Type-Moon: My Destiny Guide

That was a nightmare etched in the hearts of the Black side, the enemy they hated and feared the most.

Under the hostile gaze of the Black faction, the young man strolled past the 'Black' faction as if taking a leisurely walk, and under Astolfo's tense watchful gaze, he raised his head and met the eyes of the 'Red' faction.

That would undoubtedly be a dangerous act, just like not looking directly at a brown bear or wild boar in the wild.

Spartacus had clearly noticed the person blocking his path. He leaned down with a chilling smile, staring intently at Shuoyue as if he were about to engage in a fight.

But the young man in black robes removed his hood, seemingly unconcerned about letting the gladiators see the cold smile on his face:

"Rebel, have you made up your mind to point your fists and swords at the other side?"

Spartacus looked at the tiny figure for a long time, and then, as if he could see right through him, straightened up.

"Rebellion is my life! You are no longer the oppressor, make way! Or sing a triumphant song and march with me!"

Is he not the oppressor now? What about before? Was this mysterious assassin also one of the oppressors under certain circumstances?

Spartacus's words clearly revealed a certain nature of the black-robed youth. Even with battle imminent, the black-robed master and servant couldn't help but ponder, trying to find information about the new moon.

Faced with 'Red's' invitation, Shuoyue did not hesitate, but simply shook her head calmly:

"While I admire rebellion, I regret that I have too many ties with 'authoritarians'."

As if remembering something, the young man's brows relaxed, and he smiled faintly as he strode past the lone gladiator.

"However, even if I have no right to help you, I will protect you on the battlefield from the rear, 'Red'."

After a slight pause, leaving behind a final "blessing," the black-robed youth disappeared into the forest.

"Go ahead and rebel against all forms of tyranny."

The dangerous servant had left, and not only did the Black faction breathe a sigh of relief, but even Spartacus, known for his fearlessness, grinned again and turned his killing intent toward Astolfo.

"Rebellion is my life! Oh, oppressors from afar! I will crush you with my blade!"

Chapter 417 Rebels Cannot Escape Their Doom

Chapter 418 Rebels Cannot Escape Their Doom

"Hahahahahaha..."

The terrifying laughter echoed through the forest. Under the little giant's sword, even the trees that tried to block it all collapsed with a series of explosions.

Accompanied by the gladiator's desolate smile, a blow came down from above that could probably smash her petite body to pieces.

"Wow!"

Despite shouting pathetically, she still gracefully dodged the attack with dance-like steps.

Unfortunately, this was a pointless attack to dodge; the monstrous force carved wounds into the ground, and the shockwave alone blasted him away.

The handsome knight in the white cloak crashed into a tree, wincing in pain.

"Ouch... Ouch... What a fierce blow!"

His face showed undisguised pain, and his waist, which he had bumped, was swollen, but Astolfo still stood up, and there was no fear in his eyes.

Once touched, he would be blasted away, unable to fight back with strength, and his skills would be completely useless. A heroic spirit like him is really incompatible with such an unreasonable barbarian.

Even so, he is still a heroic spirit. Moreover, Astolfo, one of Charlemagne's twelve warriors, is both a brute who is even said to have 'evaporated his reason,' and an adventurer who has traveled the world and created all sorts of legends.

Then, what they won in those adventures were all sorts of magical artifacts—horn flutes, books, phantom horses (eagles), and lances that shone with golden light.

"Then, I'm going... Algaria! Let him see your power!"

As he galloped, even without a horse, his speed was truly lightning fast. However, for 'Red,' who had forgotten most of her emotions, this attack probably brought more joy than fear.

The fiercer and more desperate the attack, the more satisfying the counterattack will be. Even if the abdomen is about to be pierced, the counterattack will surely bring a look of despair to the tyrant's face.

