Medieval Fantasy Barbarian

Habel had never been particularly interested in power or popularity.

It suited his temperament better to spend time hunting or swinging his sword one more time rather than worrying about such things.

But what was needed to bring back his brother, who had been exiled after being framed with a false accusation, wasn’t force.

After realizing this fact, Habel had spent the last three years focusing on solidifying his position within the tribe.

It certainly wasn’t wasted time.

The youngster who was merely lucky to have a great father had now become a promising candidate for the next chief.

‘Damn brat.’

The priest inwardly cursed as he looked at Habel standing before him.

“What brings the future chief here?”

“How shameless. You know there’s only one reason for me to visit you.”

Habel glared fiercely at the priest.

“It’s time to provide an answer. My brother has waited long enough.”

The priest’s expression twisted.

“Why do you keep bringing up something that ended three years ago? By now, you should give up…”

“Nonsense. Did you think I was a man without loyalty who would abandon my brother?”

“…That’s not what I meant.”

A persistent murderous intent flowed out. The priest quickly corrected his statement.

Habel snapped.

“This is the last time I’ll try to resolve this through dialogue. If this opportunity is also missed… there won’t be another chance.”

The chief had only one criterion for judging people: whether they were necessary for the tribe.

When comparing the two comprehensively, the scale still tilted slightly in favor of the priest.

But it wouldn’t be long before that balance was broken.

While the priest was gradually aging, Habel was a figure who would lead the tribe’s future.

As Habel said, this was the last chance for negotiation.

In a moment, he felt as if he had aged several more years. The priest spoke weakly.

“…I’ll do as you say. I’ll personally clear your friend’s false accusation. But could you promise me one thing?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Please persuade Ivan, your friend, not to kill me. You could do that, couldn’t you?”

“I can’t promise that. The choice of revenge is solely Ivan’s right.”

The priest shouted in frustration.

“…Then what am I supposed to do!!”

“What else? You should pray that my brother is more merciful than you think.”

Mercy? Being framed and stuck in a forest for three years would naturally create hatred even if there was none before.

The priest felt the fear of death more clearly than ever.

There were two options: wait for death sitting here, or…

“You’re right. I committed the deed, so I should rightfully bear the responsibility.”

“Suddenly speaking the truth—I guess your time is near?”

Damn brat. The priest gritted his teeth to hide his emotions.

“…Come to think of it, aren’t you going hunting today? I happen to have a good item that I’d be grateful if you’d accept as a peace offering.”

The priest took out a bottle containing a red liquid from his bosom.

“What is that?”

“A potion containing mysteries. Come, get closer.”

As Habel bent over a bit suspiciously, the priest tilted the bottle and poured its contents from the top of his head.

Strength infused his body, and his senses became sharply alert. Habel marveled at its effectiveness.

“This is… amazing. Honestly, I suspected you might be up to something.”

“Why would I do such a thing to the future chief? I wish you good luck.”

After confirming Habel had left, the priest twisted the corners of his mouth and sneered.

That potion was certainly a masterpiece worthy of a lifetime’s work… except for a very minor side effect.

There had been crises before, but he had overcome them all. Today would be no different.

The priest turned around and said.

“By the way, I’ve asked several times where you went without permission. But your mouth simply won’t open.”

“……”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ll have to follow my words in the end anyway.”

The priest looked at Elena and openly mocked her.

It was an immense stroke of luck that he had encountered this child before her talent blossomed.

Otherwise, rather than being able to place restrictions and manipulate her at will, he would have lost his position long ago.

Elena didn’t bother to point out that the cursed leash had already been untied.

Moreover, she sincerely hoped that the priest would continue with his misunderstanding.

Wouldn’t that make the coming revenge all the sweeter?

Even after Elena left, Ivan’s daily life hadn’t changed much.

At most, his side felt a bit cold, and a smelly old man had moved into the house… thinking about it, maybe things had changed quite a bit.

“Your eyes look unpleasant. Are you cursing me in your mind?”

“…How could I do that to my master who is like the heavens to me?”

“I was just guessing, but your reaction confirms it. Always disrespectful. Today let’s learn some manners.”

Unnecessarily good intuition. Ivan clicked his tongue and gripped his sword.

