Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Translator: Penny
Chapter 2
Barbaroi 1
The departure was more boisterous than expected.
Agron could only bid farewell after all the tribe members, including those who had been out hunting, had gathered.
"The warrior's land is forged from sword and shield."
"Our blood is the price of rest, and death is but another journey."
Agron pressed his forehead against each tribe member's, exchanging these words like shared breaths.
The tribe members closed their eyes and embraced Agron's head or shoulders as he pressed his forehead against theirs.
The ritual was simple yet profoundly solemn and earnest.
Word by word, breath by breath, they intertwined, forming a comforting bond.
"Farewell, friend."
"Thank you, White Bison. May you stay well."
Finally, Agron stood before Dumurka.
Agron noticed the snow-white frost in Dumurka's hair and the wrinkles etched by time.
When they first met, Dumurka had seemed like a middle-aged man, but now his face had aged into that of an elder approaching old age.
Agron spoke first.
"The warrior's land is forged by sword and—"
"Damn disciple, don't die."
"Your answer differs slightly from what others have said."
"Hmph, direct assistance matters more than empty words."
Dumurka picked up the worn bag he had placed on the floor and handed it to Agron.
As Agron took the bag, he realized it was surprisingly heavy.
"What's this...?"
"It's the 'upkeep money' your parents sent me every month."
"I thought they only sent letters?"
Though Dumurka occasionally sent clothes, food, or books, this was the first time I'd heard he'd ever provided separate child support.
"I sent quite a large sum with instructions to take good care of you. Take it and use it."
"But that money was meant for you, Master."
"I already recouped all that and more while raising you. You brought in several times more game than anyone else."
Dumurka chuckled, forcing back his tears and speaking in a nonchalant tone. He felt utterly relieved that his troublesome disciple was finally leaving.
"Well, I thought so too. I do the work of five men, after all."
"Can't you at least say 'No, I don't' even as a formality?"
"No."
"You little brat...! So your answer is 'Thank you,' right?"
"Don't mention it."
"Not me! You should be thanking me!"
One good thing about raising Agron was that Dumurka never had to worry about collapsing from low blood pressure.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Dumurka barely suppressed the urge to slap his disciple's face one last time.
I should have beaten him senseless when I had the chance.
Now that Agron had grown stronger, Dumurka couldn't even use lessons as an excuse to hit him anymore.
"Master..." Agron called out in a muffled voice.
Seeing how dejected Agron looked, Dumurka instinctively knew this was their final farewell.
Waving his hand dismissively, Dumurka opened his mouth. Any more conversation and he might actually burst into tears.
"Enough. I'm not in the mood for sentimental talk now. Just go. I enjoyed our time together too."
"It's not that..."
"What is it then?"
"I was wondering if you had anything more to give me."
"Get lost! Now!"
With that less-than-graceful farewell to his tribe, Agron departed from his second home.
On the outskirts of the Snow Spirit Labyrinth, where the merciless winter winds fell like a baptism of cold.
Agron strode forward, his elk-hide cloak battling the relentless gusts.
Whoosh!
The northern gale showed no mercy, unleashing its final trial upon the departing traveler.
The Northern Demonic Realm, notorious for driving even atheists to humbly seek divine intervention, wrapped the elk hide in icy tendrils, as if freezing every cell of his skin.
A chill that transcended mere cold, bordering on the terrifying.
"What a mild day," Agron remarked. "Perfect for hanging laundry."
Yet Agron felt no cold at all.
In fact, he was slightly warm, loosening the tightly fastened elk hide.
Such weather posed no challenge to a member of the Winter Forest Keepers tribe.
Dumurka had originally offered Agron a dog sled to ride, but Agron refused.
With no way of knowing what lay ahead, he couldn't afford to travel with multiple dogs and a sled.
How much further had they walked?
"The perpetual snow is ending."
The snowfield, which had divided the world into white and non-white, finally relinquished its icy grip, revealing a landscape interwoven with vegetation.
Having lived in the Snow Spirit Labyrinth for nearly a decade without ever venturing outside, Agron had never seen a world without snow.
A world without snow...
