Chapter 23
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Barbarian (3)
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In the frigid Northern Duke's territory, a woman entered wearing a nun's habit with an iron cross strapped to her back.
The knights escorting the Saintess moved with tense expressions, surrounding her completely.
Were they truly her escorts... or were they encircling her?
The Saintess walking in the center felt it was the latter.
'I'm here to treat the Northern Duke's daughter, so why?!'
In truth, the Saintess had been traveling from place to place, carrying out her missions.
She hadn't heard about a space mage who had teleported into the Archdemon's subspace within the Northern Duke's territory.
She had come with pure goodwill to heal a sick patient and walked right into trouble.
When they arrived at the audience chamber, the Northern Duke approached with a hardened expression.
"What brings you here?"
"Didn't you say your daughter was ill...? I'm busy too. Sorry I'm late..."
"She's recovered a lot since getting those healing items from the dungeon. I'll take you to her."
The Saintess followed the Northern Duke along, still clueless as to why everyone was treating her so coldly.
At the same time, a Cardinal from the Papal Court, tasked with inquiring about the Northern Duke's intentions, departed for the north.
The Saintess felt like bursting into tears again today.
Shaman.
The northern mages known for inking tattoos on barbarians to grant them power and divining the future by reading nature's laws.
The reason barbarians never flinched at magic was the shamans who wielded similar abilities.
"May I come in?"
I asked cautiously, standing before the tent.
"Enter."
An old man's voice came from inside.
It carried a raspy metallic grind, like his final breaths, mingled with the wet gurgle of phlegm.
I lifted the flap and stepped in. An ancient elder stared at me with a blank face.
"You had something to tell me..."
"So you're the child who defies the fated future."
Each word from the old man echoed with that grating rasp, and every breath filled the tent with bubbling phlegm.
Yet his words rang with unshakable certainty.
"Come closer."
I approached him slowly.
As I drew near, his hand touched my face.
A faint smile crept across his once-expressionless features.
"Do as your heart desires. A choice without regrets... that is the true path."
His hand fell away from my face.
As if that concluded everything, he closed his eyes and fell silent.
I waited a moment, but he remained still, eyes shut.
Unnaturally still.
Suddenly, I realized the constant gurgling had stopped.
"Shaman? Shaman!"
Panicking, I checked him over quickly.
He breathed no more.
"Damn it! Great Chieftain!"
I bolted from the tent.
Barbarians crowded the area outside.
"Huh?"
The Great Chieftain, bundle on his back, strode toward me from the center.
"You were Sharkron's final guest."
"Great Chieftain... the Shaman, he..."
"I know. He refused all others, waiting for his last visitor. It was you."
The Great Chieftain ducked into the tent, glanced around briefly, then emerged.
"Volcron! You are the next Shaman!"
A man small for a barbarian stepped forward.
"I'm not ready yet."
"You think I was born Great Chieftain?"
The Great Chieftain clapped his shoulder lightly.
The new shaman shot me a dissatisfied glare.
"Preparations complete! To the coming-of-age dungeon!"
Beyond him stood about fifty young-looking barbarians.
As I walked away, Ulfrik approached.
"Remember the Shaman's final words."
He turned and left without another word.
On the city's far side loomed a massive cave descending into the earth.
Its paths had been worn smooth by countless feet over the ages.
At the bottom rippled a translucent veil—the dungeon's gateway.
The Great Chieftain leading us turned back to face the group.
"New barbarian here, so listen up. Hunt Cyclopes in teams of five. Bring back their eyeballs in the pouches."
The young barbarians fell into a neat line as he spoke.
I hung back at the end.
"The exit opens in the forest center in twelve hours. Brunda's party—last rite's winners—guards it."
I scanned the others.
Young barbarians armed to the teeth, each different.
At the Great Chieftain's side stood the bear-tattooed woman I'd arm-wrestled third.
"Time to form teams. Step up one by one."
As each approached, he rolled a twelve-sided die.
"Team two, five, seven, one."
Assigned teams took orange signal flares and stepped aside.
Random groups, but all knew each other—they plotted hunts immediately.
"I'm biggest, axe-wielder. I'll lead."
"Can't argue. Spear here—left rear."
"Halberd for decapitations!"
Roles assigned seamlessly.
I watched quietly, awaiting my turn.
Sudden addition, but they'd adjusted—exactly twelve teams.
"Last one... Team Eleven. Move."
Their faces fell as I joined the four-person group.
'Acknowledged or not, some things can't be helped...'
These insular folk wouldn't easily welcome an outsider like me.
Regrettable, but inevitable.
Feeling the plight of a black-haired foreigner, I neared to hear voices.
"We're doomed! An Imperial's on our team!"
"Not Imperial—Eric! Still doomed!"
