Chapter 38

At some point, more Barbarians stopped at the training ground. This included not only most of the remaining younger warriors but also the older Barbarians. They did not join the training and simply watched from the sidelines.

Hakon was sure they would complain and challenge him for highlighting the value of [Evasion] as he used the Skill to demonstrate to everyone that great power was useless in the face of an opponent who couldn’t be hit easily. Yet he said nothing. No words were exchanged, but none were necessary. Hakon could feel their approval, and that was all he needed.

Training ended as the sun dipped below the summit of the greatest mountain in the distance, but not before Ulfar popped up. Hakon hadn’t seen him for a while, and he had almost forgotten about the Behemoth Blood warrior’s punishment. However, the sight of the one-armed warrior stirred his memories.

Ulfar didn’t utter a word. He did not join his peers at the training ground either. He watched them until those who followed him in the past cussed him out. They shunned him, cursed him, and were more than ready to fight him, which was more than understandable.

Before the Battle of Generation, they submitted to him, promised to fight with him to claim his ‘rightful’ spot as the chieftain and maybe even reunite the tribes as the next Warlord. In exchange, they only wanted to grow with him and become a part of his Saga so that they would forever be remembered by the Ancestors. Sure, they would never rise to the greatness of the next Warlord, but prevailing through the course of time in the Saga of the legendary Behemoth Blood Warlord was worth it all.

Except that they were betrayed. The man they trusted the most did not only cast them aside, but also treated them like livestock. Ulfar even went as far as to kill his own people. How could they trust someone like that? The deaths caused by Ulfar did not help him in any way. He still lost, scarring his Saga forever.

As for those who died to the Behemoth Blood warrior, they were forgotten, their tale never to be told. Their forced sacrifices carried no weight, no honor. This not only enraged the young warriors who would have died Sagaless if Ulfar had sacrificed them, it earned the wrath of the older generation as well. For they did not only witness Ulfar’s disrespect in the face of the Ancestors, but they lost their children to a man who would never grow up to be a Warlord.

He may have been graced with a legendary Power; however, his tale was bound to be that of the one-armed Barbarian. Nothing more, nothing less.

Ulfar snarled at the young men and women shouting and cursing at him. Bloodlust erupted, and the presence of Behemoth Blood flooded the training ground. Yet he did not pounce on anyone when Astrid stepped forward, her Power restraining Ulfar’s power.

She may not yet be stronger than Ulfar, but the Behemoth Blood warrior had only one arm to fight. He was at a severe disadvantage, which he understood even when the Behemoth Blood tried to take control of him once again.

Hakon felt like intervening as well, but he stayed in the back and watched the scene unfold around him. Ulfar snapped at Astrid and the others, anger burning deep within him. Then he turned and walked away, once again humiliated in front of the entire tribe.

Humiliation. Anger. Hakon mused to himself. A bad combination of emotions to burn into the heart of a man who had been destined for greatness. But as bad as it could be, Hakon doubted Ulfar would do anything about it. As long as Ulfar wasn’t ready to forsake his Saga, he wouldn’t act on it.

As for Ulfar’s father, he was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t been seen ever since the Rite. Astrid didn’t know much either, and Hakon cared too little to ask the tribesmen if they’d seen him. Nonetheless, he made a note in the back of his mind.

The other young men and women of Tribe Taskur dispersed as well, some limping, others rubbing their bruised bodies. But despite the pain they had to endure, smiles ranging from faint to brilliant crossed their pain-ridden faces.

“Today’s training was very…interesting, Successor.” The Healer said, beads of sweat trickling down his temples.

A tribe’s Healer was never idle. Several Barbarians would sustain severe enough wounds from their daily hunts to force them to seek the Healer, whose Ancient Power would be drained to ensure their survival. Adding more work to the Healer’s already busy life was not the greatest of ideas, yet it was a necessity.

“Can you come again tomorrow and the day after?” Hakon asked, ignoring the Healer’s twitching lip. “How about moving your station near the training ground? That would surely help you grow your Power–the Ancestors would surely reward you generously–and our warriors wouldn’t have to worry about killing their partners in battle.”

The Healer didn’t say anything for a while. He regarded Hakon before grumbling something to himself.

“Of course, Successor. As long as the Ancestors bless me with the power needed to help you, I will heal your people.” He tried to hide his grimace but failed miserably.

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Astrid didn’t even try to hide her grin as she watched the exchange.

The Healer excused himself and departed, which Astrid used as an opportunity to turn to Hakon with an inquisitive look.

“You will spar with me tomorrow, won’t you?” she asked, smiling brightly, making it increasingly difficult to reject her. So, while he did have other plans, Hakon nodded nonetheless.

His mind was filled with ideas to incorporate new Skills into his fighting style, just like he did with Björn’s [Crushing Advance]. Since Astrid and [River of Blood] were included in the repertoire of Skills he wanted to recreate with mana, he might as well spar with her. Maybe that would help. If not, the pressure of fighting someone with Astrid’s prowess was sure to earn the Ancestors’ attention anyway. All it took was some time and a lot of blood to be shed.

With that in mind, Hakon spent the next few days at the training ground, thrashing others until they were strong enough to engage in proper spars.