The first step to becoming a Berserker is self-hypnosis.
In Qiao Jingfu's old martial-arts novel Mad Martial Artist's Poem, there's a technique called "borrowing an image."Basically, you summon a mental picture so intense it drags out your absolute maximum potential.
For example, in that book, a young swordsman from the Qingcheng Sect imagines a blazing inferno roaring behind him—his body reacts like it's under threat, and he uses that adrenaline to lunge forward with explosive speed.
In Saint Seiya, whenever Shiryu attacks, there's always that giant dragon behind him—the same idea.
I don't know if track stars like Liu Xiang or Bolt ever used this method, imagining a lion chasing them or something, but I wouldn't be surprised.
Since I'm trying to enter Berserker Mode, my mental image obviously has to fit the whole Berserker theme.
First, I picture an endless field of blood-soaked corpses, shattered weapons scattered across the ground, bitter wind howling, and the nauseating stench of death pouring straight into my lungs.
Then I repeat these lines in my head:
"Pain! Madness! Destruction!"
"Northern Viking warriors…""Valhalla's Ragnarok!""Kyo Kusanagi—your life is mine!""Wahahahahahahahahaha—!"
Usually I mutter these lines quietly, but sometimes I get too into it and accidentally shout them out loud.
Either way, once Berserker Mode kicks in, the enemy gets blown away by sheer brute force. When I snap out of it, I sometimes can't even remember how I fought.
I've never used Berserker Mode in front of Captain Guo Songtao. If he ever heard the nonsense I chant to hype myself up, I'd die of embarrassment.
Anyway, Berserker Mode was originally a secret weapon I developed to defeat Little Tyrant.
Too bad I won't get to use it on her anymore.
Thinking about that only depresses me.
Depression turns into anger.Anger turns into madness.Perfect. I've entered deep Berserker Mode.
The ugly guy—the one who first joked about "borrowing" the schoolgirl—stepped toward me.
I could tell at a glance he was the weakest of the bunch. The only reason he dared come first was because he felt secure with his numbers and wanted to show off.
"You're seriously not afraid of death? Just wait—"
I made a guttural, beast-like sound: "Grrrhh—grrrg—gig—"
It froze him on the spot.
"H-hey, what the hell is wrong with you? You—"
I lunged forward, hand splayed like claws, and grabbed him by the face.
He tried to wrench free, but my right hand had turned into a steel clamp. There was no escape.
His buddies stiffened, startled—but I couldn't see their expressions clearly. My vision was already washed over in blood-red haze.
Everything—tangible or not—is my enemy.
I yanked him toward me while driving my knee into his gut.
His face crumpled like a smashed tomato. He wasn't tall, so both feet lifted off the ground. Before he even started to fall back, I twisted his jacket with both hands and forcibly turned his entire body horizontal.
The two behind him rushed forward to help, but seeing their buddy hanging in midair stunned them.
I clicked my tongue and kicked the ugly guy in the chest.
He flew backwards and crashed into his two teammates.
Before they could recover, I vaulted over like a wolf and grabbed both of them by the collar, smashing an uppercut into each of their jaws.
I still had a little sanity left—I only hit the nerves to knock them out.If I'd used even 20% more strength, the best outcome would've been a mild concussion. Worst case, their jaws would've collapsed into the back of their skulls.
Sure enough—too weak.
Berserker Mode scales with the opponent's strength. The greater the threat, the more violently it erupts.
After watching me take down three people in seconds, the ringleader—who had been leaning under the bridge—finally couldn't sit still.
Just as he was about to charge, the guy in the cap shouted, "Boss, no need, watch me handle—"
He didn't even finish the word "him."
I had already leapt forward. My right hand shot out toward his hair.
One of the most terrifying things in a fight is having your hair grabbed. And with hair as long as his? It would be a crime not to pull it.
