Chapter 258: Northern Warrior
So the Old Hunter brought him into a cave. Inside were three Snowfield Berserk Bears.
The moment they saw Hode, they rushed at him like beasts starved for three days.
These were Snowfield Berserk Bears. When standing upright, they were nearly three times Hode’s height.
Even a true Northern Warrior could not contend with a single one head-on.
Thus, Hode turned to flee. But after the Old Hunter had thrown him inside, he blocked the entrance.
Even now, Hode still did not know how he had managed to kill those three Snowfield Berserk Bears.
But the result was that the beasts were slain by him, while he remained trapped in the cave for nearly ten days.
His stomach grew unbearably hungry, so he devoured the three Snowfield Berserk Bears raw.
When he finally finished eating, the Old Hunter opened the entrance.
The Old Hunter said, “Now you are already a perfect Northern Warrior. Go hunt that Werewolf King.”
Hode did not know whether the Old Hunter was spouting nonsense. He chose instead to follow his own heart, intending to beat the Old Hunter up.
But once again, he was beaten half to death by the Old Hunter.
The Old Hunter said, “See? I didn’t deceive you. You are no longer swayed by that shitty Lord’s Faith. You already dared to raise your hand against a frail old man like me. You are a true Northern Warrior.”
Hode thought his words made sense. So, after recovering from his wounds, he continued to hunt Ymir.
Very soon, he picked up Ymir’s trail. It was once again at night. With the Old Hunter’s guidance, he realized—this was deliberately left for him to discover.
So he thought for a moment, then pretended not to notice, and continued his hunt.
He drew his bow once again and shot Ymir. The arrow struck Ymir, who put on the appearance of being gravely injured and desperately trying to flee.
Then, from the sky, descended a rain of arrows.
Hode did not use Sure-Hit. Instead, he used Arrow Rain. The one that struck Ymir earlier was merely an ordinary arrow coated with poison.
This time, he drew nearly half a bow. The arrows struck Ymir head-on, nearly flaying all the flesh from his body.
Hode approached Ymir’s ruined body lying on the ground, then opened a wooden tube.
This was given to him by the Old Hunter, who had said: “No matter what kind of poison it is, as long as the dosage is enough, anything can be killed.”
So this wooden tube contained some bizarre mixture of poisons the Old Hunter had poured inside.
Hode poured the poison onto Ymir.
But Ymir, his flesh mangled, suddenly leapt up, dodging the poison, and attacked Hode.
This time, Hode pressed his assault against the gravely wounded Ymir, seizing him and hacking off his limbs and head. Although Ymir still managed to escape in the end, Hode finally understood what it meant to be a Northern Hunter.
No, it should be a Northern Warrior. He felt as though the blood in his body was boiling.
So, in this land of exile, he pursued Ymir relentlessly, trying every method he could to kill him.
But still, he could not kill Ymir, who always managed to escape in different ways.
Now, able to once again draw the Hunting Fang, Hode thought of a new method.
The Morning Star’s radiance made Dark Creatures feel weakness and pain, as if scorched by fire. Lesser ones would even die after long exposure. But for a Dark Creature of Ymir’s level, it would not kill him.
Yet the pain was real—that feeling of all strength draining away, a ceaseless, unending torment.
“If every bit of flesh in your body were seared by the Morning Star’s light?” Hode murmured with a grin. His teeth still held streaks of Ymir’s blood, from the raw flesh he had just eaten. His expression looked vicious.
Then he drew the Hunting Fang once again, this time pulling to half-bow. The arrow struck Ymir, and from the heavens tore open the clouds as the Arrow Rain descended.
Hode did not let it spread across the whole battlefield. Now, he was as one with the Hunting Fang itself. He controlled the range precisely, confining it to a radius of one hundred meters centered on Ymir, ensuring Ymir was bathed fully in the Morning Star’s radiance.
Narrowing the range meant the arrows concentrated into denser beams.
Hode looked at the downpour encircling Ymir, like a storm pouring down.
“If I cut him apart piece by piece myself, it’d take three days to finish.” Hode thought. “Shattered like this, can you still regenerate?”
There was some regret in his heart. If only he could wield Holy Light like Knight George—slashing with a single sword to kill outright. But he could only coat his hand axe with a thin layer of Holy Light.
The Arrow Rain slowly ceased, and the clouds above gradually closed again.
Hode put away the Hunting Fang, slung the box on his back, and approached Ymir’s position.
But the frozen earth had been blasted into a deep pit. Below, only dirt remained.
No wood shavings, no scraps of iron. Let alone blood or bone.
