Chapter 138
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 138
Chapter Title: Arena's Barbarian Warrior
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"This barbarian prick. Isn't he on way too much of a roll these days?"
Clink!
I clinked beer mugs with Kobson. Foam spilled over the rims. Kobson chugged his down in one go, his face flushed red as he grinned and let out a loud buuuurp! Every eye in the tavern turned our way in an instant.
"Ugh, don't belch so loud, you idiot!"
"Heh heh heh, how about that? Just like yours, right? Buuuurp!"
There was no point appealing to common sense with Kobson already deep in his cups. I ducked my head in embarrassment. People occasionally recognized me. They might even be whispering about the back of my head right now.
Buuuuurp!
"You fucking moron... And it's a belch, not a burp, you little shit."
"Burp?"
"Belch."
I downed my beer too. The cold carbonation didn't just wet my throat—it felt like it was blasting through. As expected of fantasy. The beer's taste was right up there with modern stuff. My stress slid down with it.
Don't imagine some medieval European swill.
This was the real deal, worth every coin.
"Hah! Anyway, thanks. Who'd have thought I'd be getting free drinks off a barbarian like you."
"Technically, you have a stake in it too. You introduced me to the gig in the first place."
"True enough."
I'd run into Kobson by chance and bought him a round to say thanks. I'd gotten permission from Cloudy first. She'd gone back to the inn alone. I had my arena pay for today, and nothing lined up tomorrow, so I could drink easy.
"Speaking of, I'm bummed we haven't partied up lately. Gone D-rank and ditching our old friendship? Abandoning friends—that's against barbarian code. Civilized folk never ditch their buddies."
"Wanna party? Level up already."
"Yeah, it's about time for my promotion anyway. Should happen soon."
Looking at his lanky build, hitting D-rank in the short term seemed a stretch. Rank was basically combat power; you couldn't ignore body class.
The highest rank a normal human could grind to with effort was D.
C-rank and up was 'superhuman' territory, wielding mana.
Superhumans rarely adventured. Anyone with mana power had options everywhere.
But this isekai was a world of people too. Some chased stable lives; others wanted freelance gigs on their whim. C-ranks and above were mostly that type—free-spirited psychos.
Winia probably too.
I knew zilch about her past, but a mage like her adventuring? Either personality or some reason.
"What bullshit. To promote, don't you gotta go back to Krasheim?"
"Huh? What're you on about?"
"Guilds in different cities don't know shit about your record here. Career resets when you hit Isvant. Reset."
Most of Kobson's experience was from Krasheim.
Switch cities, and your rank sticks but experience mostly resets. No internet; guilds didn't share E-rank personal deets in real-time.
"W-wait, Barbarian. Then how'd you promote?"
This guy hadn't even thought of that?
"Forgot the ogre bounty? That's basically why they bumped me up."
The ogre was huge. One-shot the EXP from E to D. Not E-rank work. Cloudy carried hard.
Back in Krasheim, I'd botched so many quests I was on demotion watch.
Every party had gimps.
Anyway, Krasheim creds didn't count in Isvant. Change cities, half your past launders. Guilds were sloppy.
Sloppy all around.
Everything looser than modern times.
Gulp.
Kobson chugged again. I called the server for two more beers and meat snacks. Used to quake at one beer; now I ordered bold.
This was growth.
"I see. But no sweat. I've got real skill. Rank's secondary; true power matters."
"Fucking right."
Spot on.
Took years, probably.
E to D usually took 2-3 years grinding. I was the outlier. Kobson post-Isvant? Long way.
"By your D, I'll be C."
"Barbarian prick at C? Impossible. Stick to your lane. Greed bites back."
C-rank? Who knew.
C needed mana—that supernatural energy. I knew jack about mana, no teacher either.
Some said innate; Cloudy knifed her way to awakening.
Post-natal possible then...
Ask our guildmaster?
She used mana too.
Not like silver bought mana easy, but a clue'd be gold. Might die here lifelong; better know mana.
"Barbarian. Another round?"
"You prick."
Kobson winked, mug empty in a flash.
"Hurry!"
"You got it!"
Pour, drink.
We pounded till wasted, then I headed to Cloudy.
It'd been ten arena check-ins already. About two months. Long yet short. I'd gone pro. Subclass Gladiator: Kim Katt.
Today, wrapping amid roaring cheers,
"Katt."
Durban approached, dead serious.
"Hm? Something up?"
"Katt, got a sweet offer for you..."
"Shoot."
Durban explained.
Nothing fancy. Tired of openers? Want real fame? More cash too. Chance for you.
TL;DR: Ditch openers for main event.
He pitched hard, like boss-ordered.
Offer time, huh.
Honey's finite; can't suck forever.
"Nah. Pass."
"That means perks... Huh? What?"
"No main events. Openers only."
I turned it down.
Two months was plenty. Offer meant end of line. Fun ride, but cut while clean.
"R-reject? Katt, opportunity! Didn't hear? Huge one! You could be a star! Rake in cash!"
"No main events. Ever."
I shut down his rant.
Arenas ain't games.
Funny from me, the joker, but arenas weren't kid stuff. No room for light hearts.
My mad rages? All act.
Not real me.
Audiences saw berserk warrior; truth? Kind, diligent, smart, nice, respected, fragile everyman.
Blood-and-guts 'real arena'? Hard no.
Main event too 'risky'. Openers let me rampage lowbie trash. Mains? Stake life.
Bones fly, flesh sprays. True warriors kill for gold, glory. No morals, ethics.
Kill, kill, die.
Money don't buy life; takes it fine.
Pass.
No itch for murder-hardened glads or chained boss mobs.
Sure, non-lethal bouts exist, but easy slide to deathmatches.
Durban bought the media barbarian myth. Act only. I was strong, sure—but national? Minnow.
He pressed post-reject.
"Can't... Katt. But you signed contract. Gotta do it. No choice. Contract! Your big break! Star!"
Suddenly contracts.
Hah, bullshit. Modern text-wall vet? Contract bluff like wrinkling a pupa.
Fantasy medievaler scamming Hel-Joseon grad Kim Katt with paper?
"What crap? Contract says 'openers only'. Durban. Don't mistake my act. Writing test? I'd smoke you. No contract cons."
"..."
I'd pored over that contract for scams.
No danger clauses.
Safe lowbie slaughter only.
Talking sparked murder vibe.
But I restrain.
Friend-of-friend, my friend.
"Friends, so one pass. Try again? Die, prick."
I snarled, face twisted. He flinched.
He mumbled, then:
"...Katt. Opportunity. Bigger stage!"
Incentive bribe?
"Death wish. Barbarians pick winnables. Mirkesa way. No losers."
I pick no-hopers. Arena buds higher level. Full gear might die; house gear? Nah.
Ask maso-Katt.
No such soul.
"Deal done. No extension. Barbarian Hero Kim Katt retires. Mom calls home for dinner."
"W-wait!"
I ignored Durban, strode out.
One match left.
Grand retirement bout.
Fun while lasted. Rare stress vent. But offer killed it.
Can't linger post-reject.
Next match: finale.