The Bomb That Went Off
On Earth, nomadic alcohol was typically a fermented brew made from the milk of livestock such as horses, sheep, or camels.
Here in the Origin World, however, the nomads fermented their liquor from the milk of a thoroughly bizarre, grotesque beast known as the belteogeo. Nor did its usefulness stop at drink—the belteogeo was a creature that left behind zero waste.
Its dense, tough fur and lush plumage went into crafting garments, armor, saddles, and tents. Its absurdly thick layers of fat served as daily sustenance for the tribes; its bones formed the structural frames of their yurts or were carved into ornaments, while its horns and sinews were strung into bows and bowstrings. Though slower than a horse, it could be mounted in a pinch, possessed a remarkably docile temperament, and thrived almost anywhere by literally grazing on dirt, requiring no maintenance whatsoever.
To call it an all-purpose beast was an understatement. It seemed as though it had been born into this world for the sole purpose of being exploited by mortals.
"...Hmm. Looking at it up close, it really is a bit hideous."
Curiously enough, whenever a belteogeo was brought into certain nations or cities, it would sicken and waste away until it died. To this day, no one in the world had managed to deduce why.
Of course, having memorized the game's lore setting book, I knew the reason down to the letter.
"Kwoo, gurgle...?"
A chimeric beast created for the nomads by the Beast God Kubel after he lost a wager to a certain mortal barbarian warrior—that was the belteogeo. Bearing the body of a cow, the head of a pig, the wings of a chicken, and the tongue of an anteater, it was an organism sustained purely through divine authority. The moment it crossed outside the boundaries where that divine authority held sway, it had no choice but to perish.
"You've got it rough too, haven't you?"
"Gurgle...?"
Letting out a peculiar, rumbling squeal through its chubby porcine snout, the belteogeo tilted its head. Watching its dopey, innocent confusion, it struck me as oddly endearing despite its colossal mass.
"So this is where you were, O Incarnation."
"...Latipi?"
Turning toward the excessively reverent voice, I found Latipi bowing with one hand pressed gracefully against her chest. Petite and dainty as she was, she was undeniably charming... yet her suffocating adherence to formality made me feel burdened, as if I were somehow obligated to mind my own manners in return.
"What's going on?"
"Well... Chieftain Tsarkhella is searching for you, Incarnation."
"Is she?"
I had slipped away precisely because I didn't want to rub shoulders with sweaty barbarian warriors, nor did I have any urge to dispel the lingering dread and awkwardness they held toward me. Most of all, I wanted to dodge the peculiar, heavy stares from Weller, Lira, and the others. And yet, here they were, summoning me back already.
...To be honest, I had half-expected Weller or Lira to track me down first while I was off on my own like this.
"Sigh... Fine. I'll head back."
"Yes, my lord."
"What about the rest of the gang? Are they having fun at the festival?"
"They are."
"Hmm. Seems they hit it off surprisingly well. Well, it's not like barbarian warriors are the type to hold petty grudges..."
If anything, barbarians were such an open-hearted, boisterous lot that once you earned their respect, you couldn't ask for better drinking buddies. It was just that in my case, with all the unspoken suspicions hovering over my head, I couldn't afford to be so carefree.
"...And you? Having a good time?"
"I am... yes. Very much so."
Seeing right through her strained smile, I let out a dry chuckle. Perhaps elves and barbarian warriors just didn't mix on a cultural level. Not that I particularly cared to analyze it.
"Oh, by the way, Latipi."
"Yes. Speak, my lord."
"Stop calling me 'Incarnation' from now on. Just call me Alzen."
"...Understood."
Her expression clouded with conflicted hesitation for an instant, but she soon offered a quiet nod.
"What's with the face? Something bothering you?"
"No. It is... nothing at—well..." Trailing off into troubled silence, she cast a hesitant, searching glance my way. "Um..."
"What is it? Spit it out."
"...P-Please forgive my insolence, but..."
"Why would you need forgiveness?"
"I heard everything you said during your duel with Tsarkhella."
"...Did you now?"
