"
Cornel didn't understand, he couldn't understand the Vikings' beliefs at all.
"Why! People like you, madmen who have killed countless people, shouldn't you fall into the hell of divine punishment after death? Why is it that beautiful Hall of Valor that welcomes people like you?"
He had never experienced fear, this powerless despair, and even tears welled up from his eyes, mixing with the blood.
Although he has been isolated from his faith since he was a child, as a Gallican, he still knows a lot about the faith of Cornell.
Good people will go to heaven and sinners will go to hell.
He had always heard such words mentioned by pastors, but in fact it was not like that at all. The world was real, cruel, and far from as beautiful as described in the teachings, but at least such words could soothe people's hearts.
But these Vikings had completely different beliefs. They regarded killing as good and dying in battle as honor.
In the past, Cornel just smiled at these things, but now facing Ivar, he truly felt the deformity and madness of this belief.
"Why do murderers have wonderful things coming to them?"
Cornel roared incomprehension.
Like Ivar, his hands were stained with blood. Sometimes Cornel thought about going to hell after his death, and he would have restless insomnia at night.
But why does Ivar, who is also stained with blood, feel that he can usher in good things?
Why?
"Do you think...the Hall of Valor is really beautiful?"
The sound sounded, and Ivar was very close to Cornel, so close that he might be able to touch Cornel's feet if he stretched out his hands hard, but he stopped, as if he was resting, and scratched randomly with his hands.
There were streaks of blood smeared on the ground.
"I will meet my ancestors in the Hall of Valor, tell them about my achievements, and share the glory."
Ivar tightened his grip on the steel again and pushed himself up. His damaged knees struggled hard, and the blood-smeared ground was a little slippery. He fell down before he could stand up.
"The god Odin will entertain me with the most delicious food and drink strong wine with me."
Ivar's voice was muffled and he fell but could not stand up again.
Listening to his sleepy voice, Cornel finally reacted belatedly.
The monster in front of him fell in a pool of blood like a wild dog. His body was full of wounds left when he fought with the guards. Each wound was deep into the flesh and blood, and even the protruding broken bones could be seen. His limbs were moving in a strange way.
The person's perspective is distorted, and all actions from the beginning are controlled by a strong will.
Ivar is not a monster, he is a human being, an ordinary person.
At this moment, he was already exhausted. The hot blood was cooling down little by little, and his beating heart was gradually getting tired. His eyelids were heavy and almost closed completely, longing for sleep.
He is going to die.
But he can't die yet. Ivar has done something wrong, and he has to bear the price. He is willing to be a sacrifice in this war, and he is also willing to pay his life for the short-term beauty.
One code equals another, he thought clearly.
Cornel got up in embarrassment, his chest heaving violently, and he raised his gun and pointed it at Ivar. He could see that his body was still heaving slightly, and he was not dead yet.
"Do you think that's wonderful?"
Ivar asked again, but this time Cornell did not answer him, but pulled the trigger.
Amidst the roaring gunfire, the burst of fire ignited the darkness again. For a brief moment, Cornell saw a somewhat sad face.
Then he was knocked down and steel penetrated his wrist.
The whole person fell into the blood, and his senses became extremely sharp for some reason. Cornel could clearly hear the sound of blood rushing out of his body, his heart beating in panic, and death caressed his cheek bit by bit, closing in on him.
Take him to the world after death.
He could no longer scream. Under the huge fear, Cornel even found it difficult to think.
Ivar's battle is not over yet. He fell in a pool of blood not by choosing death, but by accumulating strength and opportunities. His broken body stepped on Cornel's body, and he stood up staggeringly, so tall.
, like mountains.
"The heroic spirits after death will fight in the hall, and then be resurrected the next day to fight again...the fighting will never end..."
Ivar's voice was calm.
"Do you think this is beautiful? Cornel Garrel."
Ivar slowly pulled the steel out of his wrist, raised it high, and asked him questions.
The sound struck Cornel's heart like a heavy hammer.
Is this really beautiful?
The fighting will never end, and there will never be any sleep.
To wake up is to die, and to die is to fight and die again after waking up.
This is a reincarnation that can never be liberated, just like the history of mankind.
War, peace, until everyone gathers strength again and joins the war.
Cornel couldn't figure it out, he couldn't answer this question, but in a daze he seemed to see the Hall of Valor, where countless warriors were fighting together, their bodies covered with scars, breathing in the cold air and spraying hot heat.
of blood.
They fell one by one, woke up when the sun rose the next day, grabbed the weapons beside them and threw themselves into the battle again.
There is no end, no relief.
This is the real hell.
Cornel's heart grew cold.
He thought, this is a curse, the curse of mankind.
The nameless god is cursing mankind. Isn't this whole world just a huge hall of heroes? People are born to fight and die. New children are born and then fall into the hatred of their parents.
The light of the candlelight fell on the raised steel, and Cornel's blurred face was reflected on it. The self in the mirror seemed to be whispering something, and he was announcing his death.
Now that things have happened, Cornel has calmed down. He looks at the face in the shadow without emotion. Cornel thinks that Ivar must also be sad and desperate at this moment.
Ivar could not change anything. All he could do was to hope for a better future until his death. This was the last thing he could do for the Viking countries.
Cornel closed his eyes and calmly welcomed the arrival of death.
The cooled blood dripped down, across Cornel's face, and fell to the ground. It was strange that the expected death did not arrive.
He opened his eyes and saw a sculpture-like figure.
Ivar held the steel high, standing twisted, his face hidden in the shadows, time seemed to have frozen on him, and his furious will was firmly fixed at this moment.
No more breath.
he died.
In an instant, countless thoughts collided with Cornel's mind. There was no fear, no joy, nothing.
As if he had lost all emotion, he pushed away Ivar's stiff body and climbed up from the pool of blood with an expressionless face.
"The never-ending cycle of reincarnation..."
He muttered in a low voice, tore off the cloth and wrapped it around the wound on his wrist.
It's over, this crazy fight to the death finally ended like this.
Cornel slowly backed away, his eyes always staying on Ivar's body. He thought Ivar should have been taken to the Hall of Valor by the Valkyries at this moment.
So, was it a paradise for the Vikings? Or a hell?
Cornel couldn't understand, but at least in the end Ivar died standing as a warrior.
"Farewell, Ivar Lodbrok."
Cornel finally said this, escaping from the deep darkness.
The dark and quiet corridor was mixed with the reverberations of beasts and steel. It seemed that someone was fighting and fighting somewhere. There was a flickering candlelight outside the window with singing, and a blurred light spot hit Cornell's body.
None of this had anything to do with him, and Cornel stared at the void ahead.
He didn't quite know how to describe this moment. Ivar's last figure was firmly engraved in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried to dispel it, he couldn't get rid of it.
Cornel began to think about other things.
All the anger and hatred have nothing to do with him now, he is thinking about something extremely important.
Some people say that growth is slow. It takes countless years and a long baptism before a boy can transform into a man. But some people say that growth happens in an instant. In a not too bad moment, you suddenly become a man.
Thinking everything through.
At the moment of Ivar's death, Cornel thought everything clearly.