Roaring Heroes Battle the Overlord (Ainz) - Part 1 (Chapters 1 to 200)

Chapter 77: The Avenger

In the hall, red candle flames flickered, illuminating a mountain-like towering figure.

The figure stood on the marble floor, his rugged adamantite armor unable to hide his bulging, powerful muscles. Just looking at his back, you could feel an oppressive force like a mountain peak crumbling down. If you circled around to his front, you'd be completely overwhelmed by his brutal and vicious expression.

He was a pure warrior, a savage fighter. And now, the frozen rage in his eyes was about to erupt like fire, his massive fists like warhammers clenched tight, knuckles cracking as if ready to crush something to bits.

Before him, a cold corpse with intact limbs but a twisted face and disheveled hair lay on the equally cold stone floor.

The corpse's cheek looked like it had been smacked hard by a titanic bear, with mouth and eyes all crooked, nose bridge shattered, purple lips that wouldn't close slightly parted, and one eyeball bulging out of its socket, oddly reminding you of a squished putty doll with its head crushed.

The facial wounds were so gruesome that they made you overlook the sword wound piercing the corpse's chest. The stab went straight from the front through the heart and out the back, the blood already clotted, staining the shirt and leather armor a bloody red.

Facing the corpse, the mountain-like burly warrior suddenly dropped to his knees, his heavy body and the weight of his adamantite armor slamming into the ground. As his knees hit, they shattered the stone floor, sending stone dust flying and leaving two shallow craters.

He stared at the corpse's twisted face, the anger in his eyes suddenly shifting to endless grief. He reached out his battle-axe-like, calloused hand and gently stroked the corpse's face, murmuring, "Brother..."

After a long moment, he stood up, the sorrow in his gaze fully forged into a towering fury, his eyes blood-red and veined, like lava was flowing through them. These were no ordinary human eyes—they were more like those of a vengeful tiger or a starving dire wolf.

In the hall, several iron-armored soldiers with swords all turned their gazes away at the same time, not one daring to meet his eyes.

A bald, short man in black formal attire cautiously scurried to his side, stammering nervously, "Lord Slam, please calm down a little. We all understand your pain, but..."

The bald short man's words weren't even finished when the warrior known as Slam, without so much as a glance, swung a sideways punch. The short guy in black formal attire went flying, crashing into the corner of the fireplace, his face drenched in blood, and he fell silent.

Slam's mountain-like towering body stepped over the corpse on the ground, yanking a thick, broad-bladed giant sword from the rack on the wall. The cold blade was etched with blood-colored pine needle patterns, like a glacier soaked through with blood.

As he drew the sword, he let out a thunderous roar!

"EEDECHI! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!"

Slam gripped the blood-patterned giant sword tight in one hand and strode out of the hall. He crushed the wooden threshold underfoot with a single step, and not one of the surrounding guards dared to block him.

An old, feeble voice came from behind him. "Slam, stop. Don't stir up trouble. That adventurer can die anytime, but before that, we have more important things to do."

The voice was pale and weak, like the murmur of some gravely ill old man slumped on a sickbed, carrying no emotional ripple, nor a hint of magic.

But Slam Daguerre froze. He halted, standing outside the hall, breathing in great gulps, his chest rising and falling as if to quell the raging storm of anger inside him.