With this thought in mind, Spartacus raised his broadsword on his own. His bluish-white, granite-like abdominal muscles were so sturdy that even steel paled in comparison. Charging against this solid barrier was a handsome paladin who lit up his platinum lance and thrust forward like a flash of light!

It'll break at the slightest touch!

The lance made contact, but was deflected by his tough skin; the broadsword came crashing down with immense force, but he simply sidestepped, using the momentum to retreat several meters away, creating a safe distance.

From the process, this confrontation was not effective, but the result was not so.

Having missed his first attack, Hong laughed loudly and turned to launch another attack, but suddenly, his feet lost their footing.

"Hahahaha—Huh?!"

He was jolted awake, feeling as if he were falling. The solid ground beneath his feet was gone, and for a moment he forgot to swing his sword. Even so, his smile remained, and he showed no surprise. But it was impossible to overturn this illogical situation.

Boom! The massive body crashed to the ground, and Spartacus finally dared to investigate the source of the anomaly—his right leg, struck by the lance, had vanished into nothingness at some unknown time.

The "treasure weapon" is so powerful that it's supposed to break upon contact! This gun, despite its haphazardly named name, is able to deliver exactly the effect it deserves.

According to legend, the lance favored by the Catalan prince Algaria could knock down anything it touched. For heavily armed knights to fall meant certain death on the battlefield. Even if that wasn't the case, it's easy to imagine the immense prestige that could be gained using this lance in the most dazzling mounted lance duels.

Then, if this gun is used on a person, it will materialize the legend by forcibly akin to the body below the knees. This applies no matter where it touches the body—even if it touches armor woven with magic. The gun will forcibly sever the magical supply to the body below the knees, making physical reconstruction impossible for a period of time.

"How about that? Pretty impressive, huh?" Holding his beloved Noble Phantasm, Astolfo proudly raised his head, showing off the magic of his lance to his enemies.

However, a loud laugh interrupted him. That alone wouldn't stop 'Red.' If he still had his knees and above, he would have to crawl to take down the enemy.

"Hahaha... If that's all, it's far from enough!"

With that, the gladiator used the strength of his one arm to launch himself into the air, charging at Astolfo with a fierce momentum that seemed to suggest they were going to die together.

However, his actions were thwarted, and the golems that could be easily destroyed, which had been waiting for a long time, pounced on him all at once.

A golem weighing over a ton was placed on top of him to seal one of his hands. But 'Red' childishly swung his arms wildly and knocked it away. He smashed the golem's upper body with a single punch. However, even with its head blown off, it could still move around as if nothing had happened before its functions were completely lost—that was the strength of golems.

They covered the 'red' completely, methodically and solemnly, like ants that had caught their prey. But the prey was neither a powerless little animal nor a worm. No matter how much the ants gnawed, the giant would not stop. Even with his legs below the knees transformed into spirit form, he continued his valiant advance toward the fortress.

"Hahahaha, this is fantastic, this is wonderful. A massive enemy army, and I'm covered in wounds. Ah, this is exactly it—"

The arm gripping the broadsword pierced through the golem, shooting high into the sky:

"A moment to shout the triumphant song of victory!"

Every part of his body was covered by golems. Twice he tried to stand up, and despite being bound by shackles made of rock, bronze, and steel, he continued forward.

Forward, forward, relentlessly forward. The gladiator who sparked the rebellion may be a madman, but he is not a lost soul.

Through his nose, skin, ears, eyes, and tongue, he understood—right ahead, the tyrant was waiting.

"Yes, well done."

The deep voice, like lightning, sent shivers down Red's spine. He turned his bloodshot eyes and saw the black Grand Duke riding high on the steed puppet.

! ”

Red accelerated forward. Peeling away the layers of golems covering his eyes, he finally saw it.

"It's you—"

“Indeed, ‘Red’, if you seek those in power, then I am the one standing at the pinnacle.”

The man was dressed entirely in aristocratic clothing that seemed to blend into the night. In contrast to the black, his face was pale, yet chilling, and his silky white hair hung loosely.