As I offered a wry smile to speak,
"Captain's here! Give us the plan!"
"I wanted captain! But Eric's unbeatable!"
"You lose to me! I was the original!"
"My latest win!"
"Other team, I'd be captain!"
"Quiet down! Captain's talking!"
Their big eyes blinked at me expectantly.
"What's this 'captain' business?" I asked, thrown by the exchange.
"Strongest is captain! Eric's the strongest here!"
"Even better! First place is ours!"
"Captain's strong! We trust him!"
Glancing elsewhere, I spotted young barbarians wrestling over loincloths.
"An Imperial-born like me as captain? Really?"
I asked, a bit flustered.
No matter how strong, it felt off for them to accept an Imperial leader so readily.
"Imperials can't lead! But Eric's a barbarian!"
"Sorry you're Imperial! Eric's a barbarian!"
Their eyes gleamed.
"I bow to no one stronger! Wrestle for captain, Eric!"
"Ooh! Challenging Eric, Ulfrik's conqueror! Kelrock's got guts!"
The bald barbarian advanced.
I smiled faintly, shed my robe, and tied on a sumo belt.
Another expensive robe hitting the dirt.
Bald Kelrock squared up.
"Beat whoever! Strongest leads—whoever wins, we gain!"
No signal—he lunged with full power, trying to topple me.
But with the Northern Duke's training, even a single-tattoo barbarian couldn't match my raw strength.
A light trip, and Kelrock slammed down.
"Eric's the strongest! Our team's invincible!"
"Best record so far?"
"Chieftain's team got seventeen eyeballs!"
"Bag overflowed—no room left!"
"How'd you know?"
"Overheard!"
Their sky-high energy was contagious.
I'd considered coasting quietly like a group project, but ambition stirred.
'Might as well shatter the record—for the future.'
I raised my arm to the young barbarians watching me.
"We'll set a new record! Just follow me!"
"Ooooh!!! Captain leads! Honor and glory await!"
They thrust their arms up too.
Adorably fierce—I couldn't help chuckling.
"Leaders ready? Grab your leather packs."
Burly barbarians fetched massive backpacks.
The bear-tattooed woman's team crossed first; others followed in order.
"Captain! Combat setup?"
"I'll draw eyes up front."
"Then I'll—"
"You four handle attacks. I'll cover the rest."
"Captain's odd! But captain's word is law!"
I flashed a grin and stepped through the veil into the dungeon.
Towering trees rose around us, their canopy blotting the sky in a dense forest.
Behind lay the blue gate we'd just entered.
In the clearing, the tattooed woman and her four allies had set up a simple camp.
'Closes in an hour, reopens after eleven?'
Early teams gone—fewer than ten barbarians remained.
My team joined me.
"Move out!"
"Yeah! Let's crush 'em!"
Confirming everyone, I dropped a prepared mana stone and dashed into the woods.
Ten minutes in, a five-meter Cyclops loomed ahead.
Long arms and legs bulging with knotted muscle, clutching a massive log.
Child's play for a fifth-circle me.
I locked its limbs in place, then softened the earth beneath its feet.
It toppled, balance shattered.
"One-eye's down!"
"What're you waiting for? Finish it."
"Froze in terror at our captain!"
"Captain's the best!"
They swarmed, ending it swiftly.
Veterans at this—they gouged the eye and bagged it in under a minute.
"Hunted Cyclopes before?"
"Nope! But butchering's basic."
The brutal northern cold beyond the Great Wall forced reliance on hunting and herding.
For barbarians, field-dressing game was child's play.
Ten minutes to spot, one to kill and claim the prize.
"On to the next!"
"Insane! First place locked!"
I led my overflowing-energy team onward.
Five minutes later, another team battled a Cyclops.
The biggest tanked blows while comrades stabbed openings.
But its regen shrugged off most damage.
They knew, yet hammered relentlessly.
'That pace? Hour minimum.'
Even stamina beasts tire after an hour.
The rite counted as passed with one kill for five.
"Captain, enough gawking—hunt."
"Right."
To lead every barbarian? Needed mythic feats.
'Chieftain hit seventeen... Double it at thirty-four?'
Philosopher's Stone, fifth circle, subspace mana stones stocked—my power neared sixth-circle mages or triple-tattoo barbarians.
Kids filled my attack gaps.
Five more minutes, fresh Cyclops—eye bagged in a flash.
"One-eye fainted at captain again!"
"Captain's looks drop monsters!"
"You little punks?"
The young barbarians cracked up at me.
That's when it hit—they were joking.
"Alright, make the next one faint too?"
"The fiercest captain in history advances!"
They suspected my trick but never pried.
Didn't matter to them.
Or consideration on their part.
Either way, irrelevant.