Soon after, sparks flew as the swords collided.

The old man wielded his sword in various ways.

Sometimes heavy like a mountain. At times fast as lightning. And then soft and flexible like a feather.

Ivan not only handled these versatile attacks with ease but also made them his own in an instant.

That’s why they’re called geniuses. The old man smiled crookedly.

“Let’s stop here for today.”

“Already?”

“Sometimes days like this happen. I need to go take care of something, so head back first.”

What’s with that harsh person? Ivan found it a bit strange but let it go.

After returning home first to rest, the old man suddenly kicked the door open and entered.

“With perfectly good hands, why… Is that alcohol?”

Ivan flinched in the middle of speaking when he saw the wooden barrel the old man was carrying. A familiar and nostalgic scent wafted heavily.

“You know it well. Bring cups and follow me. Let’s drink today.”

An old man who mooches off with nowhere to go brought something like this? Thick suspicion oozed from Ivan’s gaze.

“You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“What do you mean steal? This brat complains even when I’m doing something nice. If you don’t like it, forget it.”

“When did I say I didn’t like it?”

Ivan put his conscience aside slightly. It didn’t seem as important as the alcohol in front of him.

The old man placed the barrel beside a suitable tree stump and sat down heavily on the ground.

“But why are we drinking out here instead of in the perfectly good house?”

“Would alcohol taste good like that? Stop the nonsense, sit down, and pour some drink.”

Without argument, he filled the cup generously and handed it over. The master downed it in one go and grinned.

Ivan accepted the challenge, emptied his cup at once, and widened his eyes.

It was hot as if fire was flowing down his throat. He had never tasted such strong alcohol in his life.

The old man chuckled, watching Ivan desperately trying to hold back his cough.

“How is it? Clears your mind, doesn’t it?”

“…It’s quite drinkable.”

Ivan pretended to be unfazed. It was a typical male’s useless pride.

The two continued to tilt their cups without anyone leading.

“That’s right. You know how to drink quite well for a youngster.”

“You’re not bad for an old man either, Master?”

The alcohol had risen to the top of his head. Ivan swayed his head and grinned.

By the time the barrel was almost empty, the old man, with a face flushed red, asked.

“Come to think of it, what happened to a young fellow like you that made you crawl all the way to a place like this?”

As his mind loosened, so did his tongue.

Ivan shared what he had experienced without much hesitation. Except for the possession part.

“…That’s how it happened. It felt so bleak back then, but thinking about it now, it wasn’t much.”

“Not much? Living alone in a place like this can be quite lonely… You’ve been through a lot.”

For a moment, emotions welled up. Despite pretending to be fine, it seems it was harder than he thought.

Ivan laughed it off, pretending to be unaffected. Crying now would be too embarrassing.

“Are you comforting me? It really doesn’t suit you.”

“Don’t be shy. So, if you were to go back, what would you do?”

Ivan thought for a moment and said.

“Well, first I’d have to teach a lesson to the bastard who kicked me out. I haven’t thought about after that… but I’m sure it’ll work out somehow, right?”

“That’s right, there’s no need to have a set plan. There’s no correct answer in life, just live as you want, and that’s good enough.”

The old man patted Ivan’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Ivan had a strong premonition that this moment would be the last time he’d spend with his master.

“…Let me ask one thing too. As a disciple, shouldn’t I at least know my master’s name?”

The old man smiled meaningfully.

“That’s not difficult. I am…”

In that moment, his vision swayed dizzily.

‘I need to hear… the name…’

Ivan collapsed and fell into a deep sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, Ivan grabbed his throbbing head and recollected his last memory.

“…Baldor.”

The war god revered by the northern warriors.

Damn old man. No wonder he kept hiding his name.

Ivan firmly swore that if they ever met again, he would swing his fist first.

A sword with a reddish light was stuck in the tree stump where they had been drinking.

“So you’re telling me to get drunk and pass out? Really…”

Ivan gripped the sword and pulled it out lightly. It was certainly a fine sword.

As he held the sword and calmed his mind, he noticed things he hadn’t realized before.

Footsteps mixing chaotically, the smell of beasts, the sound of blades cutting through flesh and fat, and… the metallic smell of blood.

It wasn’t far away.

Ivan moved his steps without much thought.