“This time, you should be dead,” Hode muttered. “If not, I’ll have no choice but to capture you and take you back to the Church. Though, given how hard you are to kill, something may go wrong on the way.”
No response. Hode finally exhaled, believing he had truly slain him.
For years, he had hunted Ymir. He no longer knew if it was because of the pain Ymir caused him, because his father was killed by Werewolves, or simply because he wanted to kill him.
“But, after returning this time, I should confess first.” Hode thought. After all, he had used the Cross as an execution tool.
As he pondered which direction to leave, a sharp stabbing pain suddenly spread across his body, as if pierced by countless needles.
Danger! His instincts screamed. Hode instantly leapt aside.
Silence. Perhaps an illusion. But when he reached the pit’s edge and glanced back—
He saw Ymir, whole and unscathed, standing in the very spot he had been. Quietly, he gazed up at the Morning Star.
Numbness gripped Hode. A deep terror surged within him. He turned, trying to flee.
But as he turned, a hand seized his face.
Through the fingers, he could still see Ymir, head raised toward the Morning Star.
His pupils shrank violently.
Was this sheer speed, or something else?
Hode’s heart pounded wildly from danger. He could hear it beating in his ears.
“You finally died?” Ymir sighed—not the hissing voice of when he was nailed to the Cross, but one filled with calm.
Then Ymir lowered his gaze slightly, meeting Hode’s eyes through the gaps between his fingers.
He said, “At last, I can feel again the warmth of sunlight on my body.”
“You and that dumb dog’s little farce entertained me greatly. But now I must tend to real matters. I have no more time to play the Hunter’s Game with you.” Ymir’s hand clenched tighter.
Hode felt his skull about to be crushed. Then he noticed something wrong—Ymir’s eyes were no longer their old color, but a dull gold.
He struggled, but his limbs had somehow been removed without him noticing.
“Do you know? Long, long ago, I too was held like this, crushed slowly in his hand,” Ymir said. “It was despair beyond words, pain beyond imagination. He forced open all my senses to the maximum. Compared to that torment, what you feel now is nothing.”
“But I am merciful. I will only crush your head, sparing you from that agony.” Ymir spoke as though declaring his compassion.
Hode wanted to curse him, but no sound came out.
“You see? Am I not merciful? I even spared—” Ymir’s words cut short.
A massive two-handed axe appeared above his head.
Hode felt a strange familiarity, as though he had glimpsed it long ago.
Before he could recall, he slipped from Ymir’s grasp, crashing to the ground. Pain seared from the stumps of his severed limbs.
Clenching his teeth, he strained to look up at who had thrown the axe.
“You are still as useless as ever.” The voice seemed from a distant memory, though Hode could not recall. The figure in the distance was blurred.
Only Ymir was clear, pulling the axe from his head and turning to face that figure.
“A returning god? A newborn god? Or something unknown? Could it be he has been dead for a long time?” Ymir said.
“You are a god?” The familiar voice asked.
“Yes. I am the God of the Werewolves. Awakened early from eternal annihilation.” Ymir introduced himself politely. Then he asked, “And you?”
The voice replied, “I am human.”
Ymir sounded puzzled. “Impossible. No human today holds such strength.”
The figure drew closer, finally standing before Ymir.
Hode, who was tall at 1.8 meters in Greenwood, looked small before Ymir’s 2.2-meter frame. But this man was even taller—nearly three meters. Now Hode saw clearly: his bare torso covered in glowing blue tattoos, dimly radiant.
Hode could not believe it. He looked both familiar and unfamiliar at once.
The man said, “Perhaps you simply haven’t seen it. That one is merely the trash of the Hoover Family. Don’t mistake him for the strength of the Northern Warriors. I, Beo Hoover, am the Head of the Hoover Family, the Marquis of the Northern Kingdom, the true Northern Warrior.”
Then, just as Ymir had done to Hode, Beo seized Ymir’s head with one hand and lifted him up.
Ymir could not open his mouth, yet his voice rang out. “Marquis? I see. It is the power of the Earth Vein. You are indeed a true warrior, to dare reach this level.”
“Beo Hoover, is it? I will remember you. When I return in truth, I will come kill you myself. You are my prey—if you survive until then.”
With a boom, Ymir’s body exploded, scattering into blood that vanished in an instant.
Marquis Beo approached, his massive body shrinking as he neared. By the time he stood beside Hode, he was the same size as Hode had been before losing his limbs.
Beo looked down at him and said, “Didn’t I throw you into the South? Why have you returned, and grown so weak?”
Hode opened his mouth, wanting to speak. But no sound came. At last, he closed it again.