I had anticipated as much from the party's stiff reactions earlier, but evidently the barrier raised by Kubel's authority hadn't blocked the sound. And if Latipi had overheard... that meant everyone else had heard it too.
"Haah..."
My temples throbbed with an immediate headache. It was a bomb bound to detonate eventually, but how in the world was I supposed to explain this to Nemeth and Arpe?
Weller and Lira posed an even nastier dilemma. Until now, Weller had maintained an unspoken pact never to openly verify or confront the fact that I was an entirely different soul rather than Stanasila Alzen. But having heard me lay it bare in plain words, there was nowhere left to run.
And among the entire party, Lira was probably in the deepest shock. She had been completely in the dark about everything concerning my identity.
"..."
Come to think of it, Vivian was a massive problem too. How on earth had she interpreted my exchange with Tsarkhella?
"Sigh..."
I might genuinely need to brace for the absolute worst-case scenario. Perhaps the reason Weller and Lira hadn't approached me while I stood alone was because they, too, were grappling with those very thoughts.
"So? What of it?"
"Well..."
"Does it bother you? Knowing a completely different person is stuffed inside this body?"
"What?! N-No! That is not it at all! Never!" Flustered beyond belief, she frantically waved both hands while shaking her head, stammering in a desperate rush. "I-I only wished to ask... if I might be permitted to address you by your true name, Incarnation!"
"...My true name? What, Kang Han-gil?"
"Y-Yes! Could I please call you by that name?"
"I don't really care, but... no, wait, bad idea. Just stick to Alzen."
"Ugh... Y-Yes... Understood."
Watching her instantly droop like a wilted flower, I let out a light laugh.
"Don't make that face. I'm not trying to distance myself from you. It's just that things will get messy if my true identity leaks out."
"Ah... is that so? M-Mm, I see. I understand completely. I was being thoughtless." Pondering for a brief second, she timidly leaned in. "Then... when it is just the two of us, like this, may I call you Lord Kang Han-gil?"
"That's fine. By the way, Kang is my family name and Han-gil is my given name, so just call me Han-gil."
"Yes! Lord Han-gil!"
Her face bloomed into a smile so dazzling and joyful that my hand moved on instinct, gently patting her hair.
"Haah, mmn...!"
If she had possessed a tail, it would have been wagging fast enough to take flight.
The festival grounds were loud, rowdy, and overflowing with energy. Heavy, primal drums and crude pipes thundered through the night while everyone guzzled belteogeo liquor, shouting and bantering in high spirits.
True to barbarian traditions, drunken warriors at the heart of the camp were locked in never-ending bouts of combat.
"Gwahahaha! Bring it on, you bastards!"
"Too soft! Your fists are like wet rags!"
Whether one could reasonably define a spectacle that sent spatters of blood and chunks of meat flying as a mere "sparring match" was up for debate, but aside from that rather visceral display, the festival carried a remarkably festive atmosphere.
My companions were also finding ways to enjoy the night.
Muriel, Rebecca, and Wendy sat grouped together sharing cups; Nemeth, Lira, and Cacciola were having a blast sparring against the barbarian warriors; Vivian and Cecilia trotted dutifully behind Weller as she inspected the various tribal stalls; Arpe watched a barbarian playing a stringed instrument with rapt fascination; and Lampon Pashtra sat right beside me, practically vacuuming up food and drink as though absorbing them straight into her frame.
"Pheeew..."
Yet, the occasional glances cast in my direction—tangled with worry, suspicion, apprehension, and unease—kept my stomach tied in knots.
Still, watching over the whole gathering, I raised my bowl and drank. The liquor brewed from belteogeo milk tasted downright magnificent. A thick, snowy-white liquid devoid of a single head of foam, it carried a dense, creamy texture, yet slid down the throat astonishingly clean without the slightest greasy residue or fishy taint.
The varieties were impressively broad, too. There were clear spirits distilled directly from the fermented milk, as well as infused liquors aged in earthen jars containing whole vipers, hornets, wild berries, or pungent medicinal roots.
"Downing it fast, aren't you? Suits your palate?"