As the scenery, which had existed only in his earliest memories, materialized before him, an indescribable, strange emotion surged within him.
"This is just the beginning."
Agron stepped onto the snowless field, a grin spreading across his face.
Crisp sunlight sliced through the frigid air, biting through the gaps between the leaves in the winter forest.
Agron leisurely strolled through the woods, his elk hide bundled in a pack. With each movement, his sweat-drenched, taut muscles rippled, exuding an intimidating presence.
"It's surprisingly warm," he remarked, tying his long hair back to cool his flushed body despite the breath-fogging chill. Having lived only in frigid regions, temperatures above -10°C felt sweltering to him.
"Hmm, this must be Blue Moss Herb. It has that faint fishy scent just like the book described."
Agron crouched down, holding a book in one hand as he compared the clustered plants on the ground to the illustrations.
The moment knowledge became reality was an indescribably thrilling experience for him.
How fascinating and exhilarating! There's nothing quite like seeing what you've read in books come to life before your eyes and truly understanding it firsthand.
The people often referred to as barbarians lived by instinct.
While some tribes pursued only primal pleasures, Agron's tribe, the Winter Forest Keepers, was a warrior tribe that valued harmony with nature above all else.
Within his tribe, he had thoroughly learned the warrior's mindset, the importance of nature, and the cultivation of a strong body.
Dumurka always said the world is vast and knowledge is infinite. He insisted that you can't truly grasp everything from books alone.
Among all the nearby tribes, only Dumurka had ventured beyond the Great Snowfield, crossed the Kingdom, traveled through the Empire, and even reached other continents.
As he hacked his way through the forest, avoiding established paths, a strange sight caught his eye: an overturned carriage, a terrified horse, and several men surrounding a woman.
"Hmm."
Leaving the flustered men behind, Agron quickly flipped through another book. Then, with the relaxed expression of someone who had just grasped a crucial insight, he opened his mouth and said, "Carry on."
"Ah..."
"Uh, yes..."
The men responded with bewildered expressions.
As Agron tried to pass by, the woman surrounded by the men cried out, "Wait! Just a moment! Wait!"
"Hmm?"
"No, please... help me!"
"Help me...?" Agron tilted his head, repeating the request. "Shouldn't I be avoiding interfering right now? You seem to be enjoying yourselves."
"What kind of enjoyment is this?!"
"That's odd. The book described it differently."
A group of men and women intertwined, leering with sinister smiles. The air was thick with coarse moans, and the surroundings were in utter disarray... - From [ A Glimpse into the Culture of City Dwellers ]
Agron scratched his head awkwardly.
It seemed his Master was right—the reality was quite different from what the books described.
"What kind of help do you need?"
"Can't you see?! These men...!"
"Hey, can't you see the numbers? Get lost!"
One of the men surrounding the woman brandished a short knife, his eyes flashing with menace.
In truth, any third party who appeared during a robbery should be killed immediately. But when that third party was a Barbaroi, a barbarian wandering shirtless through the winter forest, the rules changed.
The robbers tacitly hoped this muscular youth would simply pass by, so they avoided making unnecessary noise.
"Don't try to be brave in front of the woman. Just get lost!"
"Ah, so this is the legendary robbery I've heard so much about! How... interesting."
"What...?"
Agron's gleeful remark made the surrounding men exchange glances, their eyes asking, Is this guy crazy?
"Or would you like to join in the fun, brother?"
"Doesn't look particularly fun to me."
"You crazy barbarian bastard! Then just get lost!"
This world operates on the principle of survival of the fittest.
While the woman's plight was regrettable, it didn't create any obligation or justification for Agron to help her.
Agron's decision to act stemmed from two reasons:
First, he was curious about the skills of outsiders.
Second, he resented their contempt for his tribe.
"Barbarians, huh?"
Agron strode toward them, his muscular frame crisscrossed with scars both large and small.
"Hey... what's this?! You wanna go?!"
The man with the short sword lunged forward, thrusting his blade.
It was a reasonably sharp surprise attack, but utterly ineffective against Agron.
The sluggish, flailing strike was so slow it made Agron yawn. The attacker's balance and posture were worse than those of a three-year-old child from the Winter Forest Keepers tribe.
