This would be a scene that Cornell would remember for the rest of his life. Ivar was like the monster in his nightmare. He crawled out of the darkness little by little, trailing blood, shattering the limitations between dimensions, and appeared in person before Cornell.
He had never imagined that this guy in a wheelchair was so terrifying. Ivar had been hiding himself, and all these years of accumulation were for this day.
A heroic death.
Die standing like a Viking warrior.
Pain and death no longer threaten him because that is what he wants.
Nothing could stop him at this moment. Even the guards carrying the secret blood were no match for him. To be precise, Cornell should not have placed his hopes on them.
After all, the guards of the choir were implanted with stable secret blood. Its power was not as strong as that of the demon hunter, but at least it was stable enough that even a cowardly mortal heart could easily control it.
What you ask for, you must give.
Therefore, such mediocre secret blood can only bring strength slightly beyond that of ordinary people. Its power lies in its ability to create countless warriors who surpass ordinary people.
Such guys were no match for Ivar from the beginning. They possessed the secret blood, but they did not have the heart to control it, the heart of a lion, a heart that was not afraid of death.
"You lunatic! Do you know what you are doing? How many people will die because of this!"
Cornell himself found it ridiculous to say this. He was also one of the instigators of the war. But when the war really came, unlike the crazy Currie, he only felt fear and terror.
The so-called honor and merit are nothing more than words to decorate war, distorting the cruel and bloody truth into something acceptable to people.
He felt sick and nauseous at his own naive thoughts.
But this also proves that Cornell is an ordinary person, not a monster like Corey, Ivar or Lawrence. They are all monsters, driven by iron will and will do anything for that lofty goal.
"That's too childish, Cornel Garrel. You're going to be king. How can you say that?"
A calm voice came from under the dark face. Ivar was not mocking Cornell, but simply stating the facts calmly.
"Damn... How can there be people like you in the world?"
Cornell retreated in panic, holding the gun handle tightly with the only rational power left. He did not fire randomly. The remaining bullets were his only hope. If he ran out of bullets, he did not think he could defeat Ivar.
The guy in front of him is not an ordinary person at all. There is a mad lion heart in his broken body. The blood of Rodbrok remains in his body. The mad fighting ghost of his ancestor is leaning over him at this moment, taking him to the sacred Valhalla.
The hot and foul air was being inhaled and exhaled, and Ivar moved forward slowly, dragging his bloody knees. His movements were like crawling, but such ridiculous movements brought an uncontrollable sense of oppression, as if a steel barrier was advancing bit by bit, and it would crush everything that stood in its way.
"You crazy people are so hateful. Why?"
Cornell didn't understand. He simply couldn't comprehend the Vikings' beliefs.