Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Great Warrior Ivar (1)
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It must have been titled Water Held in the Withered Flower. No doubt about it. But so much time has passed now that even the title feels hazy in my memory.
The original novel mostly dealt with major events involving the imperial family and great nobles, or their heirs. It barely mentioned peripheral territories like the Shratma fiefdom on the border, let alone the barbarians living even farther out.
The emperor's decree imposing harsh punishments for any dealings with outsiders beyond the borders. The Northern Defense Army's insular nature, born of their fear of shamans' curses. And sandwiched between steppe warriors who neither took prisoners nor needed to—after living among them for over ten years, I'd only just realized the situation this late.
Fortunately, it didn't take long to recover from the shock. The city shamans, seeing me sitting there dazed and soaked, muttered among themselves that I needed another dip.
"Alright, down you go~!"
"I'm back to my senses! Let me go."
"Ah, Ivar's back!"
They say water holds the answers. But plunging into a transparently clear icy lake in midwinter—not once, but twice—was an experience even a battle-hardened veteran like me never wanted to repeat.
A few days after returning to the village like that.
As I was treating the wound inflicted by the Winter Witch—correction, Serath—I was summoned by Grak.
"Ivar. Tomorrow, there's a gathering of the tribes at the Great Rock Mountain in the vast plain."
"I know."
After a war ended, the elders of each tribe would convene representatives from their people. It was a celebration of successful plunder, but also a venue for rewarding merits.
These affairs had always been left to Harald. The food never suited my taste, and more importantly, encountering women from other tribes inevitably meant turning down their advances.
Right now, I needed time alone. Another explosive growth spurt. The sixth rune had only recently settled into my body, so I needed to consolidate my Ancestral Power... but honestly, that was just an excuse.
I had to recall as much as possible from Water Held in the Withered Flower, shortened to "WitherWater" as I called it. With no paper or pen here, all I could rely on was my memory.
But Grak informed me I had to attend this gathering.
"Go with Harald. I'll lend you my 'Karangal'."
"Why?"
"In the entire history of the steppes, where stars merely pass by, only two warriors have ever inscribed six runes upon their bodies."
This was a matter of utmost importance, directly tied to my survival so far and the path ahead. But Grak's reason for sending me to the gathering was equally vital.
"The tribe's elders plan to acclaim you as a Great Warrior at this one."
The steppe tribes didn't give magic beasts proper names. Instead, they used metaphorical expressions based on their appearance or behavior.
The sole exception was the Karangal, the only one called by a unique noun. Tameable due to its sycophantic nature of clinging to those stronger than itself, this magic beast resembled a horse with six legs. Where a head should be on its severed neck, it held a pocket of darkness for storing weapons—making it invaluable for transport and combat. Up close, it was kinda cute, too.
"Screee—!"
Riding the beast with its peculiar cry, I arrived at the Great Rock Mountain. The entrance was piled high with spoils plundered from the fortress city.
"Look, it's the Red Ghost Ivar."
"Ivar, vanquisher of the Winter Witch, has arrived."
Awe filled the eyes turned my way. No one was unaware that my binding of the Winter Witch had enabled us to haul away that mountain of goods intact.
As I tried to slip inside to avoid the burdensome stares, a group of warriors approached. One of them, like a starstruck fangirl meeting her crush, shyly extended his weapon while flexing his watermelon-sized muscles.
"I'm Helga of the Pushunka Tribe."
"I'm Ivar. What's this about?"
"I'd like you to leave your tooth marks on the handle of this club."
"......"
"I want to pass down this weapon, marked by the trace of a man who will become a Great Warrior, as a family heirloom."
This is madness. So if I become a Great Warrior, this kind of hassle will follow me endlessly?
Rubbing my aching molars, I entered the tent. The surprisingly spacious interior held two round tables.
"Ivar! You made it!"
"Harald's in the john for a bit! Ivar, your seat's at the inner circle."
After light greetings with the Raggedfoot Brothers, I took my seat as guided. The meeting began shortly after. They distributed food and necessities based on merits, then got down to business.
Harald, who had been behind me, rose with a pot-lid-sized fist planted on the table.
"I, Harald, son of Black Tusk Hapal and chieftain of the Stonegar Tribe, hereby nominate Ivar Gorgonoff, our tribe's young warrior, as Ishkar's proxy in this gathering."
Ishkar, the war god worshipped by all steppe tribes except wandering shamans. Becoming his proxy meant being chosen as a Great Warrior.
To earn the title of Great Warrior required qualifications. The first was recognition from every tribe in the alliance.
