An exquisite flower that has been dyed red. It represents the qualities of the Berserker.

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In the days before the berserker descended into madness, he would sometimes pause in the rose garden for a moment to himself.

He had never had a family, nor had he a lover, or a friend.

When he was not on the battlefield, he would come here to tend to the fragile flowers in the garden with all his heart, as if the crimson flowers buried in the thorns were the only warmth he could cling to.

An indigo feather from a legendary raven, part of which has been dyed crimson red.

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The once-sane berserker's homeland fell victim to the raging war between gods and mortals.

The rose garden burst into flames and birds of omen fed on the flesh of his countrymen.

Reborn in flames, vengeance and bloodlust took over the warrior's mind, turning him into a berserker.

Black feathers, scattered on the battlefield, were painted red by his rage as he took his revenge.

An instrument with an eternal flow that continues mercilessly within, reminding the Berserker of the limited time he has left — both on the battlefield as well as in the world.

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The end inevitably comes for all, even the seemingly invincible berserker.

As the blood on his hands finally dried up, the berserker's footsteps began to falter.

His life was destined to end the moment he met his last challenge in the battlefield.

On the battlefield where blood flowed like rivers, his hourglass was painted red by the setting sun. 

A goblet made from the bone of an unknown beast. It was taken as a trophy after some deadly encounter.

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The bloodthirsty berserker ravaged the lands, fighting humans and monsters alike, and even challenged the gods.

In a barren and lifeless land, he encountered a giant monster.

His iron mask could not conceal his rage, and so an endless fight ensued.

Hours, days, and years passed. The monster was finally defeated.

The berserker sucked out the marrow of the monster's broken horn. This was how the victor drank to his success.

A hideous iron mask that has been left half-shattered from vicious battles.

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Bathed in the flames that devoured his homeland, the berserker's face was no longer recognizable.

The iron mask became joined with his flesh, permanently branding his face with a heartless countenance.

Then, in a fierce battle, his horrifying mask was split into two by his opponent.

The cracks of the mask tore apart the flesh that had long stuck to it.

But neither pain nor blood could stop the berserker's unfaltering footsteps.

The berserker kept roaring until the fresh blood covered the black clots hardened on his face.