This was precisely why Agron couldn't see this situation as a robbery in need of assistance.
With skills this pathetic, they dare call themselves robbers?
Even a random woman from a tribe in the Great Snowfield could easily defeat such a bandit.
He seized the bandit's outstretched arm and yanked it back while simultaneously striking upward with his other hand, his palm slamming into the man's jaw.
Crack!
A gruesome sound echoed as the man's neck snapped halfway through, blood gushing from the wound.
"Wh-what happened...?"
The other bandits gasped at the unbelievable sight.
A person's neck could be severed like that with a single palm strike, not even a punch?
"This Barbaroi bastard dares to harm my comrade...!"
"Barbaroi," Agron repeated, understanding the meaning of the word.
Barbaroi (βάρβαροι), also known as "dog-barking people."
This word evolved into the term "Barbarian," used by people in other regions to refer to uncivilized tribes.
"Strange. I thought I hadn't given myself away. How did they figure it out?"
"It's obvious at a glance, you Barbaroi bastard!"
The spear-wielding man charged at him, swinging his weapon.
Agron merely shifted his foot to deflect the attack, then grabbed the spear shaft and yanked it sharply, throwing his opponent off balance. He followed through with a brutal kick to the man's chest.
Thwack!
The sound was like a bear's paw striking, and the man flew backward over ten meters.
"Ugh... huff...!"
He staggered to his feet, clutching his chest, then coughed up blood and collapsed again.
"K-kill him!"
Seeing two of their comrades bleed to death in quick succession, the bandits charged in a frenzy.
They prided themselves on being as skilled at killing as anyone.
After all, there's no match for a gang beating, right?
Jagged swords, axes, and morning stars swung in unison.
Clang!
But the clumsy amateur swings tangled and collided, failing to reach their target. Agron seized the opportunity.
He grabbed the hand of the man wielding the morning star and struck the outside of his elbow with his palm, shattering the joint and seizing the weapon.
"Ugh!"
"Shut up."
Crack!
The sound of a watermelon being crushed echoed as the morning star smashed the man's skull.
"W-wait, pl—!"
"I-I was forced to—!"
Crack! Crack!
With an impassive expression, Agron systematically crushed the bandits' heads one by one.
"Eek!"
The last remaining bandit dropped his weapon and fled in the opposite direction.
"A disgrace to warriors," Agron clicked his tongue, hurling his morning star at the fleeing figure. The spiked ball pierced cleanly through the bandit's torso.
He tore a piece of cloth from one of the fallen bandits and wiped the blood from his face and body.
Approaching the woman, he asked, "Now that I've helped you, we're done here, right?"
"Ah... Th-thank you..."
"Then I'll be going."
"W-wait!"
The woman sprang to her feet and grabbed Agron's arm as he turned to leave.
Until she witnessed Agron's brutal slaughter of the bandits, she had feared she would suffer a similar fate at his hands.
A Barbaroi!
Agron, however, greeted her more politely than any mercenary or adventurer she had ever encountered and turned to leave.
"Could I ask you for one more favor? I'll definitely pay you!"
"I'm a bit busy."
"Um... where are you headed? Could we travel together at least until the city?"
"The Veilain Fief."
"I'm going there too! If you'd just let me accompany you, I'll reward you handsomely upon arrival!"
Agron hesitated for a moment, then recalled his father's words:
A lord must protect his people and heed their earnest pleas.
"I see. You're one of my people, then? I'll grant your request."
"One of your people...? Th-thank you."
She stammered out the reply and scurried after Agron like a puppy.
📝 Translator’s Note:
You may notice that certain lines or phrases in this novel appear both in their original Korean (or Hanja) form and in English translation.
This is intentional — these phrases are classical idioms, divine titles, or poetic expressions that carry layered meanings.
To preserve their original tone and authenticity, the raw text has been kept for reference, while the English interpretation is provided right before or after it. This helps convey both the literal and cultural nuance of the original work.
but if you guys dont want tha raw for future chapters or my future other novels u can just text me on discord and say so discord name Mr.Penny