"Hm? Ah... yeah. It's damn good."
Sauntering up beside me, Tsarkhella shoved a massive wooden platter heaped with steaming meat right into my face. Glancing past her, I noticed several barbarian warriors sneaking excited, wide-eyed looks in our direction.
"...I really didn't need this kind of special treatment, you know."
"Hm? What are you babbling about? Don't just guzzle alcohol, eat some meat to go with it! It's ridiculously delicious."
"Hmm, is this belteogeo meat too?"
"You bet. A delicacy you'd never get to taste in the Empire."
"..."
Picking up a thick cut of meat that resembled boiled pork belly, I popped it into my mouth.
"...Oh."
A rich, savory wave of umami flooded my palate like a burst of pure indulgence. What made it truly mind-boggling was that the meat didn't taste of just one animal. With every chew, notes of succulent pork, tender chicken, and rich beef bloomed across the tongue, accented by the delicate sweetness of fresh fish. The flavor was so naturally harmonious that I let out an involuntary scoff of disbelief. I could state without an ounce of exaggeration that this single slice was the most delicious piece of meat I had ever tasted across both my past life on Earth and my current one.
"You didn't put any fancy seasoning on this, did you?"
"Nope. Just plain boiled belteogeo meat."
"What a miraculous beast... Kubel really knocked it out of the park with this one."
"...Huh? What's that supposed to mean? Why bring up Lord Kubel all of a sudden?"
Seeing Tsarkhella's expression instantly harden, I waved a dismissive hand.
"I'm not mocking him, it's pure, heartfelt praise. As you know, the belteogeo is a livestock breed personally crafted by Kubel, right? So—"
"Wh-Whaaaaat?! The belteogeo was created by Lord Kubel himself?! Is that true?!"
Her high-pitched screech tore straight through the bustling festival like a javelin.
"...What?"
"What did the Grand Chieftain just shout?!"
The boisterous instruments instantly screeched to a halt, and every pair of eyes in the plaza locked onto the two of us.
"...You guys didn't know?"
"How could we possibly know that?! None of the ancient written records survived!"
Ah, I suppose that made sense. Given the volatile nature of nomadic history, preserving intricate texts across countless generations would have been next to impossible.
"Is that really true?! You're not just pulling that out of thin air?!"
"Why the hell would I invent something like that?"
"Then how on earth do you... W-Wait a second! Come to think of it, the rumors! There were whispers claiming you were a prophet or a divine incarnation—were those stories actually true?!"
"I wouldn't call myself that, but I happen to know a fair amount."
"...D-Do you know other things too?!"
"Other things? Like what?"
"The ancient myths of Lord Kubel! Things Lord Kubel forged that survived down to this day!"
"...I know a few. Like the exact process of how the belteogeo was brought into existence..."
"Tell me! Right now! Hey! Get over here! Move it!"
Her eyes ablaze with raw fervor, Tsarkhella threw up a hand and aggressively snapped her fingers toward someone across the camp.
A man who appeared remarkably frail by barbarian standards—looking as though his big three gym lifts would barely crack 500 kilos tops—came sprinting over at full tilt, frantically fumbling with parchment and ink.
"...Who's this?"
"Our scribe! I've been putting considerable effort into this sort of statecraft lately."
"Well, I'll be damned..."
I stared dumbfoundedly at the panting scribe. I had known that Tsarkhella was destined to unite the tribes and reign as queen of a unified barbarian kingdom, but I hadn't expected her to be laying the institutional groundwork this early on.
"Now, out with it! How was the belteogeo created?"
"Hmm. Well, you see..."
Reaching into my memories of the setting lore, I began spinning a grand, sweeping saga about a lone, wandering barbarian warrior who undertook the trials of the Beast God Kubel to save the starving nomads struggling across the barren wastes.
Yet, as the tale unfolded, more and more barbarian warriors began shuffling closer. Before long, they had coalesced into a massive, suffocating wall of muscle, sniffling and bawling their eyes out like overgrown children.
Man. Any mood I had left for drinking completely evaporated.