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Every punch represented the tearing of flesh.
Every impact brought the splattering of blood.
It was hard to imagine what kind of excruciating pain this man was enduring to control a body like this—a body with its entire skeleton hollowed out, leaving nothing but muscle, sinew, and raw willpower.
But Beowulf's fists showed no hesitation. No pause. No mercy.
A continuous barrage like a hurricane of violence, every single blow landing on Lester with devastating precision.
In an instant, Lester became like meat on a butcher's block. With each successive impact, the flesh of both combatants began to fuse together from sheer force and friction.
Endless heat radiated outward, producing clouds of steaming white vapor that carried the unmistakable smell of something burning. Something cooking.
And with Beowulf's final, earth-shattering punch—
Medium-rare crispy bone ribs. Grandly presented.
[Beowulf_Simp]: Beowulf bro, that was TOO COOL
[LMAO_Larry]: LOL how dare that loser mock Beowulf? This man is literally the ORIGINAL Berserker!
[Comparison_Carl]: It feels like Vritra didn't even get hit this hard
[Confused_Connor]: Wait, how did the guy get COOKED directly???
[Hungry_Hannah]: What's going on, I kind of want to eat it...?
[Medical_Mike]: Turn left to the psychiatric department
[Romantic_Randy]: See, all you ladies? THIS is a man's romance! The exhilarating feeling of fist meeting flesh! I've decided—next game, I'm summoning Beowulf!
[Reality_Check_Rachel]: Hmph, whether he even pays attention to you is another matter, isn't it?
[Crying_Cathy]: Oh god, my tears... I can't handle this kind of farewell scene
[Philosophical_Phil]: So Max, why did you make the AI so advanced? So intelligent? WHY DOES IT HURT THIS MUCH?
Heroic and vibrant.
Yet a hero's twilight.
A man's romance was nothing more than this.
As Beowulf's legs finally gave out—unable to support even his own weight anymore—the disintegration of his flesh and blood sent him crumpling to the ground.
In a daze, he felt a gentle touch from behind.
He struggled to turn his head. What came into view was William's face, streaked with tears and filled with desperate concern.
"Uncle..."
"Sorry." Beowulf's voice came out as barely more than a rasp. "Looks like I've hit my limit. Sigh... how embarrassing, letting you see me in such an ugly state. The promise I made... I couldn't fulfill it."
"No!" William's voice cracked. "Uncle was super cool, okay?!"
As the boy's sniffling refused to stop, everyone watching—regardless of age or gender—felt a sharp pang in their hearts.
Some had already soaked through the tissues in their hands.
Footsteps approached.
Beowulf's fading eyes found Max, who had just arrived at the crater's edge.
"Oh... you're here." A weak smile crossed Beowulf's ruined face. "I remember you're the guy who wanted to invite me to cooperate before. Sorry, you're too late. That bastard's already been dealt with by me."
"Yeah." Max's voice was quiet. Respectful. "I saw. It was really cool."
"Is that so?" Beowulf's smile widened slightly. "Then... could I trouble you with something?"
He glanced at William, who was still clutching at him desperately.
"Take care of this kid for me."
"Uncle, no—"
"Don't let his appearance fool you." Beowulf's voice grew softer. "He's still just a child. He only got caught up in this Holy Grail War by accident."
His fading eyes found Max's.
"Now he no longer has a Servant. He'll withdraw from the war. So please..."
If Beowulf could still lift a fingertip, he would never beg anyone for anything.
But as the muscles in his legs completely ruptured, Beowulf—who had struggled to his feet one final time—collapsed back to the ground.
Looking at Max standing before him, the legendary Dragon Slayer spoke his last request before disappearing.
"Can you let him live?"
William's tears fell like rain.
[Sobbing_Sarah]: How can he be so GENTLE? I'm literally crying to death
[Age_Check_Andy]: This kid is only like eight years old!
[World_Heritage_Wayne]: It can be declared a world heritage site!
[Mood_Killer_Mike]: You two, don't make jokes when it's this SAD
[Salute_Sally]: You are a true hero, Beowulf!
[Ranking_Rita]: I declare Beowulf is my #2 in my heart!