But unexpectedly, he reacted quickly—he ducked, twisted, and kicked at my calf to throw me off balance. His movements had a hint of training behind them, maybe some kind of side-kick form.
Unfortunately for him, it didn't hurt much. Not compared to the kind of trauma Little Tyrant carved into my soul.
In Berserker Mode, the more pain you take, the more ferocious you become.
"Good kick! More! COME ON!"(Yeah—maybe I really am a bit of a masochist. Thanks, Xiao Qin.)
The capped guy's face twisted in fear, but he'd just bragged in front of his boss, so he couldn't back down.
Not that I cared.
You pathetic creature. Your thoughts don't matter to me.
I lunged again—no technique, no elegance—just primal ferocity. Hand reaching for his face.
He panicked and dodged the same way he did earlier—back and to the right.
Predictable.
I didn't get smarter in battle—once I turn into a monster, I also gain a monster's instincts.
Exactly as predicted. He dodged right.
I swept my leg with brutal force and kicked him in the lower back.
He screamed and tumbled down the grassy slope toward the river.
The slope was lined with flowers and shrubs—like a giant flowerbed—so he wouldn't die.
I was more worried the fall wouldn't hurt enough.
Before he even hit the ground, I sprinted down the slope, leapt, grabbed the back of his head, and slammed him face-first into the grass.
Then I dragged him, face scraping along the plants, like I was mowing a lawn with his head. All the way to the bottom.
When he stopped twitching, I drove my elbow into his spine.
He finally went limp, face covered in dirt and blood.
I climbed back up.
Only the ringleader was left.
His face was drenched in sweat. The cigarette he'd been chewing on earlier had fallen to the ground.
"Wh-Who the hell are you…?"
I didn't know who I was either.
But that small-time thug Xing Xing who once called me "Boss Haruya" wasn't entirely wrong.
I'd stayed in Berserker Mode too long—my ability to speak was almost gone.
I answered with a hoarse, evil laugh.
The ringleader swallowed, trembling. He pulled out a dagger from his jacket.
Under the dim moonlight, the blade gleamed sharply.
I laughed harder.
Useless.
If you'd fought me with your bare hands, maybe you could've lasted a round or two.
But the moment you pull a knife, you've already admitted you're weaker.
Your confidence evaporated. Your morale collapsed.
And a dagger isn't a sword—its reach is tiny.
Once you rely on it to land a decisive blow, your whole body stiffens. Your movements get predictable. Your footwork turns clumsy. You become a fool.
"Grrrgh—Gigg—Grrhh—"
More meaningless snarls spilled from my mouth.
Then I charged.
I didn't even slow down—I almost rammed my chest straight into his knife.
His face went pale. He stabbed reflexively.
Predictable.
The path of his strike was child's play to read.
I lifted my leg and kicked the dagger from his hand.
My dad once told me my legs aren't as short as I think.Maybe he was right.
The moment the boss lost his dagger, his courage died with it.He spun around and tried to run.
I grabbed the back of his collar.
Chop to the neck.
His whole tongue lolled out.
Even though he didn't personally touch my juniors earlier, he stood there and did nothing while they were being humiliated. Whether he ordered it or simply failed to restrain them, the blame was still his.
I hauled him to the slope.
He knew what was coming—another "lawnmower treatment"—and thrashed wildly.
He was stronger than his underlings, I'll give him that.
Fine. If dragging him doesn't work…
I redirected and flung him toward one of the giant concrete pillars holding up the bridge.
He braced with both hands and pushed off the pillar to rebound away.
So I kicked him in the ass.
He slammed into the pillar face-first.
Still conscious.Tough bastard.
I pounced and smashed into him with my shoulder.
Once, twice, three times.
He finally slid down against the pillar and stopped moving.
My blood was still boiling.
I needed to calm down.I needed to leave.
Even though almost nobody walks this riverside at night, if a patrolling cop saw this…
Yeah, explaining would be impossible.
Also—
Damn it.I really need to pee.