"Ivar, called the Red Ghost, dominated the battlefield. He never let a single enemy escape, nor abandoned a comrade to flee."
"Without him, we couldn't have seized food from the Winter Witch—we'd have watched countless families starve."
"He led the charge against magic beasts threatening our settlements and never claimed more than his share. He is the very model of a warrior following Ishkar's will."
"He left tooth marks on my weapon, too."
Starting with Harald's speech, representatives from each tribe added their positive word about me. The last one was a bit contrived, but whatever.
Half was due to my reputation and skills, of course. The other half came from Harald's standing. Allied tribes bound by blood to him naturally wanted me as Great Warrior.
Conversely, a minority opposed it, as expected.
"Thus, to bring glory once more to our steppe tribes, we acclaim Ivar as Great Warrior."
"......"
"Any with grievances, step forward."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a hulking warrior approached my round table. I was tall myself, but this guy towered a head above me.
I'd never seen him on the battlefield—was he fresh from his Coming-of-Age Rite? As an elder tried to restrain the young-looking man, he bellowed.
"Vigo! Sit down!"
"If I'd been in the combat unit, I'd have taken down the Winter Witch in one shot!"
"You brat...! You're still green! I told you to wait till next year!"
"Shut up!"
It reminded me of my first battlefield outing with Harald. Of course, I hadn't been this cocky back then.
"Hey, I don't listen to weaklings weaker than me."
The young warrior called Vigo slapped a hand on my shoulder like he was picking a fight.
"If you want the Great Warrior title, prove right now who's stron—"
Crack—!
Before he finished, his nose exploded in blood as he toppled backward.
Everyone's approval was required. Any means allowed, and it wasn't coincidence there were clubs on the table.
I'd obliged his wish for an immediate fight—was it too sudden?
I scanned the few warriors who'd half-risen awkwardly, then asked.
"Anyone else want to test me?"
"A true Great Warrior isn't just born with brute strength, Ivar. What creature has two legs in the morning, four at noon, and six at evening?"
"A warrior who finds an injured comrade on the battlefield and carries him back."
"Good heavens... You truly have the qualifications!"
"Hmph, if you really have the makings of a Great Warrior, you should commune with magic beasts too. Not that a newbie like you, riding a Karangal for the first time today, could possibly control my beloved steed..."
"Want to run? Hyah, let's go."
"Screee—!"
"Satchpi! No, give me back my Satchpi!"
The Naftha Tribe was blessed with Ancestral Power for taming magic beasts. After commandeering Kara the chieftain's daughter's Karangal for a merry night ride, I spotted Harald on the way back.
He was at the foot of the Great Rock Mountain where the gathering was held, picking out a magic beast skull for his wife Olgen. As I gripped the reins to ascend, he stopped me.
"Brother."
"What's up, brother?"
"Why are you so strong?"
"Me?"
Pie in the sky talk.
"Ivar is stronger than anyone on the steppes. Yet you always downplay yourself."
"......"
"Even today, you acted like you only came because Grak asked. Don't you want to be Great Warrior?"
So that's what he really wanted to ask. I sighed and dismounted the Karangal.
"I'm no elder or chieftain. I have no interest in a position gained through others' trust."
"But..."
"To call oneself great requires matching qualifications, no? In my view, I'm still lacking."
I'd only just caught up to Serath's level. Sure, that alone would floor most powerhouses on the continent, but greater threats lurked in this world.
Becoming Great Warrior wasn't enough. In this cursed land, where youths sacrificed themselves to raid castles or famine claimed countless lives, upending the system demanded far greater power.
Now, breathing the crisp dawn air and sorting my thoughts, I could envision the path.
Hunt down every "Lord" in this land. Restore the barren plains to their original state.
Whether it was feasible was unknown. I recalled it failing even in the original story.
There was a reason "WitherWater" was called a flop. After society intrigue and romance, a top-tier magic beast suddenly rampages and dooms the continent? Even trash needs limits.
Difficult, but necessary. Harald, realizing my grand ambition, respected my choice without further questions.
"Understood. If that's what Ivar wants, we'll discuss it again next year. I'll handle the elders..."
"Harald! Ivar! Big trouble!"
"What's wrong, Raggedfoot?"
The twin brothers who'd once told me about the Crawling Fire habitat years ago looked more terrified than ever.
Pointing in the same direction in unison, they announced an anomaly on the steppes.
"Go to the shamans."
"The sun's past due but hasn't risen. It's been like this since just now...!"