[Curious_Carl]: Let me guess, #1 is Achilles?
[Whale_Wendy]: PLEASE take my money! Take everything from my bank account! I MUST have all merchandise related to Beowulf! RELEASE IT NOW!
As the chat surged with emotion, the streaming platform's top 20 rankings—which had been relatively stable—underwent dramatic changes.
A certain monthly billboard girl, originally ranked 12th, was forcefully pushed down to 14th by the wave of donations flooding into Max's stream.
Yes, it seemed that when it came to "revitalizing feminine charm" or whatever, Max still had a long way to go as a content creator.
But that wasn't important right now.
Facing Beowulf's request, Max naturally had no reason to refuse.
After helping William—whose legs had been shattered by falling rubble—to a sitting position, Max gave Beowulf his solemn assurance.
"Don't worry. I won't lay a hand on him."
Hearing those words, Beowulf's face finally showed a brilliant, peaceful smile.
But in the next instant—
His raised right hand plunged fiercely into his own chest.
A bloody, still-beating heart was ripped out.
The sight was horrifying. Grotesque. And yet somehow, in this moment, it was the most beautiful thing Max had ever witnessed.
A hero giving everything he had—literally everything—for someone he'd only just met.
Then, before Max could react, Beowulf shoved it directly toward Max's chest.
"This is—!"
"Take it." Beowulf's voice was barely a whisper now. "My heart of killing. It's just a broken heart, but... it'll make you stronger. After all, it's a trade."
His lips curved into one final grin.
"And I don't have a habit of letting people suffer losses..."
"UNCLE!"
William's anguished scream tore through the air.
With the separation and fusion of the heart, Beowulf's body began to dissolve into golden particles—drifting upward like fireflies ascending toward the stars.
The legendary Dragon Slayer vanished before everyone's eyes.
The man who had killed Vritra. The man who had fought without bones. The man who had protected a lonely child with everything he had.
Gone.
And William's sorrowful cry brought fresh tears to every viewer watching.
But Max, feeling the foreign heart now beating in his chest alongside his own, could only manage a difficult smile.
Difficult or not... it has to be done.
After helping William to a sheltered spot among the ruins, Max turned to face the boy.
"Can you give me your Command Seals?"
"Command Seals?"
"Those markings carved on the back of your hand."
William looked down at his mangled arm—the one Lester had shot earlier—lying several feet away.
"Yeah, no problem. But my hand's kind of... over there. You'll have to go pick it up yourself."
Despite everything, Max felt a flicker of dark humor at the kid's deadpan delivery.
"You're not going to ask what I'm planning to do with them?"
"No need." William's tear-stained face showed the ghost of a smile. "Because you're going to avenge Uncle Beowulf, right?"
"That's right."
"Then please. Do it."
If the timing weren't so critical, Max would have liked to talk more with this young boy. There was a strength in him—a resilience—that belied his age.
But there were more important things to do right now.
Shuten-douji was still rampaging. Lily was holding on by a thread. And somewhere out there, Lester's charred remains were probably still smoking.
Time to end this.
After receiving the four Command Seals transferred from William's severed hand, Max turned and sprinted toward the distant sounds of battle.
Lily and Shuten-douji's battlefield.
It could only be said that Lily was having an incredibly rough time.
Although Medea was providing magical support, two against one theoretically meant less pressure.
But that was the problem—precisely because Medea was present, every attack Shuten-douji aimed at the Caster had to be intercepted by Lily instead.
She was essentially tanking for two.
Every slash meant for Medea became her burden. Every attack that would have killed the Caster had to be intercepted, parried, absorbed by Lily's already-battered body.
At this moment, after barely repelling Shuten-douji's latest assault, Lily's hands wouldn't stop trembling. Her golden sword felt heavier than it ever had before. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest.
But it wasn't over yet.
Doing it poorly and not doing it at all are two different things.
Her duty was to hold the line until Max returned. Until support arrived.
So just as Medea opened her mouth to speak words of concern—
Lily steadied her stance.
She forced her trembling arms still.
And she raised her golden blade, pointing it directly at Shuten-douji, who was already charging straight at her once more.
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