They declared their opposition to each other before the crazed gladiators, and in response, 'Red' let out an unprecedented howl.

"Oh, oh... Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh! Suppressor!"

Red let his intense emotions burn his body and mind. With a chilling cracking sound, the shackles formed by countless puppets were broken, and the burly beast broke free of its cage. With a ferocious laugh, it reached out to grab the Grand Prince of Wallachia in front of him.

Just a little more, just a little more, and my hand will be able to reach the tyrant's head. All along, no matter when, after such suffering, there has only been glory and joy under a cloudless sky.

The berserker's theory was perfect and complete. No one could find any flaws in it. However, he forgot the important thing: what awaited at the end of that suffering was not victory, but a miserable death and a cruel end.

It was that 'black' voice, spoken in a calm yet cruel tone.

"King of Extreme Execution!"

The earth rose up, and the sharp rafters pierced through the golem's body, easily cutting through the skin that even a lance couldn't penetrate, turning into the cruelest punishment, imprisoning the advancing 'red' within three inches by piercing it.

Wood chips flew, blood gushed, the body below the knees became a spirit, countless golems covered its entire body, and it was riddled with punctures except for its heart and brain—yet it still moved. To punish the imminent tyrant. This could not be dismissed with mere words of hatred and delusion.

Indeed, what Black wanted to confirm, even at the cost of sacrificing half of his golems, was his belief. Was he a foolish savage who was content with merely rebelling against power, or was he, even in his madness, still engraved with an unyielding bottom line in his heart?

Whew, I exclaimed with satisfaction.

"Throughout my life, I have fought against rebels like you, annihilating them all, impaling them on the battlefield, and leaving them there until their bodies rot."

“But—I finally understand why you confronted me like this. Your rebellion is a manifestation of a proud soul. No matter what, you will never stand idly by while the strong trample on the weak; you fight to make the strong become the weak.”

Not for the hypocritical reasons of the weak, but because the berserker cannot reach that level. He is simply single-minded—

“Dreamer, no, you're a visionary! Have you dreamt of an equal world? For the first time, I want to pay homage to the existence of rebels.”

After the victor's composure, Vlad III immediately began to deal with the loser. He snapped his fingers, and 'Black' stepped forward.

“Let me transform your rebellious nature. ‘Red, from now on, we are your masters.’”

The berserker's smile vanished, and 'Red' turned to 'Black' with a look of utter despair and rage. His declared word was 'enslavement.' For 'Black,' this was a humiliation and despair that transcended even death.

"Oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh oh!"

The caged beasts still struggled, but 'Black' merely coldly instilled commands into the suppressed golems. They instantly transformed into fluid, binding tightly to the rafters. Even the rebellious hero Spartacus could not escape this stone prison.

Having completed his mission, 'Black' sheathed his lance, and as if about to do something, eagerly greeted 'Black':

"Well, that's all for me now, so I'll be going now!"

So, he hastily returned to the fortress in spirit form, of course, to take advantage of the situation. In the short term, it seemed unlikely that he could attend to the plight of a mere android. This was a perfect opportunity.

—This is a good opportunity to rescue that android from his misery.

But what Astolfo didn't know was that shortly after he left, Vlad III looked slightly startled and received a message from Master Darnic.

"My Lord, another battlefield needs your help."

Even through the communication line, Blackie could sense the anger and a hint of fear in Nick's tone.

"That guy has gone berserk and brought our side to the brink of death... If this continues, we're afraid both sides will lose a berserker."

It goes without saying who that guy is.

"How could they have severely injured my subordinate in such a short time?" Vlad III was stunned. He looked in the direction from which 'Red' had come and quickly sensed the intense clash of battle qi and spiritual energy.

"Protecting the rear... So what he said wasn't a joke after all?"

Compared to novels and anime series, black and white comics definitely have a stronger impact.